I wake to the sound of rain and wind lashing the apartment and wonder if we're in for a wet and miserable day. To my delight, the weather clears just as dawn is breaking. From my bedroom window I enjoy the view of rolling green hills and the North Sea off in the distance.
The sun smiles on Kirkwall
This morning our itinerary takes us to Skara Brae, about half an hour's drive northeast of Kirkwall. It is a 5000-year-old Neolithic settlement (older than the great Pyramids of Giza and Stonehenge) that was discovered only about 150 years ago and found largely intact. It sits on the edge of a blustery, smooth sandy beach and visitors can walk around the tiny settlement and peer into the sunken dwellings. It feels very remote here, and we're surrounded by pastures full of cows and rabbits, all manner of birdlife, and heather and other wildflowers still in bloom. Long, constantly wind-blown grass forms wavy clumps in the open spaces. I always get a strange sensation visiting places like these. Knowing people have lived here for so long, come and gone, and been almost totally forgotten from history makes my own life seem so small and insignificant. But rather than plunging me into nihilism, it gives me some peace and helps put things into perspective.
Where all the nice wool comes from
Long grass vs. the wind
Skara Brae Neolithic settlement
Looking into a Skara Brae dwelling
Entry to Skara Brae also includes entry to the nearby Skaill House, a 17th century manor that was inhabited well into the 20th century and is decorated like it. As far as historic houses go, it's par for the course, and only really interesting if you give a shit about the ruling class that has lorded over these lands for a couple hundred years (and pilfered the ruins). It's really hard to care about the relatively new artifacts of their fancy lifestyle when you've just seen inconceivably old human settlements showing the lifestyles of people who actually had to work hard to survive in this harsh environment. We breeze through the house rather quickly, and then head to our next destination.
About ten minutes down the road on a causeway between Loch of Harray and Loch of Stenness stands the Ring of Brodgar. It is a Stonehenge-like ring of stones stood upright in an almost perfect circle, dating from the Neolithic period (2500-2000 BC), and likely used for ritual purposes. It sits atop a small hill and is surrounded by a deep ditch covered in flowering heather. Again, I'm struck by the age of this place and the fact that it was a significant site for people who are long gone and mysterious. The dramatic surroundings just add to its mystique. We walk all the way around the circle and then return to the car to head to our next stop, driving past the nearby road-side Standing Stones of Stenness, a similar archeological site.
The Ring of Brodgar
Brodgar's stones standing amidst the heather
Enter at your own risk
Next we'll see Maeshowe, a Neolithic tomb that can only be visited by guided tour. We wait at the visitors' center and then load onto a shuttle bus with about a dozen other people. It deposits us maybe half a mile down the road, where we take a path through a cow pasture to a mound on the ridge line. The are several calves in the field, one of which is cuddled up next to its momma right next to the low barbed-wire fence. Taylor reaches in and strokes its head, which startles it to standing. Momma's eyes widen a moment, but she does not stir beyond that. I laugh and jokingly scold Taylor for scaring the poor baby.
Maeshowe visible beyond the cows
The calf Taylor scared
Beyond the pasture, we arrive at the entrance to the unassuming, grass-covered tomb. Our guide gives us a rundown of the general geography and points out some other unexcavated sites nearby. After the introduction, we duck into a long tunnel that forces us to crouch as we walk to avoid hitting our heads. At the end of this maneuver, we're able to stand inside the tall circular tomb. There isn't much to see to the untrained eye, but our guide gives us a thorough and interesting description of the construction and what is known about it. Most interestingly, he points out and reads Norse runic graffiti scratched into the soft sandstone walls nearly 1000 years ago, which includes the tags of a couple famous vikings: Harald Maddadarson, Earl of Orkney and Rognvald, Earl of Møre. The tags mostly read things like, "So-and-so was here," and there are a couple of rude jokes or humorous references. Doesn't seem much different from the graffiti of today.
The entrance to Maeshowe
Crouching to enter
During the tomb tour, the guide recommends another tomb just down the road, so after the shuttle deposits us back at our car, we drive down there to take a look. This one sits at the end of someone's private driveway (imagine having that kind of feature on your property) and is called the Unstan Chambered Cairn, built sometime between 3400 and 2800 BC. The entrance to this one is even lower, but shorter in length, thankfully, so we don't have to crouch long to get inside. As the name suggests, several half-walls divide the space into chambers and a couple of enclaves for human remains. Now that his eyes know what to look for, Taylor cleverly points out what appear to be more Norse runes scratched into the sandstone. There is also some later graffiti from the mid-1800s.
We've both got headaches now, so we return to the apartment for an afternoon rest and a cup of tea, and to do some laundry while we plan out our next day here. We also wisely make dinner reservations, as being turned away for not having one seems to be the norm in small tourist-driven villages like Kirkwall. After our rest, we venture out both too late to visit the early-closing shops and too early for our dinner reservation, so we end up wandering all the way down to the end of the pier and looking at the boats. Our reservation is at an Italian place on the main drag and they are able to seat us early. The food was pretty good but they were clearly struggling with staffing and it took a while, even with the restaurant mostly empty. We walk back up the hill to the apartment and take a load off for the rest of the evening.
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.
I wake up earlier than everyone else at the lodge and shuffle into the shared bathroom. While I'm in there, someone tries the knob twice. After I leave, another person goes in after me and starts to shower. I hear quick footsteps move toward the bathroom door again, and then a Scottish man reacting to the sound of the shower running. "Damn it! Bloody hell!" he exclaims loudly enough for our hostess to hear from downstairs and come up, concerned, offering the use of her own private bathroom.
Taylor and I descend for breakfast but neither of us are able to eat very much. We've been having stomach issues the entire trip, which is honestly par for the course for both of us. It doesn't help that the food here tends to be quite heavy and fatty, and we don't really have the time or luxury to prepare our own food. At breakfast, we chat briefly with a Parisian man who is so enamored with Scotland that he is visiting for the third time.
After breakfast we hit the road for Loch Ness and Urquhart Castle. I know it's a popular tourist destination, so I've booked us among the earliest entries. On the way, I spot my first hairy highland cow and it is enormous! During the drive, our car entertains us once again by alerting us to low tire pressure, so we decide we'll air it up on the way back.
The early entry to Urquhart makes little difference and there is already a long line when we arrive. The ruined castle is small but beautiful, its crumbling walls war-, pillage- and weather-beaten and covered in mosses. The sky is darkly overcast and the wind whips across the twenty-six-mile-long loch, stirring up big waves and adding to its formidable air. We see no mythical monsters, unless you count some of the horrible people we have to navigate around. It takes less time to see the castle than it took to drive there. It's cool, but I can't help but feel a little disappointed for the effort it took to get there and the level of annoyance the crowd created.
Urquhart Castle, a place for fantastic tales
Scavenged for stone by locals
Not to be confused with Loch Loch southeast of here. Whoever named these lakes, well done!
We get back into our finicky car and take it to the nearest petrol station, where we fuel up and fill the tires with air. They lose tire pressure almost immediately and we realize we have a problem. We call the nearest Enterprise rental offices for the umpteenth time to complain about the state of the car and, since they still have no replacements, they advise us to take it to a tire shop to have it looked at. Any repair will be at our own expense, of course.
We'd rather be driving back to Strathpeffer via the farm with the hairy cow, but instead are driving back to Inverness to have the tires examined. The fellow who receives us at the tire shop is not surprised that we are having trouble with our rental because Enterprise has a bad reputation around these parts. He's able to squeeze us in fairly quickly and discovers we have a nail in our tire, which he fixes for free. Once we're patched up, we decide to just head into downtown Inverness for some more souvenir shopping. We didn't really have much planned today anyway.
It is about lunch time and we're pretty tentative about where to eat given the way our stomachs have been acting. We walk by a busy fish and chips shop and realize this is one UK delicacy we have yet to try. "It smells good," Taylor says as we stand outside the entrance. "It is good," comments a nearby burly Scot with an orange beard. "Sold!" replies Taylor, and we walk in. We both order the fish and chips meal, and immediately realize we should have just shared one. It comes with two enormous filets of breaded, fried haddock, coleslaw drowned in mayonnaise, a pile of French fries, and a small green salad. The man outside was right, it is good, but we're barely able to make a dent.
A gorgeous platter for the hungry
Inverness East Church (Church of Scotland)
After a bit of a walk around and some shopping, we decide to just go back to Strathpeffer and lay low for a while. In the car, we find an extra set of keys in the cupholder and realize that the fellows at the tire shop must have accidentally left another customer's keys in our car. Luckily, or unluckily, our tire pressure looks wonky again, so we head back to the tire shop. The man at reception is relieved to see us and appreciates that we've returned the keys. We tell him about the tire pressure, so he immediately takes our car in to reexamine. Everything is supposedly fine, and he evens out the pressures for us. The car behaves for the most part on the drive home.
Back in Strathpeffer, we charge the car's battery at a charging station in the village and then walk around a bit, wandering onto the properties of a couple of historic hotels and giving them a look over. We realize that we need to plan for dinner because there are only three restaurants and it's hard to get a table at any of them. I make a call to one hotel but they are fully booked. We barely feel like eating anyway, so we settle on just buying some crackers, luncheon meats, and fruit at the convenience store. This turns out to be plenty.
"It's only wafer-thin."
When we return to the lodge, there is a drama unfolding. The couple across the hall from Taylor's room are fighting and the man, an elderly English guy, leaves angrily and goes downstairs. We hear him tell the hostess through tears that he and his girlfriend have had a fight and he's leaving. The girlfriend is incoherently drunk and the hostess attempts to intervene so that the man does not leave her behind. He ends up leaving her anyway, and the hostess, knowing how hard it is to get transportation out here, does her best to make other arrangements for the idiotic woman. She manages to get a relative to agree to come pick her up the next morning. After a while, we hear the woman call her boyfriend and continue fighting with him even as he repeatedly offers to come back and pick her up. Ultimately, he tells her he'll be back to collect her in an hour and a half. He eventually shows up (much to the relief of our hostess), they fight some more, and then go to bed. We are curious to see how this will play out in the morning.
I rise early enough to be first in the shower because I know the bathroom I'm using is shared with other guests. We have asked for early breakfast because we have a nine o'clock tee time at the golf course up the hill. We sit in the big dining room and Fiona comes in to greet us and confirm that we'd like bacon and eggs with breakfast. We have a little cereal, fruit, and yogurt while we wait, and she comes back with a miniature full Scottish breakfast. For once, it is a reasonable amount of food and is quite tasty. Two other guests come in and sit at the table next to us, a pleasant Scottish couple about 30 years our senior. Our host comes in again and brings up the monarchy in a somewhat abrupt and awkward way, and she is clearly pro-monarchy. This is the first time the subject has come up beyond mention of how the Queen's funeral has perturbed the normal business of things. When she leaves the room again, the Scottish woman at the next table says, "I wasn't sure which way that was going to go," and we all laugh. It is clear that she and her husband opine differently in that regard. As we chat, we learn they've just come from Orkney, where we'll be in a couple of days, and that they share our love for archeology. They wish us good weather and their recommendations make us even more excited about that leg of our trip.
Holly Lodge dining room
We excuse ourselves to get ready for golf. Fiona lends us a set of clubs and a dozen or so golf balls and we set out. We arrive at the closed golf club and have to wait around for several minutes past our tee time before anyone even shows up to open it. The employee is apologetic, however, and gets us on our way as quickly as possible. What ensues next is probably the funnest game of golf I've ever played.
Let me start by saying I haven't golfed in almost ten years, but did a fair bit when I was a kid. I was only ever just barely adequate at it. I'm not particularly athletic or competitive, so even when I play sports, I don't really care how I do. This game is no different. I know I am going to be awful, but I am here for the experience. The course itself is gorgeous, and has the backdrop of the vast Scottish highlands in every direction. It is incredibly hilly and, although each hole is fairly short, they are all deceivingly difficult. I decide rather quickly that I'm not even going to bother keeping score. We lose at least half of the balls Fiona lent us, almost one per hole, and ultimately end up playing a scramble-type game where the person who hits worst (usually me) drops their ball where the person who hit the best has landed. Taylor golfs reasonably well, and I have a couple good drives and one really great long putt. The weather is stunning, and we see pheasants and red squirrels. We laugh, we swear, we goof around. I have worn the wrong shoes and they are soaked through up to my ankles by the time we finish. We head back to the clubhouse to buy some balls to replace all the ones we've lost. It is a great time.
A glorious day for golf
Smashing form
An actual good golfer
How we played
How much fun we had
We return to our lodge, where I set my shoes and socks to dry on the radiator in my room. We then wait for a mechanic to come check out our rental car, which has been lurching in a concerning fashion. The fucking car drama on this trip, I swear to god... The mechanic comes, politely listens to our concerns, and then leans under the hood to examine the engine, exposing his butt crack. Ultimately, he shrugs and says there's nothing he can do and will put in a recommendation to Enterprise to swap our car for another. I call both branches in nearby Inverness, and they tell me they are out of cars and can't help. Oh well, I guess we'll keep going until it won't run anymore.
Next we drive to Inverness anyway, because Taylor has an appointment to be fitted for a custom kilt. As we're exiting our car in a public lot, a van catches my eye because it's from the same garage as the mechanic who just inspected our car. In the next instant, Taylor and both I notice man bent over and examining a broken-down car, butt crack well exposed. We exchange a knowing look. "I'd recognize that butt crack anywhere," Taylor says quietly.
Our destination, Ben Wyvis Kilts, is just a short walk away. We spend a good hour there while the friendly and helpful staff attend to Taylor. He reviews tartan patterns, has his measurements taken, and is guided through selecting the appropriate accessories. I know almost nothing about kilts, so it is an informative experience for me. His beautiful, made-to-order kilt will arrive by mail in a couple of months.
Taylor is fitted with a sample kilt
After we're done there, we wander a bit in Inverness. It's a dark, cloudy day, which makes the city look a bit dreary. The looming cloud cover matches the slate gray stone of all the architecture here. There appears to be a church every quarter mile or so, numerous ornate steeples looming tall above the tightly-packed neighboring buildings. As we explore, we stop into several tourist trap-type shops to look for souvenirs and have lunch at a pizzeria overseen by a surly Italian chef.
Inverness in grayscale
We then return to our lodge. Many more guests have arrived today and the parking lot is full. The afternoon has been warm, so the bees in the garden are swarming. We approach to watch them for a few minutes.
Taylor gets a closer look at the bees
We haven't really explored the tiny village, so we head out for a walk. We only have to go as far as the bottom of the hill from where our lodge is to find the bustling central hub of the village. And by "bustling central hub" I mean a deli, an ice cream stand, a pharmacy, and a convenience store. Outside the deli is a portable trailer bar with four types of beer on tap. Taylor orders one and we sit for a while. Soon an English couple from Darbyshire and their cute dog come and occupy the table next to us. We end up spending a couple of hours chatting with them about travel, tipping customs, and the politics of Brexit and other nationalistic movements like it. All in all, it's a pleasant way to end the day.
We both sleep hard, our bodies finally succumbing to several days in a row of strenuous physical activity. Today is Queen Elizabeth's funeral and a Monday to boot, which means many places that serve breakfast are closed. Our best option is to return to the same hotel restaurant where we dined the night before. Our waitress is coughing and sniffling, which is unnerving to say the least, but we both order the full Scottish breakfast, get full American bellies, and then return to the AirBnb to pack and check out. Today we head to the Highlands!
Our drive is only three hours and we have six hours to kill between the check-out and check-in times at our different accommodations, so we decide to take the long way. We start off with a visit to the Wallace Monument in Stirling. After all, what better way to give monarchy the middle finger than to visit a monument to one of the leaders of the First War of Scottish Independence. We know the monument is a tower on a hill, but have vowed to climb no hills today. However, as soon as we arrive we realize that the shuttle bus up to the monument is closed so, if we want to see it up close, we'll be climbing. We do it, of course. I'm somewhat glad the tower itself is closed because, despite our bodies' protests, we would probably climb that too.
Wallace Monument, Stirling
A panoramic view of Stirling from Wallace Monument
The perfect sitting tree
Next we drive north in an S shape to Loch an Eilein in the Cairngorms National Park. The geography and scenery change in startling ways along the route, from rolling hills blanketed in heather, to dense pine forest. We stop at a scenic overlook near Pitochry, where the light is hitting the golden hills just right and reflecting off of the intersecting waterways between them. It is honestly breathtaking.
A scenic overlook near Pitlochry, Scotland
The only news to be found at the petrol station
One of the draws of Loch an Eilein is the tiny ruined 14th century castle on its island. But even without that, the lake and its surroundings are enough of a draw. There's a four-mile walking or cycling loop around the small lake laden with soft duff from which mushrooms spring at regular intervals. Numerous species of ferns lie under the shady canopy of trees and some plants are still flowering even now in autumn. Docile ducks float on the clear shallow lake water, and bird song echoes through the trees constantly. If we had a little more time and a little less muscle soreness, we would do the full route to discover all this area has to offer. Maybe next time.
Loch an Eilein Castle (with kayaks visiting)
Documenting the fungi
A mushroom in the Russula genus
The last leg of the drive goes through tiny but busy Aviemore, a haven for outdoors enthusiasts who are traversing the national park in various fashions, and the city of Inverness, where the other drivers suddenly become much less patient with my excessive caution. In an hour we arrive in charming Strathpeffer, whose main draw appears to be golf, a spa, and charming B&Bs in large old Victorian homes. Ours is no different, and we let ourselves into the Holly Lodge, a 120-year-old, three-story house with a sprawling garden, which we explore on arrival.
Holly Lodge, Strathpeffer
The view from Holly Lodge's garden
Native black bees kept in hives in the garden
A slug on a feather, bringing whimsy to the garden
The house smells 120 years old, but not necessarily in a bad way (think used book store). We find our comfortable, well-appointed rooms, which even include a dram of whiskey!
Then it's time to figure out where to have dinner. I love that this is the biggest decision we have to make every day. Today we settle on the Coul House Hotel, a supposedly expensive place in the neighboring village of Contin. We make a reservation and then take the winding road there, past rolling green hills, and cow pastures full of what Taylor has dubbed "big-ass cows". We even see a momma nursing her tiny calf.
We walk into the hotel and immediately feel underdressed, but it's too late to do anything about it. They are very procedural here, and seat us in the cozy bar for drinks. They present us with menus and take our food orders there, and then later escort us into the formal dining room. Thick white table cloths and shiny silverware top each table, and an enormous chandelier hangs from the middle of the high domed ceiling. The napkins are folded into fancy shapes. We both have great meals and the service is, unsurprisingly, impeccable. Despite the reputation for being expensive, we walk out only having spent $130 for three courses and drinks. It was well worth it.
A distinguished gentleman in a fancy chair
Happy
Flipping delicious
I drive us back to our lodge on extremely dark, narrow roads that make me nervous, and am glad I encounter no deer. When we get to the lodge, we meet our hostess, Fiona, who has just settled in to watch the Queen's funeral. She seems sweet and enthusiastic, and does her best to accommodate our every need. It should be a nice couple of days here.
