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on any photo for a more detailed view. |
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Our entry to Kirkwall was
less than eventful; it was a
wet and chilly day. The somewhat nondescript airport is shown at left. The runic symbols
above the entrance spell out Kirkwall.
One amazing bright spot was that our bags, which we had last seen in Kansas, arrived in Kirkwall on time
and undamaged, with only a calling card from the TSA disturbing their journey.
On the drive to our hotel
the taxi driver described the weather as "a haily rain". Another name for it is "grauple"
-- wet snow pellets, usually mixed with rain.
Sailors and airmen are all too familiar with it. |
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The airport
is hardly impressive but it is relatively modern and includes a nice cafe
and a gift shop with more local wares than the usual made-in-China stuff. |
Regina,
her windbreaker stuffed with gear, checks out the view from the top during
our visit to the ruins of the Earl's palace.
Obviously, the weather had hardly improved. |
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Typical street on the weekend in Kirkwall. We did not run into any
American tourists, which suited us just fine. Many of the shops sold
beautiful knitwear and jewelry made by local crafters.
This was the no-smoking sign on the airport bus.
We loved it. Click for a better view. |
The panel near the
door at The Orkney Hotel, where we stayed is itself historical marker.
The site has been an Inn since at least 1670, the date shown here. But
"Historic" comes at a price; we had to drag our bags up 2 flights of
stairs. But, there was plenty of hot water in the bath and the TV was
perfectly serviceable after Ron found the antenna and re-connected it.
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This memorial is dated 1660. The
engraving is partly in Latin and largely illegible with age. The text
begins "Here lies the body of Robert Glen of Lin...." and the rest is
lost. Note the skull and cross-bones at the bottom. We've heard tell
that this sign implied the threat of a curse on anyone who would
disturb the grave.
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| On our last day we made the pilgrimage to the Highland Park Distillery
-- a 15-minute mostly uphill walk from our hotel. |
The view from
the hill on our walk.
There were many of them. It's a beautiful island. |
The front of the distillery.
We could smell the musty-sweet odor of the mash long before we saw the
distillery itself. |
The Highland Park distillery was a 15-minute walk from the hotel. So, we arrived on foot,
ardent pilgrims in search of the ultimate single malt whisky. (That's how they spell it here. And you don't call it “scotch
whisky”. Everyone
here knows there is no other kind worth considering.) We took the tour and saw how it was made,
but photos were forbidden. It starts with rye sprouting on the cement floors,
then to the fireplaces where they burn the peat for flavor and finally into the giant retorts where
the mash ferments and the result distilled off for ageing. At the end we got to sample “a dram” while watching a video about whisky production in Scotland with heavy emphasis on you-know-who. They had a well-stocked gift shop but a bottle of the 12-year old whisky was 25 pounds
-- compared to 19 pounds in the shop near our hotel, and that was about what we would
pay at our Kansas liquor store. With our sample drams we compared the taste of
their “Cappella” special release to the regular 12-year old whisky and preferred the latter. But, it was a fun expedition anyway.
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