Love Islay

Occasionally one comes across something that compels one to stop and stare in astounded, open-mouthed wonder. The magnolia tree in full bloom at the start of spring is such a sight that catches me every year. But I am in Scotland, on a whisky pilgrimage with my whisky-buff cousin from Singapore. It is the start of autumn. It had rained so heavily yesterday that it reminded me of a tropical deluge, where everything else vanishes except the water gushing down in finger-thick streams – ike one of the forty days of Noah’s rain.

This morning, the weather had turned and the sun was up there, smiling down at us who had survived the torrent the day before. It was such a contrast – almost as if this day was in complete denial of yesterday. ‘Rain, what rain?’ it seemed to ask.

We were driving along a country road in Port Ellen, Islay, between distilleries. At one point I had to stop the car. Breathtaking may sound clichéd, but there is no other phrase to describe it. The sight was not unusual for Scotland. However, the time of day when the light was still mild and slanting, and the sun was out in full and dazzling glory, gave it an other-worldly feel. The azure water in the bay rippled like a soft silken fabric gently fluttering in the breeze. The seaweed lining the shoreline added a lustrous ochre hue while the rocky outcrop contrasted with the softness all around. Seals with pups rested on rocks diving in occasionally. They appeared one with the granite boulders until their little flippers moved. The plaintive sounding cries echoed across the crags. Others nearby responded. In the absence of traffic or other people on the road, their calls – somewhere between the moo of a cow and the growl of a caged lion – lingered in the silence, reinforced the solitude. A lone grey heron stood rock-still, staring at the water in anticipation of its next meal.

Being the driver, I did not take part in the whisky tasting. I was intoxicated, nevertheless, by the perfect pictures that nature painted for me.