Elaine

Autumn is officially here – the rain and high winds hit yesterday. This is the reality of island living.

A month ago I booked a flight to Edinburgh, bragging that I could leave my house at ten to eight, catch the 8:35am flight to Edinburgh, and be on board my cruise ship in Rosyth by noon. I wouldn’t dare to try that in any season except summer. Next October I am on a cruise in the eastern Mediterranean, and I will have to arrange my travel such that I will spend at least two nights en route in hotels: one just getting there, and one as a buffer against possible ferry/flight cancellations due to weather. The upside? At least Scout and I both revel in rainy windy days. Last month a friend and I took Scout for a walk. Lorraine is from Aberdeen, so no stranger to Scottish weather. We were halfway ’round the Peedie Sea on a wet and windy walk, when Lorraine started to rail against the weather, and how wet, grey, and miserable Orkney can be. I began to agree with her out of habit, when I realized, I didn’t feel the same way. I actually quite liked bundling up in a waterproof jacket and hood and feeling the stiff breeze against my face. Clearly why I opted for Orkney and not Madeira.

Having said all of that, I cannot begin to imagine what people in Newfoundland and the Maritimes are going through, post-Fiona. They desperately need our help – you can donate via the Red Cross here.

Last winter I found a little book in one of the local tourist information offices: Orkney, 40 Coast and Country Walks. So far I’ve done 14 of them. There is no way I will be doing all 40 – I can’t see myself catching a 90-minute ferry ride out to Sanday to wrestle Scout along to the Holms of Ire (only accessible at low tide). But I do intend to do all the ones on the Mainland (three to go) and south isles (three more there).

The weather this week has been spectacular – sunny and mid-teens – so I decided we would head over to The Knowes of Trotty. The Knowes of Trotty is a Bronze Age burial site and one of the largest and oldest in Britain. (In spite of that, none of my friends from the walking group had ever heard of it, and they are all either natives or have been here at least five decades.) It seems a ‘knowe’ is a burial mound, and ‘trotty’ translates from old Norse as ‘trow marsh’. Trows were nocturnal mischief-making goblins. So The Knowes of Trotty translate as the ‘Mounds Beside the Marshes where the Goblins Live’.

We met cows up close (they were on the other side of a fence, but as I know from personal experience, cows and bulls can jump fences, so I always walk very quietly and respectfully past them), crossed burns, and eventually were knee-deep in heather. It was a glorious day, and an absolutely beautiful walk.

This morning looks to be equally nice, so I’m thinking Brinkie’s Brae this afternoon – it’s quite a steep hike and yesterday I think I may have broken a baby toe, but it’s too nice today not to be outside. To be honest, the only reason I’m even writing about these walks (other than a chance to post photos of spectacular scenery) is because I am entertained by the names. Already accomplished: Yesnaby, Skiba Geo, and The Gloup. Still to do: Brinkie’s Brae, Dingieshowe, and the Kame of Corrigall.

On Tuesday the sales rep from the local realtor’s came and inspected & photographed the house, and yesterday I came home to this:

Well, I knew it was coming. I have only had two leads on another place to live: one was a 2-storey, 3-bedroom house on a busy street, closer to town. Same rent as I am paying here, but something, (other than the noise of the tractors and buses going by) just put me off, so probably foolishly, I passed on it. The second one was sharing a flat with someone and dog & cat-sitting her pets when she was travelling. So, no.

Here’s the link to the posting; it will only be up as long as the house is for sale, so I’ve captured some of the photos below. If nothing else, at least you can see how I decorated. I’ve saved all her photos – so much better than any of mine.

I have been very discouraged this week. I’ve been approaching this from both a rational and emotional decision-making process, making pro/con lists for staying vs just returning home (the universe telling me it’s time?), tossing around ideas with my sisters and my cousin, trying not to give in to wallowing. *The weather has been lovely this week – I wonder how my lists would shift if this had been cold & rainy every day? Just typing this has me sad, and you should see what a glorious day it is this morning – I should be gleefully planning a jaunt over to Rousay, or a hike around the Kame of Corrigall. Instead, I am spending the morning writing the Electricity board, calling the property management, and walking over to the town council offices to start the ball rolling on cancelling everything as of Oct 29. Oh, and I must call movers (even though I have nowhere to move to) and storage companies (for all my less-than-one-year-old furnishings). Damn.

Oh dear, re-reading this – I sound pathetic. First world problems, chickee, get over yourself. I’m healthy, I’m lucky enough to even have these problems, there are people in the world who don’t have choices. It’s not as if moving home would make me sad – I’m looking forward to resuming my life in Milton and starting my next adventure; nor do I dislike the idea of staying but in a different town or an apartment – things were meant to be exciting and different from what I was used to. So there, Lainey – already the mood is lifting. (Really, I’ll be fine – this was just a literary pity-party).

They’re asking £175,000. Last month there was a woman who mentioned on FB that she would love to buy another property in Kirkwall (meaning this house), and that having a renter already in place (meaning me) would be great. We texted a few times – she’s not sure she’d be able to afford it – I’m hoping this is within her price range – I guess I’ll find out soon!

Anyhoo, off to start the moving process – more to come as things progress!

Yes, every single thing in these photos is less than 11 months old. Sigh.

I am easily motivated by what I watch/read (oddly, not by advertising – hunh). Before the internet, if I was feeling sluggish, but knew I should get up and clean the house, all I would have to do was start re-reading Agatha Christie’s 4:50 from Paddington. There’s an incredibly efficient character in it, and as soon as we got to the housekeeper, Miss Lucy Eyelesbarrow (I still remember her name), I would be motivated to get up and start cleaning. Seriously, worked every time. It’s like that with TV too; the Mad Men years were particularly drinky – I asked for martini glasses and crystal whisky glasses for birthdays & Christmas in those days.

Now I use the internet (more specifically YouTube) to accomplish the same I-gotta-get-things-done tactics: before houseguests are coming, I type “deep clean house” into the search bar and only have to watch 5 or 10 minutes of a video to get up and get cleaning. Ditto “productivity home office” – that has me sorting drawers or cleaning up my Inbox. And typing in “minimalism hints” gets the Marie Kondo in me purging stuff left, right, and centre.

I’ve noticed this year that books are influencing me in a particular way: I started reading Andrea Camilleri’s series of crime dramas – the hero Inspector Montalbano thinks a lot about food, so this summer I made a lot of pastas and seafood, based on whatever he was having before catching the murderer. And last week I took a couple of the Harry Potter books out of the library – they always make me want to have onion soup (Mrs Weasley & Kreacher both make a mean onion soup). So this morning I decided to make some for myself – it is such an easy soup to make that I rarely use a recipe, but, last night I saw a guy on YouTube making Julia Child’s version, so I went out and bought a bottle of brandy (it only called for one tablespoon – what else I am going to use it for, I have no idea; I hate brandy) and made Julia’s soup, following the recipe to the letter.

OMG – that was the best onion soup I have ever had. I mean, really. Dear God, that was good. I didn’t do the cheesy crouton on top – the soup was just perfect without it. I have been wondering how to spend these long, dark evenings this winter (last winter I spent a lot of time buying, assembling, furnishing, organizing, etc.. and have been a bit worried about what I will do this year). So I think I may spend this winter doing a bit of a Julie & Julia, picking out some of her classic recipes, and following them exactly (there, I’ve just found a use for the brandy – when she’s not adding butter to things, she’s pouring in glugs of brandy to everything). I don’t see myself doing every recipe in her book; that’s sounds waaaay too much work, just a few of the classics.

It probably won’t be that great for my health (she loves butter, pork fat, and booze), so I will have to compensate with very Scandinavian breakfasts (smoked salmon, crisp breads, cucumbers, and tomatoes) and Asian lunches (bento boxes, Buddha bowls, and lots of raw veggies), but I bet it will be worth it.

People have been asking me what it’s been like to be here in Orkney over the past week. It’s hard to say, the Royals aren’t really something that people here talk about. During the Jubilee in June I know there were a couple of community family picnics and a pipe band one evening, but not much else.

I think the farther north you get, the less people pay attention to the Royal Family. The King was here on Hoy last month, and that made it into the local paper, but that was about it. And, just as much of Scotland feels disconnected from England, Westminster et al, Orkney seems to feel equally distant from Scotland.

TV and social media have been full of everything, the newspaper’s front page was a series of photos of the Queen and her many visits to the islands, and yesterday was an official holiday across the UK. In Orkney most shops were closed, at least for the morning if not all day, and the kids didn’t go to school. One person on social media described being out in town like it was Christmas Day: no traffic and nothing to do but go home and watch the Queen on TV.

The only obvious difference I have noticed is the flags. In Orkney I would say that (a) there aren’t many places with flags flying and (b) they’re almost all the red, yellow, & blue Orcadian flag. I’m guessing that normally about 70% of the flags one sees are Orcadian, 25% are the Scottish Saltire, and 5% are the Union Jack. This week, everyone seems to have dusted off their Union Jacks, which are everywhere, all at half-mast, of course.

People often ask me: so what do you do all day? And I give them the same old spiel about meeting up with friends, exploring Orkney & the north of Scotland, and so on. Mostly, that’s true.

Well, today was pathetic. Up at 8:00 (at least 90 minutes later than usual). A long (1 hour) walk with Scout in the rain. When we got home, I changed back into sweats (I never do that), and apart from a 15 minute chat with my sister, I did nothing. I spent the morning watching YouTube videos, had a pie for lunch (you are not going to believe the contents: baked beans & cheese in a square pastry), sat on the sofa all afternoon with ginger ale & popcorn and watched a Netflix documentary series about a truly batshit crazy family in Idaho, followed by the entire Queen’s Gambit series (for the fifth time (?!?!)), had leftover Chinese food for dinner, then watched the grandkids’ vigil in Westminster, followed by the last episode of Shetland.

That was my day. Just pathetic. But every once in a while . . .

*Postscript: I made up for Saturday’s sloth. Sunday was a beautiful sunny day, so in the morning we went for a long walk down to the shore, along the harbourfront, and up through the town. In the afternoon we followed St Mary’s Path through a little wood and around a pond, and at night we drove up to Evie in hopes of seeing the Northern Lights (we didn’t see any). Oh, and the meals were better too: porridge for breakfast with Orkney milk, homemade soup for lunch with locally grown vegetables, and homemade stew with Orkney beef for dinner. I am redeemed.

The day I passed my driving test and got my license in the 70’s, I asked Mum if I could drive to my Dad’s office by myself to tell him in person. When I got to his office, I pulled into a parking spot and . . . bumped the car parked in front of me. Damn. (There was no damage at all to either car and I didn’t say a thing to anyone.)

Since then, I have been in a couple of accidents on the road (only one was my fault), but I can honestly say I’ve never hit anything stationary. Not a garage door (like a neighbour once did), not a cement pillar (like my Dad once did), not a snow bank (like a friend once did), and not a road sign (like a high school buddy once did).

Well, I could say that was true, until I got here. My puir, peedie, wee car. Back in March I backed into a low wall in my cousin’s driveway. And yesterday, I backed into a 3′ high by 6′ x 6′ cement block in a field up on the cliffs – it was a field for God’s sake – how did I manage to hit the only manmade object for miles? And to truly add insult to injury, I didn’t know what the impact was of leaving bird poop on your car. I hadn’t noticed it on the rear passenger door – I have no idea how long it had been there – when I tried to clean it off, it seems guano will eat into a car’s paint job. Oh dear.

On my nephew’s last day in Orkney, I took him to some cliffs I hadn’t visited before: the seas stacks at Yesnaby. JW loves anything up high (my sister promised me that she wouldn’t hold me responsible if he fell whilst here – a very real fear) so this seemed like a perfect last day trip. The wind was so fierce that day that I decided Scout & I were better staying in the car, while Jack wandered the cliffs. He loved them. And, more to the point, I got him safely to the train in Inverness on Thursday, after which point his safety became somewhat less of a concern for me.

Well, this morning was so beautiful I scrapped my plans to vacuum and do laundry and headed out with Scout to see the sea stacks (sometime called ‘castles’) for ourselves. I think I may have found my favourite spot on Orkney. This was some of the most amazing landscape I’ve seen. The photo here and the ones in my Gallery don’t begin to do it justice, and the cliffs are so much more dramatic than they are in pictures. Also, much, much higher.

I will be going back again and again, even if it is a 35 minute drive to get there.

Today was my nephew’s last day in Orkney (more on the A9 later). After dropping him at the train station – Scout is going to miss him – I headed over to the airport Marriott hotel. It’s one of the few chain hotels I prefer to a local inn. Very good prices, quiet rooms, decent bar, and lovely staff (or so I thought).

Their lobby has a dining area at one end and sofas and TV at the other. Scout isn’t allowed near the dining area (fair enough) so we headed to our usual spot with her lying quietly on the floor against the wall, and me in a chair with my wine.

Sat beside a nice couple from London who were waiting for their replacement flight home (EasyJet had cancelled). Scout didn’t move a muscle after all her walks earlier in the day. Imagine my dismay (that’s the word I’m going with here – still working on New Year’s resolution #2) when some bossy little madam (again, NY’s res) came and told me Scout had to go. It was the rules. I asked if it was a new rule, as every other time I had stayed here the staff had assured me she was welcome, just not near the dining room. Nope, it had always been the rule. Really? Every other employee had been wrong, and she was right? Huh.

Well, I’m afraid I let down my drinking companions by complying with her request. The husband was quite up in arms on my behalf. But my polite-Canadian, obedient-banker conscience didn’t want to make a public fuss, so back to the room we went (Scout & I, not the couple – it’s not that sort of a story). No more Marriott Inverness for us going forward.

You know what today’s news was. I wanted to watch the coverage of the Queen, with others. So after twelve minutes of sulking my room, I picked up my wine, hooked on Scout’s leash, and headed back down to the lobby. Scout lay down in the same spot, I sat in the same chair, and we watched the news. Miss Bossy-Pants must have finished her shift, as she was nowhere to be seen. One of the other staff stopped and petted the dog.

It was a small victory and yes, I probably should have stood up to her in the moment, but you know what? I won. Only downside – the couple from London had already headed back to the airport before my return, so the hubby prob still thinks me craven. Ah well.

Edit: next morning another waitress remembered Scout, by name(!), from our previous visits, and came over for a cuddle. The Marriott has been redeemed in my eyes.

Yesterday I ticked off one of my three New Year’s Resolutions.

The first was to cook, prepare, etc, at least five new fish or seafoods that I had never prepared at home. I’m part-way there: I’ve made smoked scallops (turns out they’re not to my taste), tusk, stone crab claws, and fresh white & brown crabmeat.

The second was to swear less – still a work in progress, dammit.

The third was to have visited at least ten of the 70 Orkney Islands by the end of the year, and yesterday I accomplished that.

The Mainland	South Ronaldsay
Birsay	Westray
Burray	Shapinsay
Lamb Holm	Hoy
Glimps Holm	South Walls