Day 7: Isle of Skye Magic

📍 Morvich, Kyle > Talisker Distillery > Portree > Loch Leathan, Isle of Skye

Lark was in her element running around the laundry house at Morvich Caravan & Motorhome Club. Squealing with delight, watching her parents play pool for the very first time. Our level of skill would make it seem like it was our first time playing too. I didn't tell RaRa, but there were more yellow balls than red. He didn’t notice until he’d sunk a few yellow balls. I’d sunk one red ball and somehow we were tied. There had been an uneven number, and an extra black ball, but it was a mighty good game — because I am now the reigning pool champion of Morvich, Kyle. RaRa still holds a title from that time he won a legitimate pool competition in Coonabarabran, en route to an overnight hike in the Warrumbungles back in 2022.

The pool table was small, needed 20p to play, and had a golf bag’s worth of cues in varying sizes — essential for the tight squeeze around it. It may have been mini, but it was a mighty way to pass time while doing an equally mighty load of grubby laundry that had built up over the past week. The commercial washer and dryer roared while we laughed, pottered, and got ourselves reset for another big day. Just £1.25 per token — five for the washer, three for the dryer.

We did a full van re-set, this time in half the time, and hit the road at midday feeling lighter and more whole than when we’d arrived.

Lunch in the wild

Already hungry, we pulled the motorhome into a gravelly roadside nook that screamed "free parking" — right outside The Fairy Distillery, just 12 minutes down the road from Morvich. Last night’s leftover Chinese was resurrected on the cooktop, steaming away beside the last of our crunchy apples and fresh strawberries. A random, mismatched feast — the culinary equivalent of a laundry-day outfit — and we devoured it like Michelin-starred hobbits. Lunch, sorted.

The Fairy Distillery (kind of)

The Fairy Distillery is a charming little place with tiny wooden houses straight out of a fairy tale. Whimsical footbridges, thatched roofs, and overgrown gardens tickled every whimsical bone in my body. Plus: whisky!

On closer inspection, it may have been gin. I’ll never know — despite advertising itself as open, The Fairy Distillery was, alas, closed. But a sweet little bakery on site was doing business, and the lovely woman behind the counter gifted Lark two balloons from a treasure box below, complete with a ribbon to tie to the end.

RaRa chose a peach crumb biscuit, unlike anything I’d had before. The base was bread-like — pretzel-adjacent in texture, but softer. A peach, split in half, flanked either side and covered in golden crumb reminiscent of apple crumble, but more cookie than crisp. Chef’s kiss!

Hope, caffeinated

After The Fairy Distillery, we punched Talisker Distillery into the overly chatty Sat Nav (“Drive steady!”) but took scenic detours into tiny towns to admire the local architecture and passionately dissect the state of Australian politics — one of RaRa’s and my favourite pastimes.

Side note: The first female leader of the Liberal Party? When women are rarer than Nessie in that mob? It felt like a shockingly disrespectful hospital pass after their last election thrashing. RaRa reckons no man wants the gig because Albo will be in power for the next six years. We both agree the Teals are out there giving everyone a run for their money — a fresh, modernised Liberal-adjacent brand that progressive constituents (read: women) are actually interested in. Social policies and economic strength? A strong combo. We do love Albo though.

We paused mid-sentence to chortle at roadside gems like Saucy Mary’s, which I can only assume is a restaurant — and not, say, a niche maritime museum.

As we rolled further into Skye, hope for a decent hot drink had all but evaporated. Then — a glimmer. A cafe. Wooden facade. Nestled beside a ruin. The kind of place that whispers, We see you.

From the road, RaRa peered in and spotted a real barista-operated machine. I clocked a black letterboard menu with those tiny white push-in letters — a clear sign of someone who deeply cares about the experience (and probably listens to vinyl).

“RaRa, quick! Check the website on Google Maps!”

It was a Square site. Good sign. Free version. My heart sank.

But then — miracle.

Right there on the homepage: hipster keywords, sticky chai, matcha, oat milk.

Unbelievable.

We found the nearest turning bay and pulled the most hopeful U-turn in caffeinated history. I parked the beast. RaRa stayed back with Lark and placed an order for a real flat white. My brown boots crunched over the white gravel as I approached, and from a distance, I spotted the unmistakable orange glow of Prana Chai branding.

You. Absolute. Beauty.

I must have looked too excited — the barista thought I wanted a whole bag of the stuff. Which, honestly, wasn’t entirely untrue. Just not for $27.

They even served it in biodegradable cups and played indie music. Lean to Coffee — a glorious slice of Aussie café culture right in the heart of Scotland. Flat white? Silky. Sticky chai? Spiced perfection. Hope? Officially restored.

Talisker and the storm

Talisker Distillery is just 40 minutes from Lean to Coffee. Everything on Skye is so close! The drive, winding through surreal terrain, was textbook Scottish — and yet, Skye was different. Almost volcanic. The hills looked like clumps of ash shovelled from a fireplace, cloaked in dappled green. Stark. Surreal. At times, comically pointy — like a child’s drawing of a volcano.

Narrow roads forced drivers into polite choreography at passing bays, waving as they slipped by.

Talisker itself had big nautical gift shop energy: whisky-branded merch, bottle-your-own stations, and a gaggle of American tourists cooing over Lark’s red hair and telling us to cherish the moment (we are, promise). We sampled a Talisker Storm at the bar — smoky and distinct.

By the time we left, the skies had split open. Heavy rain hammered the windscreen as the wipers worked overtime. Highland sheep sauntered into the road while soaked uni students pulled over hatchbacks to take soggy selfies.

Never again, Portree!

RaRa hunted for a pub meal in Portree, but one promising venue had recently been savaged by a wave of 1-star reviews. We picked the other. Still — like sheep to the road — every tourist had the same idea. The village centre was chaos.

Designated motorhome parking? Overflowing like a tourist bus buffet — not a spot to be found.
Alternative parking: nonexistent.
Pubs: booked out.
Roads: potholed and poorly patched.

A tourist bus. A tight intersection. A lot of nervous glances. Mirrors tucked. Tourists helping. My brow sweating. Centimetres to spare. Portree officially became my least favourite place in all of Scotland.

Cool as ever, RaRa found a layby 15 minutes out of town, near Old Man of Storr by Loch Leathan, that reportedly fit 4–5 campers. It existed. And it was free.

By the time we arrived, three other campers were already parked. RaRa reverse-parked the beast with a precision honed in the backstreets of Newtown, Sydney. Honestly? It looked like a party trick. I was in awe.

Van life victory

We turned on the gas. Powered up the hot water. Cranked the heat to 23 degrees. Checked the fridge for expiry dates. An Indian chicken dish went into the oven. Whisky poured. Cards shuffled. Gin Rummy began — set to a soundtrack of rain and gentle Scottish country tunes.

We teased. We laughed. We reminisced. We triumphed.

A warm van.
A hot meal.
A good game.
And us — still choosing each other, even after a soggy, sheep-stalled, publess day.

Turns out, this was the real whisky tasting.

Lark was perched on my lap, gleefully mashing the keyboard while I tried to capture the moment — a small chaos wrapped in a fluffy white and fluoro pink spotted suity patootie, determined to contribute.

Outside, the view was its own quiet triumph —
Long tufts of grass swayed in the wind, a patchwork of lush greens, soft reds, and straw yellows.
The silver ripples of the loch shimmered beneath grey skies.
Volcanic-style hills loomed in the distance, dark and dramatic against the soft drizzle.
It was wet, wild, and wonderful. Raw, weathered beauty.

This was one of the biggest highlights of the trip.