A Nightmare, Then A Dream Come True

Today we depart for Orkney, an island off the north coast. I'm up early to reassemble all my luggage and get it packed into the car. I even take the car for a spin down the hill to make sure the tire pressure has held, and it looks good. I go to Taylor's room, and find him also getting his luggage together, so we start to load his stuff into the car as well. While in the parking lot, Taylor gets cornered into a conversation with the elderly man who unsuccessfully attempted to abandon his hot mess of a drunk partner at the lodge the night before. He's sweet, but a bit of an over-sharer, and discloses that his wife died of COVID earlier in the year, and his new girlfriend is an alcoholic and a handful to deal with. We saw them sitting together during breakfast and she seemed completely normal, but we know from her dramatic behavior the night before that she is a volatile person. The man tells us they're also departing for Orkney that day, but doesn't even seem to know the details of the ferry they'll take or how long it takes to get there. Once we're in the car, I say that I doubt they'll make it on time.

We leave Strathpeffer and start an astonishing drive along the northeast coast. We cross a couple of long bridges, pass by ruins of small castles, lighthouses, and stop in the little fishing village of Dunbeath for a pee. Everywhere we look is beautiful. The north sea shines gray in the distance and steep, green-clad cliffs drop into it. Cows and sheep pepper nearly every field along the way. The roads are narrow and winding, as usual, and in certain places it takes a lot of concentration to navigate them.

The route from Strathpeffer to Kirkwall

Rolled bales of hay in a green field

Very rural road conditions

Dunbeath Bay

About seven miles south of Wick, a large truck in the oncoming lane cuts into mine, and I have to move a couple of inches onto the gravel shoulder to avoid colliding with him. This is apparently enough to pop one of the shitty tires on this godforsaken car, and the tire pressure immediately and rapidly starts dropping on the dash sensor. We're supposed to be at the ferry terminal in Gills Bay in a little over an hour. I've even booked us a spot in advance because space is limited and competition is stiff. I start swearing and panicking, feeling adrenaline surge through my body, while Taylor keeps a cool head and looks up directions to the nearest tire shop.

The tire is almost completely flat as we pull into the first garage we see in Wick. I go in to speak with them about getting the tire replaced, but the technicians are out at the moment, so the receptionist directs me to another shop down the road. Luckily, we're right next to a petrol station with an air pump, so Taylor fills the tire to help us limp down the road to the next shop. I pull in to Caithness Tyre Company, an unassuming little spot. A couple guys are busy working on a tractor tire in a lot already full of other cars, so I don't have high hopes that they'll be able to help us in time. I walk into the office and explain our situation and time constraint to a kindly, soft-spoken man with the thickest Scottish accent I've heard thus far. He doesn't seem terribly optimistic, but must sense how worked up I am because he tries to put me at ease and tells me to leave my keys and phone number, go have a cup of coffee in the village, and he'll see what he can do.

Taylor and I walk a few minutes into the heart of town and, on the way, I call the ferry office to explain our situation. The woman on the phone is extremely cheery and helpful and tells me she'll hold our reservation and will tell the dockworkers we may be late for check-in. She'll also add us to the later sailing in case we don't make it in time. That calms me a bit as I realize, worst case scenario, we may just have to explore this cute place for the afternoon. We find a little cafe to sit for a bit. I look up Wick on my phone and find that it's a viking settlement and has some interesting historical sites. Yet another extremely friendly Scottish woman attends to us and brings us our drinks. We're just beginning to sip them when, to my astonishment, the phone rings and it's the kindly tire shop owner. He tells me the tire needs replacing and he'll have it done in about ten minutes. I can't believe my ears! With apologies, we ask the barista for our drinks in to-go cups and head back up the hill to collect the car. It's sitting there finished and waiting for us by the time we arrive. I go into the office to pay and profusely thank the man who helped us. Barring any other disaster, we should still make our ferry booking with a few minutes to spare.

Lovely, welcoming Wick

Village life

We hop in the car and complete the gorgeous drive down more narrow roads that cleave verdant fields with the North Sea as a backdrop. We arrive in Gills Bay, queue up for the ferry, and get out of the car to smell the sea air until it's time to board. I feel so relieved.

Unlike the ferry system I'm used to in Seattle, here you are not allowed to remain in your car during sailing, probably for easier evacuation in case of an emergency. So once we're parked, Taylor and I climb the stairs to the galley and find a place to sit. To my surprise, the nice elderly man from the lodge and his not-so-nice girlfriend have somehow made the ferry and are sitting a few tables away from us. It is clear from their expressions that they've been fighting again during the drive. He is glaring furiously out the window, and she is leaned forward with her head in her hands. We speculate about whether he'll abandon her in Orkney for real this time, or just throw her overboard before they even arrive.

We avoid eye contact and line up for the snack bar, walking away with some hard, puck-like hamburgers and fries. The ferry will take about an hour, so we eat and then go out onto the upper deck to look at the scenery. We pass several small islands and see container ships and oil rigs in the distance. Even the tiniest islands have houses on them and I wonder out loud what it must be like to live in such a remote place. The wind whips our hair and freezes our faces as we watch sea birds dive into the choppy water for fish. Upon our approach to the dock, the ferry has to rotate 180º so that the cars can exit. I hear a nearby Scot narrate this as, "It's spennin' roond."

Seen on the ferry: A cute warning against being naughty

Isolated life on a tiny North Sea island

Sea wind and curly hair do not mix

Taylor takes the wheel to disembark us from the ferry and we navigate to our new AirBnB, a private apartment in a residential area just a ten-minute walk from the center of Kirkwall. A fluffy tortoiseshell-colored kitty comes to greet us on the sidewalk and this makes me so happy. The apartment is clean and comfortable, and we're looking forward to some quiet and privacy after sharing space with strangers at the fully booked lodge in Strathpeffer.

The view from my bedroom window in Kirkwall

After a short rest, we walk down to the village and find a place to eat dinner. We dine at a good, modern place called Twenty One and leave satisfied. On our way back, the sun has just set and we pass by the impressive St. Magnus Cathedral and its cool, spooky graveyard. Crows swarm overhead, cawing, giving it a very haunted feel. We also discover the ruined Bishop's and Earl's Palaces, which we'll visit later.

Albert Street, Kirkwall

Descriptive selections at the local grocery

St. Magnus Cathedral and graveyard

Nighttime at Earl's Palace, Kirkwall

When we get home, the fluffy kitty is still outside, waiting to be let in to a house two doors down from ours. She comes to greet us again and follows us to our door. Taylor pets her and comments that she is skinny. I recall seeing a container of cat food in the kitchen cupboard, so I go get it and set it out for her, along with some water. She eats greedily, purring and kneading as she does so. I sit with her and pet her occasionally. I feel like I've been adopted, which means I live here now and can never leave.