Iceland to Islay

I’ll be honest, this isn’t a journey I have made before, nor even contemplated. But to recapture my straight line from New York to Dull, I needed to find a way to arrive on the west coast of Scotland, ideally the island of Islay itself, and preferably by surface transport. Which is exactly what I did. The fact that I did it on the last possible day of the year made it more pleasing, for sure. The fact that it was a nice day even more so. And the fact that I got a bonus afternoon in Belfast, a city I have somehow missed until now, was the icing on the cake.

Jenni and I left Keflavik airport within 30 minutes of each other but flew to different destinations: she to Manchester and I to Dublin. I seamlessly transferred myself, with my bike still bagged up, onto a fast, cheap bus to Belfast within minutes of clearing immigration and rebuilt my bike in Belfast bus station, as you do. It’s a tricky business; but I’m getting more practiced at it now. Somehow I managed to fit the bike bag in my panniers along with everything else, and off I went.

The weather in Belfast was beautiful, which was almost certainly my fault, because apparently it hadn’t been. I spent most of my time exploring the waterfront development leading up to – and beyond- the Titanic exhibition. It’s really well done and lots of people were out this afternoon enjoying the warm sun and posing for photographs in front of the iconic building. Behind it they have marked out where the Titanic was built, along with its sister ship, and you get a real sense of size. I didn’t have time to do the exhibition justice, so I didn’t try. Next time. I feel sure Belfast has plenty more to offer on a longer visit. But I got a nice flavour of the place and I thought it felt generally like somewhere on the up. Right next to the Titanic are the film studios where Game of Thrones was made, and all along the waterfront are a series of stained glass murals depicting different aspects of the saga. With the sun behind them, they shone brightly. It added to the interest and provided a modern twist to a place mostly celebrating bygone history.

Then it was time to jump on a train and head north just over an hour to the pleasant town of Ballymoney (whose station has a brilliant modern foot and cycle bridge that should be more famous), where I stayed the night at a very pleasant BnB. The owners were surprised to learn of the ferry I was taking the next morning, because they knew nothing of it. But they obliged me with an early breakfast so I could cover the 15 miles of pleasant, green countryside to the small port of Ballycastle in time for the 9.30am departure to Port Ellen, the last of the year.

It was a lovely morning to be out, and it seemed odd to be back on the left of the road, riding among tall, green trees and lush fields surrounded by thick hedges. I had one extra treat this morning – quite unplanned and directly on my route. On this lovely clam morning, I found myself cycling through the Dark Hedges, a lane of trees made famous by Game of Thrones. Already at around 8am there were people out with cameras and tripods. It is quite an evocative place; but don’t make a special journey just to see it, unless perhaps you live in Iceland, where there are almost no trees at all.

The small passenger ferry arrived, one passenger got off and three of us got on. My bike was strapped to the back, out in the air, while we sat inside in some comfort. We began by passing Rathlin Island, Northern Ireland’s most northerly point, which lies six miles off Ballycastle and is inhabited by about 140 people and tens of thousands of sea birds. It is surrounded by high cliffs and I saw many sea birds flying out over the sea, including gannets and razorbills.

Then we got out over the open sea and it got a wee bit choppy. The little boat would often slam down off a high wave onto the water below. I found it easier to close my eyes. But after an hour, Islay loomed large and we pulled into the safe haven of Port Ellen harbour, where we unloaded and I sprayed down my bike with fresh water. It seemed none the worse for its ordeal.

Port Ellen’s low whitewashed buildings are arranged prettily around a crescent shaped bay. It was quiet this morning, so I didn’t hang around. I was back on my line from Boring to Dull and there was something of great interest to me a mile up the road: Laphroaig Distillery, one of eight (soon to be more) whisky distilleries on Islay, all of which produce some of my very favourite whiskies in the world. If there is a whisky heaven, I was about to enter it.

to be continued…