Wool week; Shetland’s biggest annual event. Folk from all over the world attending workshops, crafting together, buying local fibre and produce…. and sightseeing. Startled looks every time I had to admit I wasn’t there for the event; apparently I fit the profile.
My host text ahead of time, offering to store my bag until check-in. Given the ferry gets in at 7am, this was much appreciated. Behind the green door, Peter greeted me as an old friend; a cuppa? Breakfast? What a welcome. Fresh island-grown raspberries, fat and full of flavourful. Just one more… or maybe another…
The stone house sits out into the sea. From my attic room the sound of waves lulled me to sleep. Passing boat’s of myriad sizes, shapes and jobs filled the sitting room window. A cruise liner took up a parking spot less than 200 meters from my bedroom window. The passengers disembarked to join whichever activity they’d chosen, reminiscent of orange-flavoured penguins in matching jackets with yellow collars. That liner was still there at bedtime; 5am next morning it had vanished, and I never heard a thing.
Peter was concerned about a water mark in the guest shower. I said he was welcome to get plumbers in to check whilst I was out exploring. The poor plumbers were probably traumatized for life; I’d left some underwear drying on the towel rack!
As with any population, not everyone is kind. The ladies public toilet had a sign saying ‘closed for cleaning.’ I waited. A young girl flushed a toilet then rushed out, crying. I asked her if she was okay, but she mumbled yes and hurried on. The toilet attendant then appeared and said ‘at least you know how to read.’ How disappointed I am that I didn’t take him on; he does not know why the lass ignored his sign. Nor do I, but nothing justified making her cry. Thank goodness he was the exception. Everyone else was just lovely.
Lerwick celebrates it’s history with cannons guarding the esplanade from atop stone walls, and cobbled streets offering everything from the Red Cross shop, Boots the chemist and the inevitable chippie, through to everything wool and lovely cafes. One shop had me flummoxed… not this door, nor this one, and then only if you’ve ID. Made me wonder what was in there. Turned out it was an old-fashioned grocer with dark wood, narrow aisles, and a bit of everything.
The beautifully laid out Lerwick museum and archive centre is worthy of the millions spent developing it. Stories abound inside, including everything from geological history to the very recent knit-a-hat initiative started by one woman to raise funds for Shetland to have an mri machine; her project went international and the islands got their machine. I will do a separate post of history discovered.
Exploring the exhibitions, around a corner and there was a photo of Tensing and Hilary. How could Shetland claim Everest success? But indeed they can; Shetland wool kept the two mountaineers warm. And not just that expedition; there are many famous adventures which were clothed in Shetland wool.
Catching a local bus is a great way to see the island, though I suspect the drivers thought I was ‘jest braaly filsket.’ (Scatty), coming and going without getting off. The buses divert through every village, roaring down single-lane roads, using passing places to creep by oncoming vehicles. Everyone seems considerate. At one tight hillside intersection, my bus went straight through so a large vehicle could do their maneuver, then the bus backed up to complete his turn.
Islanders greeted each other, checking all was well, and they absorbed my presence warmly.
From the bus the extent of crumbling crofters homes becomes apparent. Across the islands there are dozens and dozens of them. I wonder if the last person out the door knew they would be the last?
Also from the bus it’s easy to spot the practicality of island thinking. What to call the shop at Toab; Toab shop. No fancy stuff.
And what to do when there’s no room for both the runway and the road? Put in road stop lights and arms. The rules part of me struggled with being in a bus crossing the runway… twice.
Less practical maybe was a conversation between two lasses on the bus. Old enough to buy cocktails, yet slightly confused about the birds and, well, birds. They were trying to work out if they were gay or straight, given that they weren’t actually interested in either just now. One asked the other if she found the first attractive. The second replied: ‘You are very beautiful. We’ve been friends a long time, but you’re just not my type.’ … and the conversation moved on to what film they would watch that night; no drama here.
Going back to the airport, the helicopters are bigger than the planes; 24-seaters that day, servicing the oil and/or windfarm industries. Oil brought much change to Shetland. Hundreds of houses built for construction workers, in valleys like Mossbank. Unimaginative, mostly 3-bedroomed, semi-attached houses laid out in rows climbing the hillsides. Leisure centre’s, play grounds and other amenities in each village. But then the workers moved on; job done. Cheap housing for those that can’t find anything better placed or nicer. Broken fences, signs of hoarding, and folk living behind closed curtains tell the story. One islander remarked it was like watching big city slums cancering into Shetland.
And now it’s wind farms. The most efficient wind farm in Europe being built across the main island; huge sentinels as far as the eye can see. Not yet commissioned, they look slightly spooky guarding the hillsides silent and still. But therein lies the problem; islanders fear the noise to come. What will happen to the peace of their home, and how will wildlife cope? What effect on birds navigation? So many questions, and resentment because the power isn’t for them; big cities will benefit from green energy and the islanders will still pay full price.
Islanders don’t waste anything. Upturned boat hulls are a common sight, providing rooves for garages, sheds and shelters.
And a gent who shall remain unidentified showed me the jacket his wife had bought him last week at the charity shop; it’s the same one she bought him last year and he’d refused to wear it then, re-donating without her knowledge, just as he would do again this year!
Architecture across Shetland varies from stone homes to Scandinavian-influenced brightly-colored wooden homes.
But the UK habit of building a whole bunch together that look exactly the same holds true here too. Individuality comes from conservatories, curtains, and what’s in the yard.
Tool library is a thing; just like book library members take a tool for a week, checking it out.
Cash is a mix of Scottish and English pounds, but be careful; though legal tender across the UK, apparently some businesses south of the border are very reluctant to accept Scottish pounds.
And in a tale that is all too common across the globe, a grandma traveled to New Zealand to visit relatives, but died unexpectedly. Her Shetland family could not afford to bring her home, so she is buried in Wellington, where she knew no-one. Only recently were her family able to travel to New Zealand to place a headstone on her grave. She is 11000 miles, (18000 kilometers) from home.
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