We asked pretty much everyone we met the same questions.  We asked the clerk in the little general store; ditto the staff in the hardware/booze shop; we asked the waitress in the hotel; we asked a man sitting at the bar: where else is there to eat here?   where is Wilson Cheese manufactured? where is the Westray Chutney Company?  Oddest thing: on an island of 588 people (they’re hoping to break 600 next year), when it came to local shops and manufacturers, truly nobody seemed to know where anything was. Yet I know they exist; I’ve bought all those products in Kirkwall.  (Westray Chutney Company purportedly produced the first local food I bought here in Kirkwall, Granny Reid’s Rhubarb Jam, so I knew it was a real company.  After blank stares from all the locals, we went to social media and drove to the three different locations for Westray Chutney that had shown up on the Internet – one was an unlabeled warehouse, one was a ruined barn, and for one, the road just stopped.  I’ve given up on Westray Chutney – I think it’s actually made in a factory in Wishaw.)

Then there was the ‘bistro’.  While we were perfectly okay having five of our meals at the Pierowall Hotel (the food was good), we thought we should mix it up a bit.  Jack’s Chippy didn’t open until Thursdays, ditto Groats Buckies (coffee shop inside the General Store).  But everyone mentioned ‘The Bistro’ – it would be open, it was nearby, we should try it.  We drove up and down and up and down that damned road at least five times – Pierowall only has one single, 1 kilometer-long road, but we could NOT see a bistro anywhere. Gave up and headed back to the hotel restaurant.

That evening we asked the proprietor of our B&B, who said, “oh, you mean the Saintear” and proceeded to give us perfectly clear, correct directions.  Not only had no one been able to point us in the right direction, not one other person on Westray had even used the actual name of the bistro; we honestly thought it was called ‘The Bistro’.

We never did make it there – by the time we knew where it was, we were ready to leave Westray.

I want to visit ten of Orkney’s islands by the end of the year – that was one of my New Year’s Resolutions, along with cook more types of seafood (doing pretty well there so far), and swear less (bit of a fail there,  dammit) – so LL & I headed off to the isle of Westray on the early morning ferry for a two-night stay in the town (village? hamlet? string of 25 buildings?) of Pierowall. 

Slightly questionable start to the trip – could not find an open cafe or coffee shop anywhere.  We saw the outside of a few, but none were open on a Monday morning.  Finally, at 10 o’clock, we stepped into what was going to be our gastronomic home for the next 60 hours: the Pierowall Hotel. Good coffee and fresh scones baked by the waitress’s mother that morning.

I hadn’t really done a lot of planning – everyone said check out Westray as it is known for its farms producing amazing cheeses and meats, so I figured it would become obvious what to do once we arrived.  But it really wasn’t all that obvious and we started debating only staying the one night, because what else were we going to do?

I did have a couple of guide books, and it was a sunny day, so we started driving.  OMG, what a beautiful island! Rolling hills, rocky shores, white, white sandy beaches, and cattle, sheep, ducks, & farms dotted about the countryside.   We wandered through the ruined Noltland Castle (its original owner sounded a real treat – jailed at least twice for plotting royal assassinations in at least two countries), a lighthouse, and a salmon farm, all before lunch.  Maybe we should stay the full two & a half days after all.

LL wants to try as many different types of Scottish and British foods as possible while she’s here.  We’ve made scallops and black pudding (neither of us can understand why they don’t leave the coral attached to the scallops back in North America, like they do here).  We’ve made lamb three different ways; she’s tried neeps (mashed turnip); Friday night was cod with samphire; and Sunday evening we made mince, neeps, and bubble & squeak. 

Cullen skink was a big hit, as was this morning’s kedgeree.

Also rans: Irn Bru, sticky toffee pudding, ox tongue, Marks & Spencer’s crisps, and her new absolute favourite: Cadbury’s Double Decker Chocolate Bars.

When I first arrived in Kirkwall, I saw, tucked away against a corner wall along the harbourfront, a tiny bar called The Standing Room Gin Bar.  I went onto Facebook, and it seemed it was exactly as it said on the label, a peedie wee bar only opened weekends, specializing in gin (among other things).  I thought it sounded intriguing, but I didn’t see a mention of dogs, and the idea of standing, all by myself, in a room than only takes 10 people, all of whom know each other, and drinking gin all alone, just wasn’t on.  When (a) Scout is with me, and (b) there are tables and chairs, I can sit comfortably in a pub, bury my nose in a book and wait for someone to come up and pet the dog. 

So I waited for LL to arrive to check The Standing Room out. Well, I needn’t have waited – it is delightful.  We went Saturday afternoon and just fell in love with the place.  A tiny, dark, wooden, quintessentially pubby inner room, and a light, pretty (not much bigger) covered patio.  It was only tourists that evening, we met a very nice young man from the Czech Republic, and while the owners weren’t there, Hazel was sooooo nice, and made us feel so welcome.  And, they love dogs.

And yes, I bet that as claimed, there were at least 150 different gins there.  Paradise, in a seven foot by twelve foot room.  My new ‘local’ going forward.

Scout is becoming quite the food snob. A couple of months ago, I bought a small container of duck pate – when I opened it, it turned out not to be to my taste. It wasn’t awful, but I didn’t like it and I have a rule about fattening food and alcohol. If I’m not really really enjoying it, I won’t eat it. As opposed to, say, more normal food like crackers, or maybe a tin of soup. If I truly hate the flavour of something , of course I won’t eat it, but if it’s just not my favourite, well, I won’t waste the food. I eat it and just don’t buy that brand again. Whereas with fattening foods or alcohol, if I’m not absolutely loving it, waste be damned – out it goes.

So back to the rich, fattening, but not greatest duck pate. I gave it to the dog. Not all at once, but for the last two weeks of March, her highness had a tablespoon of bloody expensive duck pate mixed into her kibble. (As my Dad used to say, “most spoiled dog in the world”.)

The other day LL & I bought some crab mousse. It was pricey, and from a well known high-end highland producer. But it tasted awful – it even smelled awful. Neither of us liked it. So LL did some research and yes, in small quantities, dogs can have crab. I put about a tablespoon in her breakfast just now. She won’t eat it. Just walked away. This is a dog who will eat roadkill and goose poop, and she’s turning her back on ‘Luxury Orkney Crab Terrine’.

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.