Nollaig nam Aonair MMXI ~ The (Great) Couch-surfing Christmas of 2011

A' Chiad: Silidh Ubhail no 'The Poet's Second Stair'  

It was a damp and foggy start to the day yet surprisingly - and no doubt unseasonably - warm. Mist hung low over the scene endlessly attempting to secure a hold on its surroundings only to be loosed by the gentle hands of a mild winter breeze rustling its way through the morning.                            

A warm, crackling fire dancing in the grate; soft blues playing in the background; a freshly decorated tree twinkling with lights beside a dark window spattered with rain; this is my world as I write to you tonight. It must be Christmastime!
I was going to write a post about all the visits and gatherings I've been on since I got here, but I figured this would be just as good and besides, there will no doubt be many more to write about after the holidays.
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Before I go any further, a note about the title:

Where I'm spending Christmas this year

I'm spending my Christmas in a small little village on the west side of Sleat, named Tarskavaig. where there are quite possibly - though I haven't counted - no more than 10 houses.  A good number of the staff from the college live here and, not surprisingly everyone knows everyone else's life story. The house that I'm staying in for the next two nights is that of a writer and bard, who I first officially met about a month ago. Just last week I ran into her again at a 'cafe' of sorts the college was testing out. We got chatting and I mentioned that I would be staying with another family here in Tarskavaig for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. At this, she replied [in Gaelic of  course] 'Oh, they have a rather small house as it is; if there doesn't end up being enough room, I live in Tarskavaig too and my door's always open. Feel free to walk in.'  It ended up working out perfectly, actually, because I would have been spending these days in a hostel in Broadford otherwise. If that's not serendipity, I don't know what is.

Though I've come across some amazingly kind and generous people, it never ceases to surprise me how hospitable people can be. When I arrived at Meg's house today, it was to learn that she and her son were packing to visit family in the Borders. Silidh Ubhail, or apple jelly, was written on a scrap of paper on the kitchen table, the remnants of some Christmas list I happened to glance at. As her son went off to deliver gifts to the community, I was left alone in the house and noticed amongst the piles of books and other scraps a note taped to the hall wall entitled 'The Poet's Second Stair'  Somehow, the two lines combined to stick in my head like the name of some weird melodrama.

A warning re: the Poet's second stair

Beware to guests a' bed upstairs who seek 

a quiet nightime relief of flowing;

who try to the bathroom to silently creep

with a desire for none to be knowing --

as the Poet's second stair will, with it's ample CREEK

set your cheeks a' rosy glowing! 

          - extract from the lost & bemused musings of               Mad Meic McManx

           (cynghannedly-challenged neo-bard)

When Meg returned from a few errands (I had arrived before she got home) the first words out of her mouth were 'Make yourself at home. If you see any food around, eat it; if you need the computer, it's upstairs; if you need to make any calls, there's the phone; feel free to start a fire in the woodstove; don't worry about taking off your shoes; just make sure the bed is made up when you leave.' And after a bite to eat and telling me to make sure to visit Donald John up the road, who is very fond of the fiddle, she headed out the door. It was as if I come to stay all the time!

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So, here I am on the second and last night at the home of a true Scottish bard (though she probably wouldn't tell you that), surrounded by two of four cats, finishing off this post I started yesterday and the bard herself isn't even here!
I was out for a walk today around Tarskavaig, only for about half an hour before it started raining. Having gotten a brief introduction to the people who live in the village from both Meg and the head of reception at Sabhal Mòr - who picked me up along the road getting here - yesterday, it was nice to wander and recognize the names of others from the college posted outside their house. Numbers aren't really used, I've learned, in Sleat because it's such a small area to begin with. The mailman knows everyone. He even walked straight into the kitchen today to drop off some letters! I still haven't made it to Donald John's house; perhaps it would be a nice thing to do tomorrow before I head off to Michael and Becca's house, given that it'll be Christmas Eve.

'Fairy Lights'

Since this will no doubt be the last post I make before Christmas, I wish the very merriest of Christmases to all of you who are reading this and your families, wherever they be. Though my Christmas this year will be something completely new and unknown, I am still fully confident that it will be filled with all the joy, love and peace that surrounds this season of hope. Here's praying that the same may be true for all of you! Nollaig Chridheil dhuibh uile, as they say in these parts! =)
Le gach deagh beannachd; blessings, Daniel.

Christmas Eve eve in Tarskavaig