Fri, May 17th 2019
Jen has once again found something new for us. (We keep telling her that she would make a terrific tour guide for her own company–thorough, organized, enthusiastic, people-oriented, reliable–in a word or two creatively professional. She isn’t tempted!) Today we will return to the Tomb of the Eagles because there will be a guide there who does story-telling. The site is at the south end of South Ronaldsay, the most southerly of the Orkney archipelago and connected by way of Burray to Mainland via a couple of bridges and the Churchill Barriers. Our storyteller is a young German woman who is okay but not totally scintillating. Perhaps the story she tells isn’t one of the better ones. We skip the milelong walk out to the tomb (we were there just two years ago) and have our lunch on the beach followed by a bit of beach-combing. http://www.tomboftheeagles.co.uk
Then it’s up to St Margaret’s Hope at the north end of the island and a visit to The Workshop and Loft Gallery. www.workshopandloftgallery.co.uk I have sworn off buying any more Orcadian sweaters and so of course immediately find one I want. So does Lynn. We buy them and then head to Robertson’s (where last trip we couldn’t have a dessert while others were eating lunch–“That’s not how it’s done here” she had said.) Fortunately that waitress was not on hand and we happily had our cappuccinos and beers. https://www.orkneyfoodanddrink.com
Next on the agenda is Kirkwall, not easily achieved as there is a stretch of road with construction happening–no sign of this when we had headed out this morning. Slow going and so unusual–generally it’s sheep in the road that tie us up. Lynn had ordered a thumb ring at Aurora and we pick it up now and then Lynn and I find a shop that sells real flags–heavy-duty, double-stitched, not printed Orkney flags for home. We each buy one; our first ones are tattered and faded after two New England winters. There is nothing on the notice board at the Reel to suggest our musician acquaintances we met in Rousay would be performing that weekend.
Back at the cottage I make Jazz Chops, porkchops that have been browned in a salted cast iron skillet then braised in white wine with sliced apples, sliced onion, garlic, honey, and nutmeg until tender. After dinner we stroll down to the Ferry Inn where we think, we hope, there may be live music. The bar is packed with regulars but no music. We have beer or soda, Jill enjoys a mild flirtation and then we head back home feeding all the cats we encounter from our stashes of kitty treats.
