See the Scenery

See the Scenery


It occurred to me last night, as I lay in the hostel listening to revelers leave the bar, that I had done a very poor job as an artist – that is, that I hadn’t painted any scenes for you. So here goes.
The Orkney Islands are devoid of trees. I don’t know if it ever had them or not (what did the place look like, back when it had a Mediterranean climate??), or whether the weather is simply too unkind, either way, the view is one of green hills, that somehow manage to not look desolate. There are little crofts that are scattered over the island, abandoned and slowly falling to decay…..even they don’t look desolate….more intriguing, or quaint, or romantic…..but not desolate. This may also be attributed for the lovely weather we scored. By lovely, I mean that we never got caught in a heavy downpour, and that on more than a few occasions we had the sun actually shine on us. The wind was chilly when it blew, but we were even lucky enough to not have as much of that as we are lead to believe is common on the islands.
I also need to paint grass for you. It would be such a shame, if when I spoke of ‘grass’ - be it here, in the Borders, or even back in England- you pictured buffalo grass, or some kind of cooch. Firstly, paint it green. Not a washed out lime, but a full of energy dark green, then add sheen. It is shiny. Glossy. Chances are that it has, after all, been washed by rain rather recently, so it looks shiny clean. Now add about six inches to the length of lawn. There seems to be two kinds, one a flat, narrow blade, and the other, like super fine, non-pointy pine needles. Both reach a height where they bow down under their own weight making a very inviting sort of cover. But wait there’s more…even when there is not more….Firstly, there is usually a whole ‘nother layer beneath the long grass, that is made up of mosses, tiny ground covers, and a blend of other friendly weeds, like clover, dandelion etc. This adds a sponge like layer, that means when you walk on the grass, it is like walking on a gym mat, and when sitting on it, like plonking yourself on a cushion…a damp one, I grant you….but a cushion non the less. The interesting thing is that when there is NOT a layer of ground cover underneath, and you can just see the dark dirt underfoot; it is still springy. It is as if all of the centuries of plant matter, growing and then dying, and all of the water, constantly soaking into it, has created one big sponge. I suppose this is worse in the hills, but I can’t think of anywhere that we have walked, where this hasn’t been the case. In fact, in the hills, you are more likely than not to get wet shoes or feet, because the ground is so water logged, that when you step on the grass, your foot sinks deep into water-logged soil.
Before catching the ferry, we drove through Kirkwall, and stopped quickly at the cathederal. Unfortunately, this is a picture I just can not paint for you. I have neither the education nor the vocabulary to do it. Suffice to say it was impressive without being grandiose. It was provincial looking, but in no way simplistic. It was highly detailed craftsmanship, but not intricately fussy.
The ferry ride was most enjoyable as we lunched on board on our sandwiches, and tried the smoked cheese on oat crackers that we had purchased in Orkney, and tried the yummy rose lemonade.
I was most impressed that we met our agenda of visiting both the Castle of Mey, and Mary-Anne’s cottage. I may have mentioned that the Castle of Mey was the Queen Mother’s personal residence – bought specifically by her, when the place was on a waiting list to be knocked down. Rumor has it that it cost her 100 pounds, the price that the wrecking was due to cost. There is no proof of that but it makes an interesting story. The place has been left as it was when she lived there. Including her coat and hat on the downstairs chair, and her hob nail gum boots. Apparently Charles and Camilla were there only a couple of weeks ago. I don’t know how they normally live, but I shouldn’t be surprised if to them, Mey feels like slumming it. It feels a bit old. Normal really. Far too normal for a royal residence. Haha! Normal for a castle? I don’t know what I am going by as it has been ages since I lived in a castle. Ha! I simply mean that there are cement floors in some parts, and paint that is cracking and peeling. There is a sort of coldness and oldness in the furnishings which I don’t imagine the royal family to be used to. But maybe they are. Maybe everyone has a grandma’s house to visit, that feels like this one. I suppose when you look at it that way, it is exactly how the Queen Mum’s residence should be. Had a lovely guide there, by the way. Full of first hand info.
Mary-Anne’s cottage was the extreme other end of the social scale, as it was a crofter’s cottage that had remained fairly unchanged for the last 150 years. She had inherited it from her Dad, and even though she married and had a child, she didn’t like change, therefore, a visit is mostly a step back into the not-so-distant past. (Reminded me strongly of Petticoat lane, crossed with the sheds at Dergholm). Shane and I were a little on edge because the kids were allowed to touch things, and one is just waiting for the moment when something that has survived 150 years of farming life, and a decade of tourist visits, is destroyed in one foul moment, at the hands of one of your children. The worst that happened was when Sam and Lilli ran up to the quite large pile of peat, piled pyramid style on the front lawn. Sam grabbed a block on the corner, about half way up and gave it a little wiggle. By coincidence I looked up at that moment, and can vouch for him, that it really was no more than a little tap…..but down she came. Peat tumbled on top of peat and the lovely neat tower lost its corner, down the slope of the lawn. Ooops! How I wish we could have seen Sam’s face. I imagine that his eyes opened as wide as they could possibly go, while his mouth dropped open in horror. He froze, and must have been waiting for the peat to stop, and his parents to start. All he got was a mild sort of tut tut, and was made to help put things as right as we could.
We stopped the night at Durness, in a nice little b and b where they let us all squeeze in together. The cooked breakfast was a welcome start to the day, and we have since then been traveling. We visited the Smoo Cave (in Durness) which was speccy in its location and lay out. It has a gaping huge mouth, looking out into a bay. Running into the back of the cave is a water fall, whose waters pool in the cave, and then run out in a stream, across the rocks and out into the bay. We sat in a rubber dingy and had a little look around. The cavern is basically underneath one of the hills which make up the highlands, and so the water that runs down into it, is very brown in colour, the result of having filtered its way through so much peat. Apparently it is this ‘Peaty’ water that makes Whisky so good…
Cocoa Mountain also made it onto our visit list, as part of an artistic community in Durness. The Village was not pretty, but the people who choose to live there, an eclectic and talented bunch. We ended our tour at the Cocoa Mountain shop, if for no other reason than that they had soy milk. That is a big deal here. Fortunately, coffee shops haven’t been a big part of our travels, but had they been, I would be really sick of black tea by now…
The rest is scenery. Driving around and oohing and aahing at the achingly beautiful scenery. People kept telling us that the West Coast is their favourite part of Scotland. That its coastline is rugged and wild. The Highlands stunning. On our way north, I confess that I didn’t really expect too much. ‘People’ were right though. It surprises me that hills where trees refuse to grow can be so lovely to look at, but they are. There is a sort of greyness to it all. Rock exposed along the tops and in various places on the slopes, and where there is not rock, the dull purple of heather, and above it all, cloudy skies. But somehow this is beautiful….and then the sun comes out and POW, it takes your breath away. The colours brighten. The loch that seconds ago made a still mirror of silver, becomes a vibrant reflection in technicolour. Or choppy grey waters become a deep, dark blue. There is so much water everywhere that I frequently do not know if I am looking at a loch or a firth. The roads are winding their way amongst it all, like a show ride through God’s best theme park…only there are no tracks keeping your car on the path, and when one comes the other way, you need to make a spot to squeeze past one another….maybe He could work on that!
Tonight we are back in Bonar Bridge, and tomorrow we head to somewhere near Skye. It will be a day of more driving and looking, as opposed to getting out and doing. The kids probably don’t enjoy this as much, but in fairness are traveling really well – I just wish we had a cassette other than the Goon Show to listen to – perhaps a second hand shop may be worth a visit some time soon. I guess I will write when we have braved the midges on Skye, to tell you about that. Midges are awful by the way. Truly awful. You could simply suck them up your nose they are so small, light and thick in the air. Worse than mozzies. At least you can have a good go at smacking a mozzie out of its existence, but midgies…it is like trying to swat a spec of dust, whilst you are standing in a dust storm. I think the best plan is to just turn and run, but don’t scream or you will end up swallowing a good few dozen.