Shetland

We aren’t in Kansas anymore, my friends. In the best possible way.

Shetland (they must never be referenced as “the Shetlands” and only “the Shetland Isles” in case of dire emergency) is an archipelago of about 100 islands, 15 of them inhabited, located 130 miles north of the Scottish mainland and 400 miles south of the Arctic Circle. Shetland is, needless to say, the northernmost bit of the UK. The North Sea is off the east coast and the Atlantic off the west. More than 5,000 archaeological sites across Shetland provide evidence of human activity as far back as 4300 BC including the ubiquitous Picts from 300 AD. In the 7th century missionaries from Ireland or western Scotland began converting the previously (and gloriously) pagan population to Christianity only to have the place invaded by Vikings in the 8th and 9th centuries. They ruled the islands until the 15th century and the Norse influence is still strong in Shetland.

On September 8, 1468 the islands were mortgaged to Scotland for 8,000 florins as part of the marriage agreement between the future James III and Princess Margaret of Denmark. Fun fact, Margaret was only 13 at the time of their marriage at Holyrood in Edinburgh. In 1492 the Scots annexed both Shetland and Orkney.

In Shetland you are never more than 3 miles from the sea, and it’s nearer to Bergen, Norway than it is to Aberdeen. It’s at the same 60 degrees north latitude as Anchorage.

First of all, let me say that dropping off a rental car at Edinburgh airport is a pleasure and a breeze. Of course I had allotted too much time, so ended up in the airport for way longer than was strictly necessary. Luckily it’s a fun place! The duty-free has an incredible collection of whisky, for one. Even some pricey behind-glass bottles. The woman doing a tasting told me that distilleries make bottles you can only get in duty-free which was a heretofore unknown whisky fact.

Also, remember the AirPods story from earlier in this blog? Well, in the couple of hours I spent at the Edinburgh airport, I saw nary a pod. So not as important in Scotland maybe because people talk to each other and listen to their surroundings?

My hour-long flight to Sumburgh was delightfully uneventful. A prop plane! The Loganair planes are decorated appropriately, shortbread is served, flight attendants wear plaid vests, and each seat has a different bit of plaid as a headrest.

It was a ridiculously gorgeous day. Flying into Sumburgh you do wonder whether you might land in the actual ocean.

Sumburgh is a teensy airport and it took me a minute to adjust to the mellow vibe. There were two rental car windows, one for Bolt and one for Europcar. I didn’t see an Avis window. Dang! Moment of panic. Finally realized that next to the Bolt window there’s a typewritten sign that you have to squint to read saying they also handle Avis rentals. OK whew.

I arrive at the window ready to hear the overexplaining of all the things, like purchasing an excess damage waiver, a two hundred pound deposit plus a hold on your credit card for the full rental price, if I get a ticket I’m responsible, yadda yadda. Nope. I filled out a piece of paper that someone had typed up and xeroxed, was handed a one-page printed contract to sign in various places, and then the guy handed me a key, saying that I should just drop it down a hole in the counter when I returned the car. He told me where the parking lot was and shifted to the next customer. No car inspection, no checking the mileage, just here’s the key, the car is back there, kthxbai.

So I dragged my luggage out into the parking lot and looked dejectedly at a sea of cars. No numbered spaces, no rental company signs, just a garden variety parking lot. I clicked the key fob hopefully, alas to no avail. Another couple who had just located their car kindly helped me find mine. The only clues you have are the license plate number and the model of the car.

I rented a teensy little dude, a Kia Picante, and it was fairly analog. No screen on the inside so you have to hold your phone in your hand while navigating. No backup camera. You use your key like a key, sticking it in the ignition like in olden times. BUT THERE WAS ENTRANCE MUSIC so I was good.

I drove twenty minutes from the airport to Lerwick. Roads mainly deserted, the sea was everywhere, and not a single tree. It’s a sparse and evocative landscape.

I successfully checked into my cute little Airbnb after an initial panic caused by being too dumb to operate a keypad, and drove to dinner at a gorgeous restaurant called Fjara, with spectacular sea views. The best Cullen skink I’ve had yet, and some incredible Shetland salmon.

After dinner, around 9:30, it was still light so I walked around town. The high street is down by Lerwick Harbor, with the town rising on a hill behind. Many charming sloping alleyways, some with steep steps, provide access to Commercial Street, known locally as “Da Street.” Like magic, as I descended, I heard music. And lo, as I rounded the corner I saw the iconic pub in the Shetland TV series called The Lounge. The sleaziest possible name and yet the most brilliant pub.

The Lounge is a legend. Live music, locals, friendly, cheap and fabulous. The trad pick-up band was unusual in that it included three accordionists and a piano. They were great.

After a wee dram I visited the house where Jimmy Perez lives in the series, strolled around Da Street and snapped a few photos.

To top it all off, a Viking longship was anchored offshore.

Immediately quite taken with this place.