My very good friend Rads did something most peculiar for someone who had just finished university. She went to work for a few months on one of the most remote island communities in the UK, swapping the fun paced life of London for the solitude and wilderness of Colonsay. And she invited me to come along for a visit. It did not sound like my idea of having a good time but I felt Rads could use some company.

Accordingly in August 2010 (yes! that long ago!) I took the ferry from Oban in Scotland and settled in for the 2hr crossing to this small island, apparently considered the jewel of the Inner Hebrides in Scotland. 

My first glimpse of this alien land was a frankly underwhelming. But perhaps that was partly the weather’s fault. It was wet, grey and cold despite being the peak of summer. There was no harbour so our ferry had to tie up next to a long narrow pier jutting out of the water, and I disembarked hauling my luggage to land. We had arrived at Scalasaig, the main settlement on the island and it consisted of a cafe, a village hall, a parish church, a shop inside which was the post office, a hotel further up a hill and a few small cottages dotted around. And that was it. Rarely had I witnessed such a low concentration of humans in one place. Only 130 people lived on the whole island! It felt a little intimidating and I asked myself if coming here had been the right choice. 

Rads was waiting for me in a battered jeep and gave me the warmest of welcomes. We drove to the little Croft cottage she was staying in. A tiny house with two bedrooms on the top floor (directly under the roof), only accessible via two separate ladders. There was a small kitchen, a small living room with a chimney (that we used extensively in the cold Scottish summer) and a very chilly bathroom. But Rads had made it quite snug, and we enjoyed a lovely dinner (lobster fresh from the sea) before settling in for the night. 

The next morning I awoke to blue skies and sunshine. I opened the front door and marvelled at the view right at our doorstep. Houses and traffic had been replaced by green grass, wildflowers, peat land and hills in the distance. Not another human in sight. We heard the wind and the birds instead of the cars and the crowds. It was very peaceful. It took me a while to relax and get used to it. 

We spent that first day chasing red billed choughs - an endangered species only present on the island - as part of Rad’s job for the RSPB. This soon became a bit of a game as the birds seemed intent on flying away before Rads could identify them through her telescope. They would repeatedly perch themselves a few feet away and taunt us, and we would hop from spot to spot, following them with our gear. 

It was also a fantastic way to discover this unique place as we passed over luscious hills covered in heather with stunning views of the sea, to rocky cliffs with wild goats chomping about (allegedly the descendants of Spanish goats carried on an Armada vessel that was shipwrecked on Colonsay) passing by the ruins of Iron Age hill forts and woodlands. 

As we drove around, Rads would stop and have a chat with some of the locals we passed. Everyone in this small community knew each and no one ever bothered to lock their homes or their cars. Every Saturday the whole island gathered for a Ceilidh at the village hall. Children, teenagers, parents and grandparents - it felt like the island was one big family gathered to enjoy together which I found quite moving. Rads and I, keen to take part, joined one of these Ceilidh and joyously grabbed hands for some of the easier dances. At times we were struggling to stick to the rhythm, occasionally stepping on some foreign toes, but overall having plenty of fun. Some hours later with achy feet and sweaty brows, we sat down and watched with lots of respect as the older generations danced away, weaving beautiful and intricate designs together. We felt connected to the rich Gaelic heritage of this ancient land. 

With time I got used to the slow pace of life on the island. The stillness and quietness of the land was deeply nourishing. On rainy days we stayed home reading, chatting or playing games. But mostly the weather was on our side, and those days brought new experiences as Rads showed me around. 

The smaller island of Oransay neighbours Colonsay, and when the tide is low you can walk from one to the other. My visit coincided with a period of very low tides so Rads and I went out to explore this temporary vast expanse of beach with the aim of finding ourselves some dinner. With wellies, thick jumpers and buckets in hand we set forth under the summer sky.

We lost track of time as we wandered around the beach, digging out cockles, dancing in low waters and marvelling at the lines and patterns created by the tides on the sand. The smell of the ocean was invigorating, as was the wind is our face. As we approached Oransay we came across big rocks covered in mussels and seaweed. Rads taught me which ones were big enough to collect, and which ones we must not touch. I was thrilled that we were collecting our food straight from the sea.  

Rads eagle eyes spotted some seals in the distance so we crept silently to some rocks further ahead to get a closer view. Rads passed me her binoculars and I saw baby seals napping on the warmth of the rocks. This was my first time ever seeing them and I was so excited. 

We came back to our little croft, well satisfied with our haul and our day. Rads prepared our catch for dinner. We ate outside on the grass, savouring the freshness of the mussels. They were delicious. The sky turned flaming orange then pink, and we felt ourselves slowly drift towards sleep, content and tired after a good days work.

We spent days exploring, from rock pools and the assortment of creatures living in them, to beautiful beaches with freezing cold water, to the menu at the cafe by the pier which made a pretty good fish and chips. At times we would just drive along the windy one lane road around the island. And one night we used an echo locator device to listen to different species of bats. 

It was with regret that I took the ferry back to Oban. Life on Colonsay was simple, even sparse. Yet the longer I stayed the more I appreciated it. I was actually happy to go to bed early and wake up early. I got used to the cold bathroom. My laptop soon remained shut, and instead I found entertainment in the hikes we would do, the stunning nature views around us and in enjoying the company of a very good friend. Life felt much more real. I had shed my urban materialism, learning instead to take time for myself and to enjoy the small details around me. Colonsay had grown upon me. 

I came home to London feeling renewed and grateful for having lived a life quite different to what I was used to. Were Rads to invite me again, I would not hesitate now to go back to this remote island, this humble Scottish jewel.