12 October 2006

October

S	M	T	W	T	F	S
		3	4	5	6	7
8	9	10	11	12	13	14
15	16	17	18	19	20	21
22	23	24	25	26	27	28
29	30

Thursday 12 October 2006--We breakfast this morning with Andy, a retired gentleman from Northern Ireland, who does a bit of B&B in his cottage just outside Stromness. He does not advertise, but gets all the bookings he can handle from Doris at the Orca Hotel, when she is booked up. Indeed, she sent us here when we rang the bell at 9:00 last night. After checking in with him, we returned to town for refreshment at the Stromness Hotel. We were disappointed, again, to find that the Stillroom, the little whisky bar off the main lounge, is closed for the season. We consoled ourselves with the stock in the main bar, and pints of Red MacGregor from the Orkney Brewery.

Andy is an affable chap who tells us that his retirement is not so quiet. During the Folk Festival, he says, he had people sleeping on his living room floor. He hadn't the heart to turn them away, and the house had become a bit of a festival in itself.

This morning we drive to Houton, intent on either going to Hoy on the little ferry that departs from there, or booking the trip for tomorrow. I have in mind to repeat the walk Win and I took in 2002, to view the Old Man of Hoy. Unfortunately, the ferry is heavily booked; we could go over tomorrow, and come back today, if only we could master Einsteinian physics. But we cannot do both in one day. The Old Man of Hoy is the one thing Ron has asked specifically to see in Orkney, so this is probably the sharpest disappointment yet. Ron bears it with his usual good humor.

We juggle the itinerary. Had we landed at St Margarets Hope last night, as originally scheduled, we'd have gone to the Tomb of the Eagles first thing this morning. We'll go back to that plan. But first, we visit the little Orkneyinga Museum and adjacent Round Church at nearby Orphir.

The Round Church was built in the late 11th or early 12th century, at the height of the Norse regime in Orkney. It is almost heartbreaking to learn that it stood nearly complete until the mid-18th century, when much of the stone was pilfered to build a new parish church. Ironically, no trace of the later church survives.

Adjacent to the church lie the foundational remains of the Earl's Bu, or drinking hall. It was uncovered in the mid-19th century, thanks to clues gleaned from the Orkneyinga Saga. The museum adjacent contains signboards and a short video explaining the Orkneyinga Saga and the reign of the Vikings in Orkney.

From Orphir, we skirt the southern edge of Mainland, the main island of Orkney. Not far from Kirkwall, we have a look at the Scapa distillery, which lay disused and in sad shape the last time I passed by here. It's running again, fixed up and slathered with whitewash, but is not as yet taking visitors. From the beach below, the warehouses seem to glow in the southern sun.

We drive down across the Churchill Barriers to South Ronaldsay, stopping briefly in St Margarets Hope to get a look at the village where we were supposed to spend last night. When we arrive at Liddel Farm, near to Orkney's southernmost point, I note that there have been improvements since I last visited the Tomb of the Eagles in 1998. There is a new building housing the museum; it used to be in the Simisons' front porch. The displays are much more professional, showing the various artefacts found in the archeological digs on the property. The tomb was discovered in 1958 by Ronnie Simison, and his daughter explains to us the peculiar legal loopholes that allowed him to excavate and develop the site privately. The Simison family have done a splendid job.

We walk out along the cliffs toward the tomb. It's a warm and sunny day, if a bit hazy. We've been told to watch out for a newborn seal on the beach at one of the geos (inlets). We spot it, and watch as it clumsily flops over the shingle and enters the water, bobbing in the surf as it moves offshore.

The tomb sits above the cliffs, a great view for the dead. Archeologists have determined that bodies were left out in the elements to be excarnated by sea eagles, after which the bones were interred. This is apparently very similar to the customs of the aboriginal peoples of the American Northwest. The passage is low and narrow, and access is eased by the use of a dolly. We take turns lying on our backs and pulling ourselves along the rope. As is the case with most such tombs, the top has long ago collapsed, and been replaced with a concrete cap. This is a stalled tomb--the main chamber is divided by upright slabs forming doorways of a sort. There are side chambers where the bones were placed. One of these has a plastic window covering it, behind from which several skulls grin out at us. These dudes, like the fellow shown to us in the museum, are about 5,000 years old (except that Bachelor Number Two is a ringer, a modern skull placed for comparison).

We return along the inland path, and I am pleased to see Ronnie Simison still explaining the Bronze Age house to tourists, his border collie still patrolling the perimeter. Mr Simison is soft-spoken with a strong Orcadian accent, so I don't catch everything he says, but I don't really care. I'm just glad he's still there. He is interested in our account of the baby seal; it may be that we have seen its first swim.

Driving back north, we stop on the tiny island of Lamb Holm to visit the Italian Chapel. I described it thus in 2002: "It’s a touching place, a house of worship built from a Nissen hut (that’s a Quonset hut to us Yanks) by Italian prisoners of war, whose labor was being used to build the Churchill Barriers during World War II. It’s a thing of beauty made from virtually nothing, with a false façade and a trompe-l’oeil interior." I'm feeling a bit groggy, and I've been here before, so I leave Ron to check it out while I take a quick nap in the car.

When he returns, we drive across the causeway to Mainland and head to the easternmost peninsula, Deerness. At the end of the road, there is a car park, and from there it is a short walk to the Gloup. This is a long, narrow sea cave whose roof collapsed long ago. Waves rush in along the length of it and thunder in the hole at the end.

A scenic walk along the cliffs brings us to the Brough of Deerness. There are remnants of a chapel and settlement on the brough, although not a lot, really. It's believed to have been a pre-Norse ecclesiastical site. Whatever...it's the setting that is spectacular.

We leave Deerness and head into Kirkwall, Orkney's largest town, where we find our room at Eastbank House. I've not stayed here before, but chose it because our host is the ebullient Malcolm, Doris' former boyfriend. They have split up, but are still business partners. We learn from Malcolm that we were fortunate to have seen Doris last night, because she and her new boyfriend and Malcolm and his wife are all flying out in the morning for a holiday together in some sunny part of Europe. Actually, I doubt any part of Europe was sunnier today than Orkney.

Still more disappointment this evening! I knew that there had been a fire at the Bothy Bar in the Albert Hotel, but it was over a year ago, and I'd assumed that they'd be reopened long since. It's not the case. The Bothy was the only really good pub in Kirkwall, and the one place that would be serving cask ale. Malcolm says that he and other regulars wandered the streets like zombies after the fire, unsure where to go. We try the West End Hotel, which has a hand pump, but it is out of service. Dinner is fine, and we try a couple other hotel bars before retiring for the night. For all the juggling of plans, we got a lot in today.

Next