Vagabonds and Volunteers
Vagabonds and volunteers; vagrants, voracious in their appetite for adventure and naturally curious as if they were iron filings drawn to some huge, beautiful and deeply profound magnet. In this case, Berneray was the magnet and I was amongst the helpless filings unknowingly under the spell. It’s a curious place, Berneray, gob-smackingly wild and remote yet strangely comforting, almost homely; it’s captivating – a precious jewel sat atop the majestic Hebridean crown. Time seems to stand still there – the pace of life is much slower, and the hostel looks the same today as it would have done over a hundred years ago; it’s quaint, small in stature but unapologetic in presence. It’s welcoming; teeming with life, kindred spirits from across the globe, sat around the log fire, sharing anecdotes of far-off places, each of them entranced, each of them harbouring plans to return.
