It seems the farther away you get from London, the quieter the celebrations were (that could also be a factor of population density as opposed to distance). Orkney’s festivities included school outings, a parade, a church service, and a community picnic.

I was going to take Scout to the community picnic in front of St Magnus Cathedral (Scout is always a hit at a picnic), and even went so far as to make Coronation Egg Salad Sandwiches (egg, mayo, curry powder, & mango chutney) and pack a bottle of upscale tonic water (mint & cucumber seemed appropriately royal).

It took a while to get to the cathedral, as there were a couple of cruise ships in town, and once we got there the lawn was pretty full of families picnicking. Instead we headed to the harbour, found a bench, and sat in the warm sunshine, admired the view, and said hello to passersby.

This little guy just flew into my patio doors as I was having my morning tea. Scout is sitting watching him recover, doubtless wishing him well. It’s been about 20 minutes now, and he’s moved from stunned, dazed, and splayed on the top step; to stunned, confused, and upright on the middle step; to sore, walking, and cautious on the patio. He’s a blackbird, even though he is brown. I assumed, based on my now vast knowledge that he was a female (female blackbirds are brown) or possibly even a young starling, but The Orkney Book of Birds, Pocket Edition, assures me that he is a juvenile blackbird (turdus merula).

As you can see from my knowledgeable analysis above, I have become a bit of a birdwatcher here. It’s practically impossible not to be. At home I did like watching the birds in my yard and my neighbourhood, and was particularly fond of the great blue heron in our pond, as well as last year’s common tern. But here, well, the skies are just full of them (duh) and as many of them are different from home, it’s hard not to start trying to identify them. I even bought the aforementioned Orkney Book of Birds. Obviously the puffins were a big deal, and LL took to calling the massive rookery at the end of my street the Forest of Doom due to the sheer number of crows (excuse me, rooks and jackdaws as locals have corrected me – but I have made a point of not correcting them when they speak of Canadian Geese – no one likes a know-it-all).

I’m enjoying all my sightings in the back garden, or my walks along the shore, or hiking in the hills. But I will never be a twitcher. There are almost as many twitchers scouring the islands as there are cruise-ship tourists scouring the local shops. But the massive binoculars look heavy, the attire is just not moi, and you will never catch me hunched down in a boggy blind waiting for a sighting of a Bean Goose or a Long-tailed Tit.

*As I am typing this, my little kamikaze buddy has hopped off into the grass and is now hidden up in the leaves of my laburnum tree.

After Skye, we headed across country to Stirling, then south to our last stop, a hotel near the outskirts of Edinburgh (more on that later). I kept telling LL that one of our choices on the way was to stop and see the Falkirk Kelpies, giant metal horse statues. Each time I mentioned them she would shrug and say, “yeah, sure, okay”. Clearly not into going, but as I was driving, she had little choice.

I’d never seen them, but I did have some idea of what to expect, so as we were driving south down the M9 motorway, I caught a glimpse of metal over the trees to the right and said, “I think that’s them.” Just then the trees cleared a bit and LL cried out, “W#@! . . .T%# . . . F*$!” She had just seen the top of the 100′ (yes, one hundred foot) metal horseheads at The Helix park in Falkirk looming over the motorway. It seems when I described them as giant horse statues, she was expecting maybe a 10′ tall bronze statue of a horse, like the Duke of Wellington’s statue in London. So, she was lukewarm at best. Well, that all changed.

Helix Park was amazing. Like so many Scottish monuments, parks, and museums, it’s free. The giant park is full of walkways through the meadows and marshes; there are little canals with narrowboats and unmanned canal locks; and you can wander hectares of woodland and open fields.

And there are the Kelpies. The story and facts behind them are very interesting, but no amount of information or photos can prepare you for actually being there. What an excellent second last day in Scotland for LL.

It came time for LL to leave Orkney – we spent the last few days there exploring Stromness and Kirkwall and I now have at least three new ‘my locals’ to visit with Scout (they’re not all bars; one is a café, to be clear). Tomorrow afternoon I think I’m going to sit in front of the fire at The Storehouse and have the duck starter as a ‘wee treet’ – it was heavenly last week.

So off we headed to the highlands & west islands – areas I have either never been to, or at least not for a long time. Day One: Eilean Donan was beautiful – it’s one of the first images you see when you google ‘Scotland’ and it is in every Scottish calendar. Every year. You can see why.

Then Skye – my last visit here was a bit of a, well, disaster is too harsh a word. 20+ years ago sibling 1 and took the ferry to Skye. We didn’t know quite what to do once we got there, and there were cars behind us, so we just drove. We drove for about 20 minutes until we came to a fork in the road, then pulled over into a lay-by and ate a couple of apples. Then we kept driving, and next thing we knew, 15 minutes later, we’d reached the bridge at the Kyle of Lochalsh, and that was it – we’d done Skye. The 2nd largest island in the U.K. In about 45 minutes.

But this was different – what a beautiful island! Every corner you turn is a different landscape. This time around was still too short a visit, but at least we had fresh oysters and a langoustine dinner at the Oyster Shed, then hiked to the Fairy Pools near Glenbrittle, then drove through Sleat, the ‘Garden of Skye’. I would have like to make it as far north as Edinbane, but next trip, I guess. Finally we watched the sunset from a large glassed-in terrace in Mallaig. Just magical.

*Oh, between Skye and Westray I have learned at least one new lesson: I cannot hike with Scout. Either she’s lunging after birds, or pulling in the wrong direction on a rocky path. All I know is: walks? yes. Hikes? no.

Just to wrap up our trip to Westray. We LOVED it.

The only place we ate our lunches & dinners was the Pierowall Hotel – someone mentioned that they couldn’t justify a ‘real chef’ there; it was the owners doing the cooking – well, those owners are pretty close to ‘real chef’ status – the meals were excellent, and the staff was great.

The scenery was spectacular – even though it’s only 20km from the Mainland, it is a different looking island. Cliffs to the north, huge snowy white sandy beaches at the southern end, sea stacks along the shore, and low rolling hills in between.

Their Heritage Centre was one of the most impressive community museums I have ever seen. Informative, interactive, and interesting. Noltland Castle, the Wheeling Steen Gallery, the lighthouse, – all more than worth the time we spent there.

No 1 Broughton Bed & Breakfast was the best B&B I can remember staying in. (I know, I know, I’m throwing al lot of superlatives around here, but they are warranted). The rooms were spotless and beautifully decorated, and the host Jerry made us feel most welcome. The remarkable, interesting, and very varied art on the walls was all done by him, as were the absolutely delicious breakfasts (LL’s first kedgeree – she loved it). I can’t wait to take more visitors to stay there.

We met a number of locals (pop. 588), many of whom are what Newfoundlanders would call ‘come from away’, and their stories are all very interesting: choosing to leave one life in England or Scotland, and create a new one here. LL is a much more spiritual person than I (not a high bar to clear, I know), and I am more pragmatic. But we both felt the pull of this island – I’m not sure I could make it my permanent home, but it is easy to see why these people did.

We were sad to leave Westray – I will be back. This is definitely a spot I will be taking any visitors coming to Orkney.

In the UK, when a car pulls over, or stops to let you by, you give the the two-finger wave. Not THAT two-finger wave – you lift the first two fingers of the hand that’s on the steering wheel about an inch above the steering wheel to say thank you. You will get a nod or a finger lift in return from the other driver.

But on the island of Westray, everybody waves to everybody. Everybody. It is such a factor of the culture that it was even referenced in some of the guidebooks. This doesn’t happen elsewhere in Orkney. My drive to Tesco might include one or two little thank-you salutes, but the only people I wave to are friends or acquaintances. But in Westray, every single solitary driver or pedestrian waves to everyone they pass (I’m not sure about cyclists – as I was passing them I was concentrating more on not sweeping them under the car or knocking them in a ditch, than I was on hand gestures).

It is such a friendly, lovely custom – makes you feel immediately part of the community. I miss it now that I’m back on the Mainland.

Earlier this year I shared some key pointers on how to make yourself an absolute treat of a guest in someone’s home. Allow me now to educate you on how to be the best host possible.

When you have someone coming to stay for a few days, first you must set the stage. Make sure your Hoover is broken beyond repair. Then shave your dog in the living room. After you’re done fluff-plucking to make the carpet somewhat presentable, it is time to clean the bare floors, which is when you remember the broom supply-chain fail last fall. (Seriously. When I arrived in October, there were no long-handled brooms in the four stores I looked in (Tesco, Lidl, and the only two hardware stores I knew of in town at that point). They explained that they couldn’t get any; the supply chain was held up due to COVID/Brexit. Really.) So for the first months here, I kept my floors clean with a combination of hand whisk & dustpan, followed by the hardwood extension on the vacuum, then mopping. Worked a charm, so I never did get a full-sized broom. But you’re seeing where this is going, aren’t you? No Hoover – dirtier floors. Also, be sure to wash your sandy dog in the shower. Okay, stage set, let’s go.

An ideal host has activities for her guests. One activity is vacuuming. Her first week in your house (which remember, hasn’t seen a vacuum in at least 3 weeks), buy a new vacuum, preferably heavier than the old one, assemble it, and take it into the bedroom. As you tackle the carpet in there, be sure to complain long and loud about how hard and heavy it is. Then, when your guest offers to do the living room carpet for you, mumble a faint, “oh no, you don’t have to”, then sit down at your desk and surf the net while she struggles with the heavy mower vacuum on a well trampled, well dirtied carpet. It’s fun.

Be sure to spend lots of time wiping the kitchen counter, and going online to check the weather – it sends the message that you are very busy looking after your guest’s comfort. Hopefully that will prompt her to, entirely of her own volition, lift out and clean your truly, truly disgusting sand & hair filled shower trap. Don’t tell her about the Marigolds (yellow rubber gloves in the UK are called Marigolds) under the kitchen sink until she’s almost done. And don’t stop her – she’s having fun. (Honestly, it was the grossest thing I’ve ever seen and I once had a baby throw up on me as I was changing his extremely full diaper. Just sayin’.)

Now, if you really want to go above and beyond as a host, every time your dog comes up to you to be petted, nudge her towards your guest who is reading quietly on the sofa. And be sure to position grooming tools just within your guest’s reach, allowing her to work out all those matted clumps behind your dog’s ears. It’s the least you can do.

For those of you planning on visiting me, you will see I go out of my way to be the ideal host and make my guests’ holidays more special – can’t wait to welcome you here!

I mentioned a few weeks ago that in Orkney each month of the year has its own flower.

Obviously, I do know that flowers are seasonal; you won’t see forsythia in bloom in October back home, and the flowers on the caryopteris in my garden won’t be showing up until August. But the sheer profusion of flowers in Orkney – gardens, ditches, fields, window boxes, parks, even the cracks in the corners of parking lots are just jammed full – means each new bloom is so, just so . . there.

May is bluebells – the town is awash and they look lovely.

I have seen puffins at Birsay, a little island you can walk to at low tide, just off the mainland (quite near Twatt).  But the guide book assured us that Westray was THE place to see puffins.  Most particularly some sea stacks called the Castle o’Burrian.  The guide book also assured us that the signs marking the road to the cliffs and the Castle o’Burrian were large, colourful, and easy to spot.  Hmm. Much like the directional abilities of the locals, the signage left a little to be desired.  You be the judge.

However, we did indeed find the path to the cliffs.  We did make it to the Castle o’Burrian, but there were no puffins to be seen.  Arctic terns, shags, fulmars, and gulls; the cliffs were covered in them.  But zero puffins.  It seems they head out to sea at just about the time we arrived.  Sigh.  We could have kept walking to the next set of cliffs, but  stupidly, I had taken Scout.  Big mistake.  I had her in such a choke hold for fear of her lunging at the birds (she really does not know how cliffs work) that continuing was useless.

We went back the next day.  LL was on a mission.  She had not travelled 8,550 km not to see a puffin.  We left the dog in the car and LL pretty much frog-marched us back to the Castle o’Burrian.  And there they were.  Puffins. We saw them in nests, on outcroppings, swooping to the sea, and one little guy let us get within about 5 metres to take the picture below.

It was well worth the second trip (but I still say this island is directionally challenged).

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.