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Today, I am questioning everything I have ever thought about how I travel. I have travelled all my life. I try to be a ‘good’ tourist, respectful of the locals, learn to say hello and thank you in their language, be aware of my surroundings. And I suppose, when I worked in downtown Toronto, I was often surrounded by tourists, but as the streets were already pretty busy anyways, I didn’t really pay attention to them.

Which means that the last four days have been a complete revelation to me. I left Orkney on the first of May at 7am – (as I was driving out of town, I should have paid more attention to the parade of empty coach tour buses that were headed to the cruise ship in the harbour to pick up the 500+ people disembarking – I might have glommed on to what was to come). When I returned at 9pm on May 8th, everything had changed. The first change I discovered was when trying to getting a free 1-hour parking sticker in the town, and LL finally had to say to me, “The sign says it’s only free for the first hour from October to April. As of May you have to pay.” Ah, I see.

We walked into town on Monday and the streets were busier than normal, but it didn’t really click. Even the number of people in sensible walking shoes with backpacks didn’t register. It was as we headed into the various shops to pick up groceries that I became aware of people ‘in my way’. Not intentionally blocking me, just oblivious to my need to get some turnip. Tuesday we were driving along a single-lane country road and a car coming towards us pulled into a passing place (I’m assuming she was a local) to let us by. As I moved forward, a car tried to overtake the local driver who was stopped, thereby blocking our way. Clearly not a local. We waited patiently while she backed up – she may not have understood the protocols. Yesterday a car with left-hand drive and Belgian license plates struggled with pulling out of a parking lot. And today, the parking lot at the Italian Chapel was almost full. Full! That just doesn’t happen here.

All of these people have seemed polite, and pleasant, and accommodating. But they annoy me. Not in an I’m-getting-angry sort of a way, but in a heavy-sigh sort of a way. All those years I thought I was being the best of tourists, the most respectful and considerate of travellers, it turns out I have been completely inconveniencing every local near me.

My mind has been blown.

Ramen is very ‘in’ right now – there’s a good restaurant on Richmond Row in London, and another near Square One in Mississauga. But, much as I like the proper restaurant-style ramen, with overnight dashi broth, I gotta admit, I like the grocery store packets best. I don’t eat it often, maybe once a month or so, but they’re handy to have in the house if you don’t feel like cooking. There’s lots of different types here – the square packets with Asian flavours or the pot noodles like our cup-a-soup. The versions of the square packets are pretty good, but there’s not a huge selection in Orkney. And there’s no Ichiban.

Sapporo Ichiban is my favorite ramen. And much as I like the Demae Sesame or Mama Kim-chi flavours here, I miss Ichiban. So I went online and found I could order a package of 5 from Amazon. I was just about to hit the Purchase button when I saw the price – £17! Seventeen GBP for five packets of ordinary, original flavour ramen!! I hit Cancel – and picked up some more Demae at Tesco.

When LL asked me if she could bring anything from Canada, I said (and I quote), “If you could pick up a couple of packets of Ichiban original ramen, that would be great, thanks.”

The first words out of LL’s mouth when we met at the airport last week were, “They’ve lost one of my suitcases, but don’t worry, it’s not the one with the ramen.” Someone who clearly understands me. Then we got out to the car, she asked for a large grocery carry-all bag, opened a case, and started pulling out packets of ramen and bags of Miss Vickie’s Spicy Dill Pickle chips. Two bags of chips (that was a nice surprise, thank you very much) and eighteen packets of ramen. Yes, eighteen. You know how I said that on our road trip, pretty much every day we had to re-pack the trunk of the car? That massive grocery bag of Japanese noodles moved daily, from behind my coats, to on top of the cases, to under LL’s feet, you name it. It’s a wonder she wasn’t stopped at customs.

Here is what she brought. Now I did say I only eat ramen about once a month or so, and I’m already 7 months into a 24-month stay. But you see, this is also the best ramen for Best of Bridge’s Killer Coleslaw. Which I love, as does LL. If you’ve never had it, you really should try it – dead easy to make, and good on the second day as well.

Thank you, LL. Thank you very, very much.

LL from Calgary is my first visitor – I have been planning this trip for weeks. My main concern? – LL is v easygoing and will be happy with anything we do, but the weather is unpredictable, and I’m just afraid her memories of Orkney will be grey drizzle, and the smell of a wet dog in the back seat.

Scout likes everyone and is always happy to see other people, but when LL walked into the hotel room, Scout went nuts. Absolutely nuts. She hasn’t seen LL in almost 3 years, and it was clear she remembered her well. (I kinda got a little choked up.)

As you may have gathered, we like to shop, and we like trying new foods. I had packed my car for an 8-day road trip, and of course, all my packing involves Scout. LL was packing for a full month here, plus she has 3 weeks in the GTA, before heading home, so she had lots of luggage (once Aer Lingus found it). Oh, and I needed some housewares for the guestroom, which I could only get in Scotland (as opposed to the islands). Each day of the past week on the road, at least one of us was (a) re-packing a suitcase; and/or (b) buying clothes, or bedroom pillows, or dog food, or gin, or groceries. Each day of the week the free space in the car around us shrunk somewhat. First the boot/trunk filled to the point where I had to really push to close the door; then Scout’s space in the back seat was encroached upon; then, by the last day, LL was shoving bags down at her feet every time we got back into the car. As driver, I was the only one whose space was relatively unaffected.

Yesterday LL got her first taste of a typical Scottish day. Now, LL was raised in Manitoba, has lived all over Canada, and currently lives in Calgary, so she knows cold. Even though the forecast said it was 11 degrees, by the time we finished our errands in town in the rain and the wind, all she wanted was a cup of tea and a big bowl of steaming hot ramen. Everyone says, “it’s a different sort of cold”. It really, really is.

We also got our first taste of tourists from ‘the other side’. LL & I were just doing our grocery shopping, but in the stores, every time we turned to reach for some vegetables, or a loaf of bread, there was another tourist with a backpack, standing in our way, looking at the black pudding, or tins of marmalade. Don’t get me wrong, they were very nice, very polite, but they were just . . . there. At exactly the same time we realized, they were us. When we are wandering the shops along the Rhine, or in Bordeaux, or standing on the sidewalk in Barcelona, we are the tourist in the way. Every one of those times, I bet there was a local, just wanting to get her baguette and haricot verts, or pick up his dry cleaning. Hunh.

It’s first thing in the morning of day two and today was going to be laundry because of the weather, but it’s turned out to be sunny. So, we’re off to the Brough of Birsay to see the puffins. I’ve checked the forecast, the tide tables, and most importantly – the Harbourmaster’s site – no cruise ships today. Right, it’s a plan.

Our last day of driving, from Dornoch to Orkney, was an absolutely beautiful day – sunny and warm (LL advises me it’s snowing back in Calgary). The gorse is in full bloom in the mountains, ditto the rapeseed in the farmers’ fields, so we saw a stunning patchwork of greens and yellows. I am so glad LL is seeing Scotland in this sort of weather – it could go in any direction this time of the year (and tomorrow rain is forecast), so this is a pretty spectacular way to arrive in Orkney.

First stop: Dunrobin Castle. Still in the same family it has been for 400 years, kept up beautifully, and we toured the castle & the grounds. Then on to A.B.C., The Castle of Mey (two castles in one day, oh my). Due to my ‘interesting’ time management this week, yet again we were running late and racing through the highlands. We arrived at Mey late in the day and decided that this particular castle (truly magnificent) deserved more attention than we could give it in the 25 minutes before it closed. It’s only a 6 minute drive from the ferry to South Ronaldsay (Orkney), so we may do a 1/2-day trip next week to come and visit it properly.

Because it is a home belonging to the Royal Family, access and security was interesting. When ordering tickets (must be bought online in advance) I had to provide both names in full, plus contact info for each of us, and select a specific time-slot. When we arrived, we were met by a guard in a military sweater and beret, and the receptionist asked to see my 18-digit online booking number, which she copied down on paper and then entered into a computer (they really need to get a QR-reader). She seemed a tad flustered; a tour bus with 16 guests had gone missing.

Smooth sailing across the Pentland Firth, a nice drive across the Mainland (Orkney’s big island), then home. It was 9 o’clock when we arrived, but the sun was still up – LL’s first glimpse of Kirkwall was a pretty one (before tomorrow’s rain).

Beautiful sunny day – my Dad always said May is the best month to visit Scotland.  Drove south to a small (but very-award-winning) gin distillery, Kinrara.  Walked out with three delicious (or so LL tells me – as designated driver I could only sniff each tasting) and truly beautiful bottles of gin. 

Then some more stunning countryside and a couple of bowls of Cullen Skink for lunch in an adorable pub in Boat of Garten.  Now, off to sleep in a castle!

LL was excited at the idea of sleeping in a castle, so months ago I started researching: had to be a castle, in the north, dog-friendly, with a restaurant, and hopefully nice decor and pretty views – found one!  Sometimes the audio on my Waze won’t sync with the car, so LL has become the voice of my SatNav, holding the cellphone and interpreting the instructions – she’s doing very well and we arrived in the parking lot of the 12th century Tulloch Castle Hotel exactly as planned. 
That’s where the planning started to go sideways.  These next few observations are all going to sound rather whiny, and truly any one of them would not have deterred us, but . . .
It looked appropriately castle-like inside, and the staff was lovely.  We decided to take Scout and our smaller handbags up the several flights of stairs first, before coming back down for our far-too-heavy cases.  The room only had a double bed – not even a nice big queen, just a double, when I had booked two beds, and fond as I am of LL, well, that’s just not on.  Then we saw the bees.  Brits don’t use screens on their windows and I think there was a hive just outside, ’cause there were lots of bees inside.  LL is allergic.  The staff were apologetic, but the hotel was full so no chance of changing and anyways, the manager had just gone for bug spray, as the bees were throughout the castle.

I went online, and with no research, no pre-planning, no comparative analysis, called the first hotel I saw and booked us in.  (He warned us the kitchen was closed, but the hotel is right in town – bound to be food somewhere).
Well, it was absolutely delightful.  They were short staffed, but the receptionist (also bartender and all around general factotum) was amazing.  Because we’d had a bad experience in Tulloch, she didn’t charge for Scout, she gave us a sea view room, and she told us the best place to order in pizza, and even let us eat it in the front sunroom while we watched TV on LL’s iPad.
Rabbie Burns may have been right that the best laid schemes gang aft a’gley, but sometimes that’s a good thing.
*Oh – today’s overall theme was cars: we parked the Corsa between a Lotus and a Rolls in Tulloch, and while we were polishing off pizza in Dornoch, a dozen young car aficionados pulled up to the hotel: BMWs, MGBs, and a Bugatti.

We checked into an airport hotel near Inverness (clean, convenient, and central to much of the Highlands and the Great Glen). The Marriott was busy but not crowded, and everyone was very friendly. When we got to our floor, there was a young man, dressed in black Tee and jeans, just sitting in a chair at the T-junction of the halls, acknowledging everyone who went by with a cheery Essex, “Hullo, luv.” Ummm. . . . okay.
He was there when Scout & I went for a late evening walk. He was there when we went out at 7 a.m., and when we came back, he was on his chair, eating a sausage butty breakfast from a styrofoam container. Well, that was weird. Polite, but weird. I mean what airport hotel needs an on-site security team on each floor?
When we came back from a day of picnicking on the shores of Loch Ness and driving the back roads of Ross & Cromarty, he was gone. Hunh.
Earlier this morning, Scout & I had sat in the lounge and I had watched three Cockney 20-somethings, with clipboard, spreadsheet, cell phone, and trolleys assemble and deliver a series of clearly pre-ordered room-service breakfasts, compiled to order from the buffet. I’ve travelled a lot for work and I have never seen room service prepared and delivered in this way. And what was with sweat pants and flip flops? Why no uniforms. Well, maybe in Canada we’re more uptight than the Scots about business formality?
All in all, the Inverness Marriott is a different sort of experience.
And then it all became clear – I asked at the front desk. Why was there a security guard in an airport motel?
Turns out there hasn’t been a spate of To Catch A Thief style burglaries, nor is the Princess Royal and her court staying in the east wing of the Inverness Airport Marriott. It seems there is a competition-based show filming around here and the contestants are all sleeping on our floor. It’s Skippy the hall guard’s job to make sure there is no interaction between contestants, and those three brekkie-makers are ensuring the contestants have no reason to leave their rooms before the bus leaves. Really? How exotic.
Never did find out what the show was that they’re filming (I asked three different staff and supposedly nobody knew – yeah, right) – I will just say there was a lot of crockery and leftovers littering the hallways each day – I hope it’s not one of those survival shows, because it looks like they all rely heavily on room service – hardly a bunch of Bear Grylls.

You should have seen the luggage we jammed into the car – as well as new clothes, we had new alcohol, and as LL is staying for a full month, one more suitcase than she normally travels with (the fact that there is an entire bag of ramen in the boot/trunk is a story for later).
The House of Bruar – Scout’s favourite place to go for a walk, and LL’s new favourite shopping in the UK. We didn’t empty the Food Halls, but it wasn’t for lack of trying.
Then 2 hours along a single lane 100km/hr corkscrew ‘highway’ through the Cairngorms. We stopped at The Watchers – a clever installation up the side of a mountain. Below is the view from The Watchers and yes, we did just drive that long windy snake you can see down in the valley and up the hills.
I hadn’t told LL where we were going next – it’s been a well-kept secret. In our decade of travelling, ‘ABC’ has been a catch phrase (from Terry in Australia) – an ABC is ‘another bloody castle’ – you know, “oh God, here we go, another bloody castle”. Well this ABC was tickets to tour Balmoral Castle, the royal family’s summer home – LL was literally bouncing in her seat when she heard this. It was a lovely day with hardly anyone else there.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, travelling with a dog is how you meet people. A gardener on the grounds came up and asked to pet Scout. Twenty lovely minutes later, LL & I had had insights into life at Balmoral that no audio-tour would ever give you. McGardener (we never got his name) was so interesting – telling us lots about being a gardener to the Queen, without actually disclosing anything truly private. He clearly loves his job, and because there weren’t many other tourists about, was more than happy to shoot the breeze with us.
*To top the day off, he offered to get Scout a bowl of water from his delightful-looking little stone cottage smack in the middle of the castle gardens. Turns out that this water is drawn from a super-secret local burn (he wouldn’t say which burn) and the only ones who drink this water are the Queen and her court – yes, Scout has drunk water from the Queen’s own special water-supply. That’s my little princess.

A royal day – we started the day touring Her Majesty’s former yacht, Britannia. It was a great morning. Then on to a bus tour of the Royal Mile and the old city.
But for LL and me, the highlight of any trip is the local cuisine. A spectacular meal at a restaurant I’ve been dreaming about for years, The Kitchin. It was a tasting menu of exceptional Scottish ingredients – we had spoots (razor clams), sweetbreads, and an apple souffle with whisky sauce (they left the bottle of 15 year old Macallan on the table after pouring it into the centre of the souffle – you know, something to look at while eating). The staff were exceptional; part of what really pushed the meal over the top was Zoe, the waiter from Victoria BC.

(Yes, for anyone reading this – the food is a repetitive theme on this trip – as I’ve said before, with Lori & me that’s inevitable.)

Yep – we are awaiting a suitcase, yet again. This time it’s not mine, but rather my friend LL from Calgary. We believe her main suitcase made it as far as Dublin, and should arrive at the hotel any time now.
Obviously our way of coping with this stress was to go out for a nice lunch. The chef at Noto Restaurant in central Edinburgh was on one of our favourite cooking competitions, so we went there for our first meal together in months. LL and I dine together better than anyone I know. Our excitement was palpable – the wait staff could tell we were just so happy to be there. (Of course, they could just have been reacting to our choice of wine – we won’t be spending like that every day)
There was tartare, truffles, trout, and tap water (just keeping it real with that last one) and it was the best culinary experience I’ve had since COVID.

We then headed to a drugstore to replace her missing toothbrush, deodorant, moisturizer (shades of the Seine all over again). And then the foodhalls at Marks & Spencer – yippee! We thought we’d have a light dinner in our room, so quite sensibly we headed straight to the cans of gin & tonic, then the wine section, then junk food. At that point we then headed over to the crackers and cheese (something has to absorb that wine).`

Scout and I went to one of the many dog-friendly pubs in Leith – it was fun, and busy, and vibrant, and made me think, I may just be getting a tad too used to my safe, sensible, and insular Scottish existence. This neighbourhood is full of families, and young people, and dog-owners, and different ethnicities. The last is particularly pleasing to my eyes after 7 monochromatic months in Orkney. Now don’t get me wrong, I am not passing judgement – just because I got it into my head to live in Orkney, does not mean the rest of the world is dying to move to a remote northern island. But I gotta admit, I felt more at home on streets that included people from all walks of life.