Orkney

Orkney often looks the way people imagine Scotland looks before they visit Scotland. But like the rest of Scotland, it is home to the chronically ordinary too: the truck stop eatery, the mid-2000s Tesco. But Orkney is not an island, it is an archipelago of more than 70 islands. Recently made famous by ‘The Outrun’, I am glad to have visited before then. Hoy in particular (pictured) is an island to spend time on. Both the highest and the most demanding, the ferry over is excitingly anticlimactic and windy. Men wore overalls, coats and hats - my COS overshirt humiliated me and almost brought about my end. A sheep regarded me with suspicion and what felt like disdain. We had nothing to say to each other.

Not much is on Orkney for tourism reasons. I think Orcadians would be happy left to themselves. They regard strangers with great suspicion, particularly if you dare to be from England. But the Italian Chapel is about as close to a historic museum as you will find. Built by prisoners of war in the 1940s, who transformed two Nissen huts into something unexpectedly beautiful. I knew this before I arrived. I knew almost nothing more by the time I left. The interior is striking. The painted Madonna, the teal ceiling, the stained glass either side. But the interpretation offers little beyond the basic facts. I was thirsty for more and an adjacent tea shop.

Many miles away, I was finally satisfied by the Birsay Bay Tearoom, which sits on what feels like the edge of everything. The first time you experience a sheer cliff edge in Orkney you are enthralled. Every other time takes you a step closer to normalisation and a step closer to stepping off by accident. The darker side of Orkney is the number who step off intentionally. I went inside the tearoom to be warmed and ordered a Victoria sponge. It arrived enormous and I ate all of it urgently. The place was full and yet silent. The woman who served me seemed neither pleased nor displeased by my presence. There is something restorative about places where you are served cake without being asked how your day is going.

Orange frills and fleshy protrusions are more than enough to draw my attention. There are few islands around Orkney that you can walk to, but the Brough of Birsay is one of them. Wait for low tide and then hope to avoid a catastrophic ocean surge. I later discovered that these are goose barnacles and likely drifted to Orkney from Canada. Having made it such a long way, they would dry out and die before high tide. Nature is cruel.

The water in Orkney is very cold. I visited in July, but you wouldn’t have known it. I’m not complaining, it made me feel more alive than most other things. Once you get past the waist, it’s all plain sailing until your legs go numb. The locals advise you to get out before that point but I was so determined to reach the ship wreck. Back on the shore, it took longer than I’d hoped to feel normal again. I could feel how blue my lips looked. My friend lent me his spare towel, that he keeps in the boot of his car. I had no choice, but it was an odd experience to feel dirty after cleansing yourself in the North Sea.

A group of us gathered for dinner on the beach. I had purchased a single-use barbecue, along with some sausages. The plan was to cook them on the beach while watching the sunset, which in Orkney happens extremely slowly in summer. The barbecue proved difficult. The sausages emerged charred on the outside and concerning on the inside. We ate them anyway and had a collective spiritual experience as the sand insects threw themselves uncontrollably onto the fire we’d started. I arrived in Orkney in need of healing and there are not many places I’ve been that serve this purpose better. It’s one thing to be healed and another to be so inspired that you write a whole novel. Perhaps one day I’ll share it with you all.