The Falkirk Wheel

On our way back to Edinburgh airport to return Nell, we went on a small nature walk, and then stopped by the Falkirk wheel for a boat-tour of a marvel of modern engineering.

The Falkirk wheel is . . . well, it's basically a boat elevator.

It replaces something like 9 traditional locks that were once required to move passenger and cargo boats across Scotland via series of inland canals. 

All those locks existed to to help move boats through a roughly 30 meter elevation change.

Navigating those locks used to take most of a day.

Now there are just two, one above, and one below, the Falkirk wheel.

The wheel itself cycles in just 5 minutes, and it runs on the energy required to boil about 8 kettles of tea.  The rest of the energy required is potential energy provided by the water flowing into the system, and the offset weight between each of the wheel's two gondolas.  It's pretty ingenious.

These people are starting to feel better after their ordeal.

It really is a very precise piece of machinery.

We grabbed a snack at the tourism information center and then hopped aboard a small diesel motored tourboat for a quick ride up the wheel, through a small tunnel (where we learned a bit about the Antonine wall, which I didn't know anything about prior to this tour), and then back through the tunnel and down again.

 

There was some delightfully weird statuary on hand. 

It was a really neat tour, and the views from the top of the wheel were pretty incredible, as it was a fairly clear day -- we could see almost all the way to Edinburgh proper.

It was also nice to be on a boat that didn't do anything too exciting.

 

Tour of an engineering marvel behind us, we zipped onward to the airport, returned Nell, and boarded a tram headed into Edinburgh.

Return to Aberdeen by way of THE HIGH SEAS

Farewell, Lerwick!

We boarded the Hrossey around 15:30 local time, and found our cabin (very near the bow of the ship) neat and tidy, with plenty of amenities that our pod-lounge had lacked -- including our own bathroom and a nice set of outlets to charge out devices.  Overconfident that everything would be just as delightful as it was 48 hours earlier when we'd come north, we made excited plans about what we might get for dinner as we went up to the viewing deck and watched Lerwick slip away off the boat's starboard side. 

These people have not looked at a sea conditions report

It's a beautiful town and the weather was brisk, mostly clear along the Shetland coast, so we lingered in the heavy wind and enjoyed the bracing air while it lasted, then headed below deck as it looked like there might be spot of light rain.

Our cabin had come with drink vouchers, and so we grabbed a couple of Brew Dog's excellent Black Heart, the stout Rachel had discovered on our trip north, excited to settle in and finish Master and Commander, a ridiculous movie we'd started a couple of days before and decided to break into segments.  As we were ordering our drinks we found ourselves swaying on our feet, as Hrossey got past the Sumburgh lighthouse we'd visited earlier and into the wider open water between Shetland and Orkney.

By the time we reached our cabin we were laughing to each other about how funny it felt to careen down a hallway so awkwardly, but we made it to our cabin and settled in to watch our movie.

We found this hallway's temporary gyrations very amusing. We were fools.

With two beers, two empty stomachs, and a movie about British and French frigates chasing each other in the dangerous, storm-tossed seas off the horn of South America.

We did not finish the movie, or our beers.

We skipped dinner entirely.

We did eventually manage to make it into our bunk beds and sleep, fitfully, and I awoke as the seas calmed when we approached Orkney around 23:00.  I staggered up to the bar and prevailed upon them for a panini and a Cider because I suspected that if my stomach remained that empty the resultant hunger stomachache would make the illness worse.  This proved true, I think, as I felt better once I had eaten and had a drink, and managed additional fitful sleep until morning.

I managed to snag breakfast for myself and toast for Rachel, who was still feeling very nauseated, and we recovered Nell, ourselves in much worse condition than we'd been 15 hours earlier when we'd left her.

We departed Aberdeen haggard, and with a drive before us that would end in another--much more sedate, and much shorter--boatride, but one with a remarkable twist.

Next stop, the Falkirk wheel.

The Shetland museum

Sadly, the Shetland Textile Museum was closed both Sundays and Mondays, an oversight on our part, but there were still a fair number of textiles, and lots of other cool things to learn, in the Shetland museum!

Remember what I was saying about Shetland Lace?  Check out this piece by the reception desk, just inside the door, which was a fantastic model ship made 100 years ago as part of a fundraiser, rediscovered by the model-makers great-granddaughter, who then worked with a craftsman to restore the body, and she knit the incredible lacework and made the sails to finish out the piece's second life.

Such detail!

We learned a lot of things along the way--the idea of using butter as currency, (and giving the lousy butter to the tax-man), both resonated with me.

Bog Butter and its many uses

This model wooden house was accompanied by an explanation that reminded me of the mail-order box-car kit houses that Sears, Roebuck & Co. used to sell in the USA.



 

The black veil was just gorgeous, I wish I had carried my "serious" camera with me to the museum.  It was so fine it was hard to photograph well with a smartphone.

Fun fact!  The Norse used silver bracelets as a form of transportable currency. 

Shetland is made up of so very many types of rocks.

The replicas of the Pictish treasure!

These are the Pictish treasures I mentioned earlier.  We had seen their burial place on St. Ninian's the day before.

Sadly, they weren't the originals because weirdly the originals are in Edinburgh, at the National Museum.  It felt like a strange case of intra-country colonialism, especially when we finally saw the original pieces a couple of days later, seeming a bit awkward and drab, devoid of their larger Shetlander context.

Full to the brim of interesting history about a tiny place full of lush and vibrant stories, we made our way back to Nell and eventually buried her (to a soundtrack of cacophonous beeps) in the hold of the MV Hrossey, another of the Northlink Ferries, which was to take us back to Aberdeen overnight.

Unbeknownst to us, we were going to have a swell time.

But not a swell time.  

If you get my drift.

A relaxing Monday morning in Shetland

One thing we had not yet had enough of on this particular journey was downtime -- Rachel and I are good at many things, but slowing down and chilling-out don't top the list.  Or even make the top ten, really.

So it was tbat on Monday we found ourselves moderately whelmed, and decided that -- instead of driving north as we'd thought we might -- we'd have a nice breakfast at our B&B, wander Lerwick, grab lunch, go to a museum, and then catch the ferry back to Edinburgh -- a leisurely day for us.

We had our third full-Scottish in a row at Alder Lodge, which was delicious, and also after two prior days of such fare, a bit -- uh, well just imagine me puffing out my cheeks and bugging out my eyes as I exhale, expressively.

 Phew.

Oh, after breakfast, we did get an explanation for the mystery of the Rick and Morty art.

See, when we'd checked in, we'd found ourselves staying in a thoroughly gutted and rebuilt hotel, full of weird hallways, nooks and crannies, with an odd numbering scheme -- up the main stairwell were rooms 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, and 9, and down a separate side hallway were 5, 7, 8, 9, and up a tiny back staircase were 10-13.

We were number 11, so we did some wandering before we found it, but also on the way to our room we were a bit flabbergasted to find this incredible piece of artwork in the landing of the back stairway which led to our room.

"That's, uhh, that is Rick and Morty, right?" I had said to Rachel at the time, as we clambered up the stairs, tired after our long day of exploring.
 

"Yes?  . . . They have to know that, right?"  She agreed, with more than a note of apprehension that maybe, in fact, they did not know that.

As we were checking out, we bumped into a guy in his 20s who was the son of the owners of Alder lodge.

So, of course, I asked about the art in the back stairway.

And in a delightfully Scottish brogue he explained "ohh, yeah, see, that's my brother's and he moved out of his apartment a while back, and my parents thought it was pretty, and hung it here while he was gone, because he works at sea, and when he came back last he saw they'd hung it and said "you know you're gonna have to take that down!" " 

Sometimes being a little out of touch really does a number on your decorating prowess.

Curiosity sated, we headed off, I went to try to get coffee at a little Japanese coffee place I'd seen on the way into town the day before and Rachel went to explore the local knitting shops.

Shetland is home to one of the finest (as in, most intricate patterns,with the most-narrow thread) of all knitting traditions. Shetland knit lace is mind-boggling -- shawls or bodices that take years to make, covered with lace that looks like it was made with spider silk and some sort of million-legged computer.  Rachel was interested in learning about the traditions and maybe undertaking such a project someday (because of course she is) and so wanted to learn a little about where to find wool-yarn spun fine enough to make such things.

I just wanted some coffee, and Showa's storefront had reminded me of Caravan Coffee, the lovely little coffee shop in Kustatsu, the Onsen-town that I had gone to with my friends during the Japan trip I took in 2018.

Luckily for me Showa didn't open on time, so I found myself wandering the walls of Fort Charlotte, the powerfully positioned defensive fortification overlooking the sound and Bresaay island, to Shetland's eastern coast.  The deep channel between Shetland and Bresaay is what makes such a good port, and so there's plenty of business harbor traffic here, and the fort was constructed to defend the area.  The replica cannon apparently were maintained in a blank-firing state as late as 1999, which I found intriguing.

 

The whole place was remarkable, in part because the Shetland weather is damp, and cool, and there are no trees, so every scrap of lumber is imported, which means almost everything in the town center here was made of stone 100+ years ago and is maintained well.  This means you can take a step, and the walls of Fort Charlotte can obscure a sign and a street full of cars, and suddenly it might as well be 1915, for all the difference you could make out from the buildings you can see.

 It's magical.

Rachel found a book on the lace styles and history of the knitting industry and economy of the island, and we repaired to a lovely coffee shop called Dowry's for a couple of drinks and to while away the morning, finally taking a breath after what felt like weeks.

Drinks

Additional Drinks.

When we got hungry, we started a walk back towards where we had left the car (a free parking lot near to the Shetland Museum), intending to try a Chinese restaurant we'd seen, but we were rebuffed as it was closed for renovations, so we wandered up the street, thinking maybe to find a lunch spot near the Indian restaurant where we had grabbed dinner the night before.

Remember Showa and how I said it was lucky they didn't open in time?

These Japanese Coffeeshop vibes are 11/10.

As we passed back by the storefront, Rachel pointed out the sign had been flipped to open, and we stuck our heads in to discover that: it was, indeed, open (!) AND they served a few lunch dishes (!!) and Fluffy Pancakes (which are basically a pancake souffle) (!!!).

The sandwiches were excellent

We ordered small sandwiches for lunch, Fluffy pancakes for dessert, and Rachel had an espresso.  As I had already hade a decently bracing flat white at our previous stop, I opted for a Babyccino (because who could resist ordering a thing with such a nonsensical name?) under speculation that it would either be (1) a tiny cappuccino or (2) a drink made for children who want to feel like they're drinking a grown up coffee with their parents but are too young to be allowed caffeine.

adorbs

I was absolutely thrilled to find out it was the second one.  It was frothed milk with a light dusting of hot chocolate powder and a couple of tiny marshmallows on top, and it was so twee it was hard to put it to words.

The Fluffy pancakes, also, were PERFECT.

Like, damn, they were so good.

So yeah, if you ever find yourself at the crossroads of the North sea and crave a tiny slice of Japanese coffee-shop cafe, stop in at Showa.  They will not disappoint.

Absurdly anachronistic lunch consumed, we headed off to the Shetland Museum.

Shetland Sunday- Jarlshof, James-Jim, and Puffins,

Despite relatively decent sleep as pod-people, we still woke a little groggy, and by the time we collected Nervous Nellie we were quite hungry.

We rolled into Lerwick (the sleepy little port town capital of Shetland) and I was very surprised by the size of it. Glancing at a Mercator projection of Scotland, you'd be forgiven for thinking Shetland was a remote spot of nothing, with a handful of intrepid settlers carving out a life.

 "And in the top right corner, you will see a place no-one would ever consider useful"

But the Mercator projection has always been a liar, and a proper look at a globe makes Shetland's population and development suddenly make a lot more sense, as it sits effectively at the crossroads for transport and logistics for all the industries of the North seas.

 

It's basically two days by sail between any two adjacent nodes in the network made up of Iceland, the Norwegian coast, The Faroe Islands, Shetland, and Orkney.

In other words: Viking ships could make the trip from Norway to Iceland in a week.  Modern craft can do it in a couple of days. That whole network centers on Shetland.

 Even so, on a quiet Sunday morning in a working town, there aren't many open restaurants.

But a short googling did eventually deliver us down a small side alley near the old town centre and into a proper hole in the wall called "The New Harbour Cafe".

This was ideal.

We were both craving a full Scottish breakfast (even though we had the same the day before in Ballachulish) and a cup of instant coffee plus an an absolutely unreasonable plate of food (that their menu comically labeled the "Small breakfast") was just the ticket. I added black pudding to mine, because I am a danger to myself and shouldn't be allowed to order food unsupervised.

"Small"

After our feast we headed south. There's a remarkable piece of farm bath the southern tip of the island called Jarlshof, on which sit several different layers of incredibly well-preserved archeology, stretching back a couple of thousand years.

The site itself is super cool, and not just because reaching it involves DRIVING ACROSS AN ACTIVE RUNWAY WHAT THE HELL (I'll post pictures of this later, if I remember to get them from Rachel).

You have the chance to wander through ancient pre-Norse (Pictish and Iron Age Shetlander) buildings, as well as the stone long-houses the Norsemen built after they conquered the area (and enslaved the pre-Norse population) (stone because there aren't really trees on Shetland to speak of so basically all timber has to be imported).  Our tickets included a  fantastic audio guide, which did a great job of directing us around the location and contextualizing the various pieces of rubble into a relatively cohesive narrative. It was neat to be able to listen to a section and then discuss with someone else for a bit.

In addition to being an excellent site, we made an excellent acquaintance.  

The 50-something ticket seller/park guide who sold us our tickets (labeled by his sharpie-defaced nametag as "James Jim") asked us about our plans and when we admitted we were winging it, he said "hmm, well alright there are some things you should do, come back when you return your audio guides" and when we returned, he chatted with us a bit about American history.  

A great-ancestor of his was a cotton smuggler who was engaged in running the blockade during the civil war to get southern cotton out of the US to feed London's desperately underfed textile factories (which were fueled, prior to the outbreak of the war, on a steady diet of southern cotton). And then, awkward conversation about massive death tolls and war-profiteering behind us, he snagged a paper map and a pen and gave us some fantastic advice about the main island and where to spend our time over the course of the day.  

Some options. we chose "B"

It was super thoughtful and helpful, in giving us a sense that we weren't wasting the day, and his first recommendation (that we continue with to the Sumburgh lighthouse visible from Jarlshof) was a great one especially, as it meant we got to see a particular creature neither of us had ever seen outside a zoo before, which we had been excited to learn we might be able to see in person at this time of year.

The Sumburgh lighthouse was also a very cool site.

In addition to a very neat exhibit about the lighthouse itself (including details of both the foghorn engine, only blown now twice a year for reasons of tradition, (to scare the shit out of the wild birds) and the automation process of the North Sea lighthouses (a man and his wife currently provide maintainance service to all 37 North Sea Island lighthouse locations, and he has been doing the job since the sixties)), it also had an exhibit about the radar station that was built there during WW2, which helped provide vital warning services about Luftwaffe raids on the British Naval fleet in the North Sea.

Foghorns driven by room-sized steam powered pressure tanks: The absolute latest in 120 year old Bird-Terrifying Technology.

This is a bit of a faux-pas, since they built the station 4 meters from the base of the lighthouse itself, and lighthouses are considered a No Strike List item, like hospitals. Essentially you're using, as a human shield, not just the life of the lighthouse's operator (in the 40s it was still manned) but also the lives of every sailor and passenger on every ship that might pass through those waters.

Fun fact! Blowing one of these up is a war-crime.

In any case, I've saved the best about the location for last, and that's this: the site has excellent cliff faces, perfect for hosting a variety of wild birds, the most charming of which, by far, were Puffins.

 

Oh hello.

 

 

Don't mind us.

I do not carry a camera lens suitable for good wildlife photography when I travel (because they are heavy and large and expensive), which is a bit of a shame because this location was perfect for getting a good look at the weird little fellows.  

hmph.

They are burrowing, cliff-dwelling birds.  They carve out little hollows in the soft earth near the top of the cliffs, and that's where they make their nests.

Situation normal. Nothing to see here.

And it would appear they have the aerodynamics of a nerf football-- while the Sea-Gull like Kittiwakes soar into flight with one or two flaps of their wings, coasting on the breezes, every time the Puffin hurls itself from the cliff face you'd think it was the last time, their tiny wings pump like mad when they fly and they look impossibly incapable of ever generating enough lift and energy to get themselves back UP to the crazy places they choose to roost.

Every Puffin who has ever watched Princess Bride has seen Wesley clambering up the Cliffs of Insanity and thought "oh those would make a great neighborhood to raise a family."

They were delightful.

After our lighthouse visit, we snagged a bite to eat, drove back across the runway that bisects this part of Shetland (I've driven on flightlines before, but never actually driven directly on the runway! Wild.) and then followed the route  "James Jim" had recommended up the Eastern Coast of the island, stopping for a walk at "St. Ninians Island" where we stumbled across another archeology site, where a Pictish church once stood, and where a treasure was discovered in the mid 1950s containing dozens of beautiful silver artifacts dating from the middle ages of years earlier.

(We got to see replicas of those artifacts in the Shetland museum -- which I'll tell you about in the next entry -- because the originals have been whisked away to the Scottish national museum in Edinburgh.)

After our pleasant little walk around the "island" we drove out to another small beach which took us past Scalloway castle (built by slave labor in the service of a real bastard of a man named Patrick Stewart at the end of the 1500s).

This was a good drive, even though we were quite tired by this point, because it gave us the best opportunities to snag a few picture of roadside ponies.

Shetland ponies have long ago adapted to their environment and as a result they are (like Shetland sheep, pigs, and cows) smaller--and significantly fuzzier--than their southern counterparts. We snagged a few pictures to price that we actually seen them.

Smol horse are smol

Majestic. 

We were fast running out of steam at this point, and it was getting late on the afternoon, so we headed back to Lerwick and checked into our B&B (Alder House Lodge) and then then went out for dinner at a local Indian restaurant, which was delicious, and grabbed a beer at the local dive bar, which was charming but also involved (of course) getting into a conversation about Trump almost as soon as we sat down. Having thus paid our social dues we also made some small talk about the weather, finished our beers, and strolled back through the charming streets of Lerwick for a quiet night of rest.

We checked once more, just before midnight, to see if we'd have any luck with the Northern Lights, but Shetland is at a latitude of about 60 degrees, which means in the summer there's very little hope of proper-dark, ever.

The sun never really sets. It just waits.