Tuesday 20
September 2005
Dutch Treat The landing at Sumburgh in Shetland is not quite so
sporty as yesterday s. I pick up my hire car and drive about a half a mile
before stopping to consult my map, intending to go to the Ness of Burgi. Look up
to see two people running toward me, waving. They turn out to be two pretty
young Dutch women, Vera and Rinske, who have been visiting Jarlshof and have
missed their bus. (To be quite plain, they are half my age or less.) "Are you
going to Lerwick?" They ask. "Uh, sure," I answer; likely I would say the same
if they asked to go to Mars. We start up the road, and I suggest that we visit
Scatness Broch, which sits not far from the end of the airport runway. The girls
walk up as I put my shoes on, but I don t see them as I visit the site. It s an
active archeological dig, with blue tarps, sandbags, and tires all over. The
half-hour visit ends at a reconstruction of a house and a talk with a costumed
interpreter. I step back into the trailer-housed gift shop, and am surprised to
find Vera and Rinske sitting with a cup of tea I d figured they d have found
themselves another ride by now. They had declined to pay the two pounds for
admission, having just seen Jarlshof, anyway.
As we drive up the road, I
ask them if they ve seen the broch on Mousa. They answer no, and I suggest we
take a walk to have a look. The ferry to the island has stopped running for the
season the second time I have just missed it so we walk up on the Wart, a hill
on the mainland side of the strait with a fine view over to Mousa, and then down
to the ruined broch on the near shore, to get as close a look as we can at
its nearly-complete counterpart across the water. The girls are lovely company,
bright and cheerful; they are both medical students, Vera studying in Edinburgh,
Rinske visiting from the Netherlands.
We arrive in Lerwick and I drop
them near the Co-op, and tell them that there are sessions at the Douglas Arms
tonight and at the Lounge Bar Wednesday. They seem interested and say they will
try to come.
No one is in at my guest house, but there is a note for me
on the door, written on a small envelope, with my room key inside. I guess it s
a little different here.
The Douglas Arms is a fairly handsome pub. The session is an informal
gathering of locals, for the most part three fiddles and a guitar. Cask-conditioned
ale, the wonderful and uniquely British product that you see dispensed by hand-pump,
is short on the ground here; there is a fairly new brewery up on Unst, the Valhalla
Brewery, but very few places in Shetland serve their product in the cask, and
they've all stopped for the season. I'm doomed to a week of Belhaven Best and
Tartan Special, draft beers which are okay. The Douglas has only a half a dozen
ordinary malts, as well. The Dutch girls don't show. I'm not surprised.
I meet two
older Canadian women (older than I am, anyway!) from Vancouver Island--Mary
Ellen from Comox, Sue from a small island not far from there. We haven't been
talking long when one says "You're the American who picked up the Dutch girls,
aren't you?" News travels fast in a small place! It turns out they are all
sharing a room in the local hostel. The girls were tired, they told me, else
they'd have come. Likely they'll be at the Lounge Bar tomorrow.
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