Island Paradise: Pub Crawl Kidnapping!

One of my neighbors in student housing was a Canadian geologist whom we'll call Rock Sniffer. She's back in Scotland for a couple of weeks on account of graduation, and after many mentions of how awesome Orkney is, she decided to come up. She arrived in Stromness and needed to hit the cash machine, so we went to see the new statue of Dr. John Rae (a post about Dr. Rae is pending), and then around the corner to the ATM... At which point we were conscripted into a pub crawl to celebrate a local lad's twenty-first birthday. You know what they say:


We were initially dragged to the bar at the Royal Hotel, and subsequently to the Flattie Bar in the ground floor of the Stromness Hotel. Our impromptu hosts were all dressed as cowboys, Indians, or cows in honor of one lad's twenty-first birthday. They had converted what I can only conjecture to have been a football chant into a drinking song that they'd break into every now and again, replacing the lyrics with various two-syllable names. Rock Sniffer and I had intended to get the first Stagecoach X1 bus from Stromness back to Kirkwall, but we were assured that they had a bus of their own, and would get us back to Kirkwall. Okie dokie...

After those two pubs in Stromness, we ended up at the Standing Stones Hotel. This became the sight of well-lubricated singing, to include with some French guys with whom several of us ended up sitting. They broke into some song which I assume to have been La Marseillaise - I assume that because I didn't recognize the tune and couldn't understand the lyrics that they were singing. I was then made to sing the Star-Spangled Banner, which I did at the top of my lungs. At its completion, they tried to get Rock Sniffer to sing Oh Canada, but she declined! Shortly thereafter, it was on to the Pomona Inn in Finstown, where we nearly witnessed a fight, and snapped a few more pictures. It was shortly thereafter that we were back on the road to Kirkwall, where Rock Sniffer and I parted ways with our hosts. It was a fantastic introduction to Orcadian hospitality for Rock Sniffer, and although it was unexpected, it was only momentarily surprising for yours truly.

Demobilization: Wherein Gus is Mercilessly Teased

I tend to have a lot of friendly acquaintances and a handful of very good friends to whom I'm often excessively loyal. One of the latter is my buddy Gus, whose trip to Scotland I financed so that he could bring some of my stuff. He got about two thirds of a free trip to Scotland, I got a seabag full of stuff, and we both enjoyed one another's company for the duration, until he headed back home to be united with his son, Prince Hank, and impregnate his wife, the lovely and talented St. Jen, with Princess Lucy.

One of the things that Gus did while he was touring around Scotland was to go to the Glen Moray Distillery in Elgin for a tour. (The joke's on him - Ardmore is right there!) At that point, he committed to buying four bottles of whisky... For me to mule back to the States. Uh... ? Wait, what? So, that was a constant action item, with him periodically updating me on the status of his order, which was unavailable for him to carry out then and there. Finally, the order was complete, and he contacted me to let me know. It was only then that I learned the horrible truth: having been led to believe that he expected me to carry back four bottles of special twenty-five-year-old port wood finish whisky, he had, in actuality, ordered only a single bottle of the special twenty-five-year-old port wood finish whisky, a single bottle of sixteen-year-old whisky, and two bottles of twelve-year-old whisky.

Whaaaaaaaat?

My packing space is actually pretty limited, as I've noted - I'll already been unloading a bunch of my stuff in order to get my kit down to one seabag, my Echo Pack, and my carry-ons. Beyond that, it's sort of outlandish to be on the hook for carrying back twelve-year-old whisky - I wouldn't bring back twelve-year-old whisky for the mother of my children (recruitment of suitable candidates pending, please inquire within for details). So, I requested that the order be reduced, and to his great credit, Gus graciously complied. Then, a few weeks ago, in the midst of my graduation, he left the following comment on Facebook:

Don't forget, I have a few bottles waiting in Elgin. Keep calm and sip a good whisky.

Gus, you're killing me. So, I replied with the following retort:

Do I ever forget? Dork.

Good grief. The other elephant in the room, of course, is the whisky I intend to bring back. Dare I say it, I've likely developed more of a taste for whisky than Gus. So, where does that leave us?

I love Gus. He's one of my best friends - one of three or four dudes whose friendship I value equally above all others. So, I'm going to bring the two bottles of whisky, which is beyond gracious of me to do, because when all is said and done, I value his friendship far beyond the minor frustration of him pestering me about whisky. Buuuuuuut, that takes a bit of preparation. So, I've made an effort to figure out how much whisky I'm legally allowed to import. Buuuuuuut, it doesn't stop there.

I have literally begged two pubs for empty whisky bottles so that I can use them for demobilization packing testing. I've purchased a bottle of eighteen-year-old Highland Park for myself, and I received a bottle of eighteen-year-old Ardmore from Constable and Silex as a graduation gift. That accounts for the whisky I'll be bringing home for myself. Beyond that, I have two HP12 empties for when I'm packing to help me figure out how Gus' whisky will fit into the rest of it. I'll still have to leave some room for the stash of books that remain in a locker down the hall from the SOC, but some of those can be mailed.

I'm also going to post the link to this entry on Gus' Facebook page, just to make sure that he and a few other friends see it. The bottom line, though, is that Gus has put up with all sorts of my shenanigans over the years, and what's a slightly heavier bag and some hassle among friends? That's what real friendship is all about... Sort of.

Love you, Gus. See you soon. (Just, please, give me a hug and let me see the baby before asking me to dig in my bag for your whisky, alright? Alright.)

Separated by a Common Language: Orcadian Dialect Edition, Part 2

Last month, I posted about the Orcadian dialect. I've identified a few more words as I've been out and around, plus I caught one more edition of Whassigo, so all of those words are included as well.

"bruck" - Junk. BBC Radio Orkney has a weekly Bruck Program in which people can submit requests for things they're trying to get rid of, or else requests for things they're trying to get a hold of.

"fleero" (W) - A piece of lightweight material (e.g. clothing) that provides little protection from the elements.

"girn" - The outro to the weekly BBC Radio Orkney Postbag program mentions that you can write in if you want to "moan, pleap, or girn". "Girn" means to cry (as in, tears), or else to greet.

"gansey" - A sweater. According to Gray 2, it's apparently derived from the word "jersey", which itself refers to sweaters from the island of Jersey.

"kalwart" (W) - A spell of cold weather.

"kamo" (W) - A blow to the head.

"mind" - To remember. For example, if you lost something - say, perhaps, your favorite gansey - you'd say "I can't mind where my favorite gansey is." At that point, you might begin to gairn or pleap, which leads me to...

"pleep" - As noted previously, the outro to the weekly BBC Radio Orkney Postbag program mentions that you can write in if you want to "moan, pleep, or girn". "Pleep" means "whine" or "complain".

"skarps" (W) - Worthless land on which no crops can be grown, for example, with very little topsoil.

"sweenkie" (W) - An earthworm.

"wanboona" (W) - A curse, e.g. from a mythical character. Apparently Faroese in origin.

"yagger" (W) - A peddler or seller, someone who sells you stuff, such as bruck or (apparently) fish. Apparently Dutch in origin.

So, can you speak like an Orcadian yet? No? Well, keep workin' on it.

Island Paradise: Inclement Weather

One of the reasons why I came to Scotland for graduate school is that - by and large - I love the weather here. It's really similar to the climate in which I grew up, and after a year and a half in the Middle East (which, counterintuitively, actually gets pretty chilly at times). The flipside is that on some occasions, I have to tolerate snow. Orkney has wind - lots of wind - and plenty of Rain. Aberdeen gets plenty of rain, though less wind than Orkney. Both occasionally get snow. I hate snow, but it does tend to make things photogenic by being out of the ordinary. The weather here in Orkney, in Scotland generally, and in Europe more generally, has been insane for the last few days - as evidenced by this picture and other stuff posted by BBC Radio Orkney! - and so I got a few pictures. Here's a shot of Wideford Hill...

... and here's a shot of the Highland Park distillery.

It's awful to walk in, though. Like, really, really awful. It takes me about twice as long to get anywhere, and it works muscles I forgot I even had! But, at least it's happening in Orkney, right? Totally awesome.

The Songs That Remind You 15

It's time for another installment of this old blog favorite. There have been a few recent songs that I wanted to share. The first is a song by a guy whose music I should absolutely hate, but that I actually tend to like. The guy is Justin Timberlake, and the song is Mirrors. In lieu of the actual music video (which is really good, but goes on forever), I'm going to post the live performance from the Brit Awards - a tactic I've used previously for my Taylor Swift Special Edition!


In my Shetland Special Edition, I posted a song by Bastille. I heard another of their songs while sitting doing work of one sort or another at a local pub that will be detailed soon! In the mean time...


And finally, another song from those same environs is this offering from Jake Bugg.


Jake Bugg's album is one of several played at that aforementioned pub in which a one or two songs are great, and the rest get really tedious, which winds up getting me to use my headset to study Arabic. Actually, come to think of it, the other one is this guy called Newton Falkner, who's just absolutely awful. On the plus side, they also play Jake Bugg's Lightning Bolt. It's worth a listen. Newton Falkner isn't.

A Virtual Train Ride

One of my fondest memories of my original 2004 trip to Scotland is the train ride from Thurso to Inverness, right after I'd left Orkney. I spent part of it reading 1984 by George Orwell, and was a bit nervous as I was trying (unsuccessfully in the end) to get to Glasgow in time to pick up a package. Even so, it's beautiful country, as you can see from this three and a half hour video from 2002 - before I'd ever visited the United Kingdom in the first place!


I should be posting a bit more about this particular route in the next few weeks, so stay tuned.

Island Paradise: Thanksgiving in Orkney

I spent my Thanksgiving doing something I'm very, very thankful for: graduating. Of course, I was so busy that day that my Thanksgiving chow consisted of a little chicken wrap, a ham and cheese sandwich around 13:45 (thank you, Captain John!) and chicken fillets and chips at the Machar around 18:30. Not exactly a full dinner with all the trimmings, but in all honesty, I haven't had a real Thanksgiving dinner since 2009.

Well, that changed this year. Without naming the venue, there's a cafe in Kirkwall, and since I've become a regular there, the proprietor (whom we'll call The Intrepid Chef) asked if I'd be interested in attending a joint Thanksgiving/St. Andrew's Day celebration. I thought it was a really cool idea, so I was onboard from the start. Although it was delayed by a few days to fit with everyone's schedules, we met up on Sunday afternoon.

The Intrepid Chef went all out, as you can see from the picture - and although I can't remember what I ate at the Archie Simpson last year when I met up there for an informal quasi-Thanksgiving gathering with a couple of American friends, I'm going to go out on a limb and claim that 2013 was the first time I ever enjoyed haggis for Thanksgiving. The Intrepid Chef even made - no joke - a pumpkin pie. She was very nervous about it, but she nailed it. The two other Americans who were in attendance joined me in being absolutely stunned by the whole event. I love Thanksgiving, and it was so exciting to share it with folks who have quickly become close friends, in a place that I've loved for so long. It was an indescribably special experience that I'll remember for the rest of my life.

Of course, not all Brits have any clue about Thanksgiving, as evidenced by the following video.


So, I hope everyone back home had a fantastic Thanksgiving. I sure did - twice!

The Festive Return of the Dancing Pony

Remember the dancing pony? He's baaaaa-aaaaack...


This thing takes on a whole new level of meaning for me after my well-documented debacle in Shetland.