Day 14 of The Shetland Diaries: The Return Trip Home

Today I’m writing about jet-lag while being jet-lagged.

I really didn’t think it would be as bad as it is, but I’m on my third day, and I can definitely recommend that people give themselves three days of recovery going west. Going to Shetland wasn’t that bad, but coming home has felt like a slog through a mental mud pit.

It also didn’t help that I decided to give up my three cups a day of tea habit that I started in Shetland (when in Rome, you know), so I’m also caffeine deficient. Or that the airline served four glasses of water, one of which I missed while sleeping. I’ve been drinking water in the gallons to catch up.

When we left, I felt pretty good. Our driver didn’t have to arrive at a terrible hour. He picked us up at 8:30 a.m. after I texted him detailed directions to make sure he didn’t get lost. For once, we had an easy going ride to the airport. Asfand was very laid-back.

But when we got to the airport, nothing was laid-back. We had to ask for directions to find Air-Transat. Once there, we checked in our carry-on bags, and got our boarding passes, and then an employee with Air Transat asked us to weigh them. Combined, our two bags each had to weigh under 10 kilos. They did not.

“Can you get rid of 3 kilos out of there?” she asked.

We looked befuddled. I asked about that price for checking a bag.

“50 pounds” she said.

“Okay, we’ll try.”

Thus ensued a hilarious comedy of us putting on as many pieces of clothing as possible (I was wearing one long-sleeved shirt and two sweaters, plus both winter jackets and D. was wearing two pairs of pants). Plus, D. put the rocks that were in his pack which he had suggested tossing and I told him were irreplaceable into his jacket pocket. And I threw out all of my socks and underwear, and was even prepared to throw out the pair of jeans I had brought, but was fortunately saved by the scale.

The rocks in D.’s pockets

Exactly 10 pounds.

That took a half hour to do, while we were in front of all the other passengers, mind you. I was expecting some sort of sticker that said, “Approved!” or “Cleared!” I really wanted a gold star after all that effort. All I got was, “Great, now go to security.”

What? After all that effort I was just going to security as if nothing had happened?

Of course we were thoroughly patted down in security, which I couldn’t feel because of all the layers, and then our bags were checked as well. D. said they didn’t ask him about the rocks in his pockets, which struck both of us as very funny.

By the time we got through I was sweating through all three layers.

“Let’s go to the bathroom,” D. suggested, “and take all of this off.”

So that’s what we did. We undid all of that effort at check-in with another 15 minutes of trying to move around in a bathroom stall carefully undressing without touching anything.

This is why they tell you to come three hours early to the airport when you fly internationally.

We had just enough time to sit down for a quick breakfast, and D. ordered the full English breakfast with the tomato, beans, and everything, while we watched stag party after stag party sit down next to us. I counted at least six brides with girlfriends and that many grooms. They almost all had on costumes of some sort.

“When did this become a thing?” I asked D. as a party of five men in Scottish wigs, and fake kilts with hairy somethings hanging off the front apparently to symbolize hiding their “manhoods” escorted another man (presumably the groom) in a Guinevere wig and green dress to breakfast.

Meanwhile I was obsessively checking the flight app to see when our boarding gate would be announced. In England, the airlines don’t let you know where you’re boarding until the very last minute, which caused a whole lot of flight anxiety for me.

D. decided, thankfully, that we definitely needed provisions for the flight. Word to the wise, if you’re gluten-free or have any other sensitivities you need to place your meal order at least 72 hours in advance with the airline to get something special. Which, by the way, we did not, which meant that I ate two portions of rice and had a glass of wine during the flight. D. purchased 4 small bags of potato chips and some Green & Black chocolate bars (both gluten-free and peanut-free) and we headed to our gate.

Thus started the endless standing in a crowd of people in front of a barricade, which was only really opened to 90% of us when Group 7 was announced. I’ve never been with a group of people waiting to get on a plane who all laughed at the same time when a boarding group was announced.

It did have a particularly livestock-feeling as we boarded a large crowd into a funnel of sorts. The man checking our passports occasionally grilled random passengers.

“Why are you going to Canada?” he asked a teenager from Italy.

She muttered something unintelligible to me and he looked at her, looked at the passport, looked at her, looked at the passport until finally he decided she was safe to go.

It was as if he was saying to her, “Well, I’m letting you on here against my better judgement. You better be a model world citizen on this plane.”

In general, I liked our Airbus plane better than the Dreamliner we flew over on with WestJet. It had more space in the seating area, and I could actually stretch out my legs. Not that this had anything to do with the plane, but this time I put on compression socks and my legs felt a lot better at the end.

The flight was completely smooth for 9 hours. Not even a bump of turbulence, and I slept for about 40 minutes in between watching various television shows and movies. I haven’t watched that many hours of television in a row in years. It felt both necessary and decadent at the same time.

But inevitably, by the time we arrived, I was feeling pretty grubby, sweaty, and tired. We stood in line for 45 minutes to clear customs in Canada and then somehow ended up in a line to get back on a plane and when the agent asked for our boarding passes D. looked panicked because he had left his on the plane. Phew!

This is what international travel is these days. Long … harried … uncomfortable … possibly close to some medieval forms of torture.

By the time my sister picked us up I was entirely ready for home (and a shower).

We had wanted to stay a while to visit her and my family but our petsitter had already left, so we headed south for the five hour drive home to make sure the cats and dog were okay, which was compounded by another hour long wait at the border behind semi-trucks trying to also cross at 11:00 p.m. at night.

By the time we reached home it was past midnight and we had been traveling for 24 hours straight by automobile and plane, and I felt like we were incredibly lucky to make it home without accident.

The pets all agreed.

Day 13 of The Shetland Diaries: On The Farm, Hever Castle and the Curious Pig In The Parlour

We arrived in London late in the evening from Aberdeen. For once it was truly dark.

While we were there Shetland was close to Simmer Dim, the time of year when it never truly gets dark so we were used to lots of light late at night and also very early in the morning.

London was experiencing some rainstorms so our flight was delayed and we had to wait for checked baggage because this time Doug’s backpack didn’t clear check-in. Could have been those rocks he collected.

Anyway, our driver Mohamed was patiently waiting for us in the airport when we walked out. I always wanted to have my name on a card being held by someone at the airport and there he was.

He was very tall. Huge hands. Reminded me of the James Bond character with the gold teeth? Only friendly of course.

He was driving us from Heathrow to a horse farm with an AirBnB that was near Gatwick. I wanted somewhere close to Gatwick so that it would be easy to catch our flight from London to Calgary and I found this beautiful place in the country.

Trouble was - it was dark, rainy, the farm was hard to find, and Mohamed was a wee bit stressed because he was late to pick up another customer at Gatwick.

Again we were in a van going around roundabout after roundabout until I was nearly sick. We finally reach the road to the farm. I’m reading him directions and we end up going by the entrance to the house.

Suddenly we are driving on a tiny, single lane road that’s muddy with a driver who is late and who can’t turn around. We must have driven for two miles before he decided to make an eight point turn to turnaround and we end up back at the farm entrance.

“But this is where we were before,” he says with some confusion.

“Yes, sorry about that,” I tried to apologize. “We must have missed the sign before.”

After he left I said to D. “I’m pretty sure Mohamed hates us.”

”Do you think we should send him a card?” D. suggested.

We were both so tired that it all seemed absurdly funny.

“I think we should leave it alone.”

D. was over the moon at the place we were staying. It had originally been an outbuilding on the farm and then the groom’s quarters. But the builder and designer had done a fine job.

Exposed beams, historic touches, top of the line appliances. It all looked brand new. We were so tired we each took a bedroom to see if we could catch up on sleep.

Mine was very comfortable but I woke up to a sound that seemed familiar but I couldn’t place it at first.

You know that point in a movie where you here a plane come in, see it drop something and then hear an explosion? Well in this case it was simply the “Neeeerrrr” sound of a plane coming in (without the explosion).

That’s when it dawned on me. We were staying right in the flight path of Gatwick airport. Every 3 minutes a plane landed overhead.

I dragged myself out of bed and moved to the kitchen to start some tea and breakfast from the food we brought with us from Shetland.

D. insisted on bringing salmon (yes it was still wrapped but raw!), broccoli, red peppers, and lemons.

Anyway we turned on the television loudly to block out the airplanes landing, and decided to do two things: Walk the mile and a half to the local pub for lunch, and go to Hever Castle (it has a moat!) to see the childhood home of Anne Boleyn. Pictures below of the pub and the castle.

It was a very British, perfect day to end the trip.

Day 12 of The Shetland Diaries: Shopping in Shetland, Jimmy Perez’s Jumpers, and the Ness of Birgi

D. had been obsessed with finding a Shetland wool hat for the entire trip so the last morning we had in Shetland we decided to go through the shops in Lerwick to find one.

But nothing seemed to suit him. They were either too thin or didn’t fit over his ears or weren’t the right fabric. I bought a few souvenirs but since we only took two carryons had very little room to buy anything.

We bobbed in and out of shops in the commercial district looking for the perfect hat for D. and the smallest souvenirs for me. The city shopping district was crowded because a cruise ship came in that morning and 5000 tourists had the day to explore what they could.

Finally after going back and forth we gave up and went for coffee at the Peerie Coffee Shop. D. resigned himself to not finding one and I took out our postcards and we finished writing them and looking up addresses.

When we got to the post office the stamps were enormous. About three times the size of a US stamp and cut off a good portion of what we wrote.

“Oh well,” I said to D. “It’ll be like a puzzle for them to figure out. Fill in the blank or something.”

It felt bittersweet to leave Lerwick, this little city of 7000 people that captured our hearts. We drove south to the airport and I got to say, “Turn right, stay left” for one of the last times to D.

About halfway to Sumburgh Airport we saw a shop that said designer knitwear in a small village just off the road.

“Turn there,” I told D. “Let’s give it one more try.”

The little shop of sweaters, hats, and other knitwear had two other tourists and the delightful owners of Wilma and Irene who designed all of the knitwear.

I gasped when I saw a signed photo to Irene from Douglas Henshall, the Scottish actor who plays Jimmy Perez in the television series Shetland.

“Irene designed his jumpers,” Wilma told me. I nearly jumped up and down with excitement and right there and then I decided no matter what else I would have to chuck out of my pack I was going to buy a sweater from Irene.

Meanwhile D. had found the perfect hat and Wilma brought out the inspiration for the design - a painting of a brown trout with lots of blues and browns. So perfect for D. who used to fly fish all the time.

We left with our packages wrapped up and enough time to do one final walk near the airport before our flight.

The Ness of Burgi was a short walk out across a peninsula south of the airport to an Iron Age settlement of rocks and turf that sat at the end.

We clambered over boulders and took the last of our photos of this beautiful island.

“How much do you think we’ll miss this place on a scale of 1-10?” D. asked me.

“A 10.”

Day 10 of The Shetland Diaries: Traveling Unst - The Most Northerly Isle in Britain.

Puffin at Hermaness Nature Reserve on the island of Unst

We left our chalet in Yell early so we could catch the 9:30 am ferry to Unst, the most northerly aisle in Britain and as far north as we could possibly go on our trip.

I had booked us on the ferry in advance since the Unst ferry doesn’t fit as many cars and it’s popular on the weekends. We sped northwards stopped occasionally by sheep and lambs crossing the road.

We joined the queue to get on the ferry and when it opened they crammed us all in like sardines. There are no views on these ferries. Everyone stays in their cars watching the hull and waits for the slight swaying to stop and then you’re directed off one by one by the crew.

I was so excited to get to Unst. This was supposed to be the cherry on top of the delicious sundae of the trip. First, because it is home to thousands of puffins, the beautiful penguin-like bird that lives on the edges of the cliffs.

Second, because Unst is most closely aligned with the Viking heritage. It was one of the first places they landed as they went raiding from Norway.

And third because it’s the tip of the top of the islands.

D. was most excited about going out on this road on the northern peninsula. A man who was riding his bike to as many Scottish Isles as he could told him about the road when we met him on the Papa Stour ferry. 

The problem was we didn’t have the most detailed map and so we were guessing where the road would be. 

We pulled over to find D. a coffee (the endless quest) and asked a man about the weather. He said the fog and rain were supposed to clear up in the afternoon so we decided to take our time heading up to Hermaness Nature Reserve and see the Viking longhouse and boat first. 

The boat is a replica of a Viking ship that was found buried. The Norwegians had originally planned to sail the replica to the U.S. but it only got as far as Shetland so the Shetlanders decided to finish restoring it and put it permanently on display. 

The longhouse was also a replica of what some other Viking settlements looked like that have been uncovered. 

All I could think was how terrifying it must have been to the Shetlanders at the time to see that boat coming in from the sea knowing that all the men aboard wanted to plunder your stuff. 

But Shetlanders are very proud of their Viking heritage and celebrate it each year with fire festivals in the winter with men in Viking dress and fire sticks that they throw at a boat in the harbor to burn it up. This is called Up Helly Aa and though I would love to go D. wasn’t thrilled at the thought. 

“I don’t really care about that kind of stuff,“ he said. Fair enough. 

Hermaness Nature Reserve is at the very top of Ulst. It’s the most like a U.S. national park of any place in Shetland. There is no entrance fee. You just park at the bottom of a hill near the visitor center and start climbing. 

They have laid down a walkway to the cliffs to keep tourists from mangling bird habitat. But as we walked up two things happened. 

First we seemed to be herding a pair of sheep and lambs up the hill. And second we had another attack by bonxies (the Arctic Skuas) and this time we acted as if we were old pros at this - raising one arm high while we each took turns taking photos. 

After several miles of walking we reached the top of the hill and the views of the north Atlantic and the lighthouse were magnificent. 

But I wasn’t prepared for the thousands of birds on the cliffs flying below us. It was a Nature event that I have never experienced before. Literally cliff after cliff were covered in birds so that it appeared as if the cliffs were white. Guillemots seemed to be in the biggest abundance. 

We climbed even higher and met our first puffin. And then one more joined him and then another. We were enthralled. 

We walked even further until we were the only ones out there with the puffins and D. spotted one quite close to us along the cliff’s edge. He dropped down on his belly and took out some binoculars to get a better view. We stayed with that puffin for at least half an hour before wandering back when we found a huge tour group coming up from below - all with red jackets. 

“The red coats are coming, the red coats are coming,” D. joked, and they were. A few more pictures and we were off to find this mysterious road the biker had suggested to D. 

At Haroldswick we drove out east towards the coast. The first road we took led us to a nice beach but not a view so we turned around to look again for “the road”. About half way back we saw a steep road going up the side of a hill. 

We decided that must be it and D. turned up the road. It was quite steep and I joked that it must be Shetland’s version of Going to the Sun. The views were good but it turned out that the road led to the Shetland space station (a round white globe on the cliff) and there were gates and warnings about radiation everywhere. 

D. turned around, disappointed, and we were nearly at the bottom of the hill when I tried to cheer him up by praising his driving. 

I said, “You know, you’ve done a really good job driving,” and as soon as I said it we heard a boom and then I said, “We have a flat tire.” 

Now, I am not really superstitious but that was awfully weird timing. 

What happened next was part comedy and part marriage testing. First we found out that there was no spare tire. I called the rental car company. They confirmed. No spare tire just a bottle of foam sealant and a compressor that you hook to your cigarette lighter. All of this was in tiny writing in the instruction manual. None of it worked. Instead our tire stayed flat.

Lots of swearing ensued. We called the local garage but no one was available. “It’s Sunday and they’re all fishing,” I was told. “Call back at 9 am tomorrow.”

“Of course,” I said. 

Luckily our flat occurred almost on the doorstep of an old military compound turned into resort. 

We hiked up the hill to their check-in. The bar man was the only person available and he quickly got us sorted into a room with two twin beds for 45 pounds. 

“Welcome to our new college dorm room,” I told D. when we were alone. The unisex bathroom was across the hall and D. asked if he thought it was okay to go in there with just his underwear on in the middle of the night. 

“Probably not,” I said. “But I also don’t think anyone else is staying in this wing so you might get away with it. 

Long and short was that it wasn’t ideal but I just felt lucky we had anywhere to sleep except the car. 

On the upside, the staff was very friendly and sympathetic. “No spare tire! Give ‘em hell!” 

At dinner we met a young American attending BYU University who was working at the hotel and at the space station for the summer helping shoot off rockets into space. 

He said he could barely understand most of the things people said when they ordered. 

I hoped he could understand the orders to shoot off the rockets okay!

A good dinner, a sunset walk down to the local beach after, and a new season of Grantchester watched together on my twin bed cheered us up. Not a bad place to be stranded at all. 

Day 11 of The Shetland Diaries: Bones in the Road, Legally Blind, and Fisherman’s Friends

D. woke me up first thing in the morning to walk down to the car and call the rental car company. My phone was nearly dead and we didn’t have reception at the hotel.

I didn’t want to wake up. It had been a rough night. The room was as hot as a sauna all night from the uncontrollable radiant heat. I woke up in a sweat when D. opened the windows to the 40 degree air. Then between the two of us getting up to use the bathroom across the hall and the stupid decision to sleep with my contacts in my eyes because I didn’t have my glasses, well .,, it was a long night. D. thought he had bed bugs.

I had ripped the contacts out of my eyes and so was now nearly legally blind. D. helped direct me down the hill to the car and we called the rental car company.

“I need help sorting out a situation,” I began. “Sorting things out” may be my favorite British expression. Anything feels manageable with that phrase. “We will just sort this out and then have a cuppa.”

I’ve learned from BBC that pretty much anything can be dealt with if you have tea. Cousin just found dead in the garden? Let’s have a cuppa. Son just drove your car off a cliff and not by accident? You just need two sugars in your tea. All better then?

So the young woman at the airport knew my language and said, “Could you just give me five minutes to talk to my colleagues about this and I will ring you back?”

Of course.

When she rang me back she had spoken with the mechanic who would be calling us at 9:00.

So when Karl from the local garage called he knew right where we were. “Across from the distillery next to Housi Field, right? I drove by it on my way in this morning.”

Karl arrived, made a few “this is not good noises” which D. later said to me he hopes never to hear from a medical professional, took the tire and promised to be back.

Meanwhile we walked back up to Saxa Vord for tea and coffee and I watched an inane game show blind where a man was asked to name five of the top ten craft beer brewing countries in the world for 2500 pounds and he answered India! India! “I knew it was a wild card,” he said.

Karl rang back and when we went down to meet him he was putting on a new tire. “Lucky we had this,” he said. “We don’t normally sell tires but a car was in this weekend and we had a tire we could use from it.”

But here’s the incredible part. He told us that our tire was irreparable because it had been punctured by a bone.

“A bone?”

”Yeah,” he said. “The bonxies kill rabbits in the field and then the crows pick up the bones and drop them in the roads to break them and get the marrow out.”

We stared at him in astonishment. I told him about our encounters with Bonxies and he chuckled and then showed us a large scar on the back of his head.

He said he had been fishing when a Bonxie hit him in the back of his head and knocked him unconscious. He said they will fly into you at 40 mph. Guess we were right to scream.

We got back on the road again and headed south for the ferry. Our checkout on Yell was supposed to be at 11 but I called the owner and explained the situation and he was kind enough to let us check out in the afternoon.

I should be clear. Everyone we met on the trip was friendly and helpful. Even the people we didn’t think would be and we were counting our lucky stars we could drive back south without too much trouble.

I was still blind, of course and spent a good 10 minutes trying to find the car again after we stopped for fuel and coffee. But anyway we made it back to the chalet in due course, washed up, packed up and headed south for Lerwick where we were staying the night in another AirB&B.

It was good to see a new part of the mainland and have eyes again but as soon as we got to Lerwick I took a nap. The night had been exhausting.

I knew D. would want fish and chips again for dinner so we walked about a mile to the downtown area of Lerwick and ate steamy fish and chips again outdoors.

Dinner and a movie was the plan. We walked over to the Mareel, a modern cinema, theater and arts building to watch a showing of Fisherman’s Friends, a movie about 12 Cornish fishermen whose sea shanty songs were discovered by a London music producer and they hit the pop charts unexpectedly.

It was so good! A completely feel good movie that was set in Cornwall in the same village where Doc Martin is filmed (another of our BBC favorites). If you get a chance, see it.

Day 9 of The Shetland Diaries: Go to Yell!

Shetland has over 100 islands and when I planned our itinerary I booked time on each of the major ones so that we could see a good portion of the islands in one trip. 

I’ve included a map below so you can see that we’re on Yell, the second biggest island next to the mainland, and one of the three most northerly.

We didn’t have anything officially planned for Yell, so we spent the night prior looking at our guidebooks and tourist materials. 

We decided on a hike across the peat and heath to the Eigg and with views of a fjord on one side and the Atlantic on the other. 

So in the morning we drove north until I misdirected D. to try and find the one shop in Ulsta and ended up on a dirt lane next to a house that also was the post office? 

After that D. very much wanted a good cup of coffee so we drove past the road to our trail and into the town of Mid-Yell. It was a sunny small village on a bay and there was a regatta going on at the pier. 

We found a restaurant called LJ’s and while D. went in for an Americano I petted this adorable creature on the fence outside. We have seen a few cats on our trip and it always feels a bit like Cocoa and Peaches are saying hello when we do. 

Dawn has been sending us photos so we know they are doing well, but it was fun to meet this tabby too! 

After coffee we headed to Aywick to see if we could get D. another wool hat since his was a bit stretched out. The Aywick Shop was full of food and this and that. It’s a lot like a small town general store in Montana. 

The owner took D. back to look at hats but none were wool. She told him she could have someone knit one for him overnight! I laughed so hard thinking about some poor woman knitting furiously to get D. a new hat. But anyway, D. declined since she told him she thought he could find one on Unst tomorrow. 

We returned to the road until we found the start of the walk we wanted to do, which was basically at the bottom of a very large moorland hill between two sheep farms. 

It was just us. No trails. A map and a compass. We walked for miles over spongy, bumpy peat getting some nice views but probably nowhere near the intended path in the guidebook. 

The weather was mostly sunny, with some wind, and we stopped to have mid afternoon lunch next to a large patch of quartz. 

We returned the same way we came and feeling tired from a nearly 10 mile hike around unstable spongy ground went straight back home for dinner. 

Day 8 of The Shetland Diaries: Frankie’s Fish & Chips, The Hams of Muckle Roe, and the Infinity of Eshaness

The morning ferry from Papa Stour to the mainland was much calmer than our first trip. There were four passengers, including us, and 2 vehicles. Neither of which had to be lashed down. I was so relieved!

I spent the trip chatting with Shauna, a woman from Brae who works the ferries. She was very friendly and told me all the places to go on Yell and in Brae. She explained that she had a young son but was single.

“I can’t get married,” she told me. “There would be too many people. I’d have to invite the whole island.” We laughed about that and we’re both happy when the sun started streaming out behind the clouds.

Meanwhile Doug was talking to a woman who was recently widowed who said her husband’s family had lived on Papa Stour for 600 years. 600 years! Now that’s some history.

At the ferry we headed east and north towards the town of Brae, home to the most northerly fish and chips shop in the UK. I had called ahead to reserve a table because they serve gluten-free fish and chips from a dedicated fryer! Heaven!

After eating way too much (but thoroughly enjoying every bite) we headed to the island of Muckle Roe, which has one of the most famous hikes on the island. Of course, we got lost, double backed and I ended up getting directions from a man working outside of his garage who told me stories about working for the US Coast Guard on Shetland.

Every time we’ve hiked it hasn’t been entirely clear where to park. But this time we found a few cars near a farm and followed the guidebook’s instructions to walk between them into a sheep pasture.

In the pasture there was a sign that pointed in two directions. One way was to the Lighthouse and the other was to the Hams. Hams mean havens and the hike was more like a western hike than any we have done. Up and down with a real track and lots of elevation gain above the coast.

We both ran out of cell phone battery so I only have one picture of this spectacular, sunny hike through pink granite cliffs. It took us all afternoon to complete the circular and by the end it was raining again but I insisted we go see Eshaness as well before we took the ferry to Yell.

So D. drove north through more single lane roads with baby sheep playing on the edges and we spent nearly an hour at the Eshaness Lighthouse walking along the cliff side and all I could think about was the seemingly infinite ocean in front of us with no boats or people anywhere in sight.

On the way to the island of Yell (where the Yell are you going?) we stopped for groceries and somehow timed it to meet the ferry exactly as it was boarding the last car.

We arrived at our “chalet” on Yell at Ulsta, with a great view of the ferry just in time for dinner, unpacking, and an episode of Lewis on the BBC.

Splendid!

Day 7 of The Shetland Diaries: A Long Walk Around The Island of Priests, Fear of Heights, And Stacks and Skerries

Aisha Head on the west end of Papa Stour

We woke up to the sound of wind beating on the windowpanes in the ceiling of our bedroom. The sky was gray and I thought seriously about staying in bed at least another hour longer to catch up on the sleep we missed during our travels.

But today was the only full day we had to explore the island of Papa Stour, no matter what the weather, so I got out of bed reluctantly before Doug and went downstairs to start breakfast.

I must admit my tea addiction has only gotten stronger since arriving on an island where black tea comes in gigantic boxes and there are electric pots on all the counter tops and a cream so rich that it’s like dessert itself to add to hot tea.

So I made a pot of tea to start the day and got dressed with rain in mind since it was supposed to be wet. D. eventually joined me downstairs for a breakfast of fresh jumbo eggs, smoked salmon, fried potatoes, and fruit. We needed to fortify ourselves for a long day of walking around the edges of the island.

Dressed in all of our gear, we headed down the grassy road towards the bottom of the hill. We saw four people. A man walking with his poodle to check on his sheep, another man who looked like ZZ Top who zoomed by on an atv, and a red car that stopped next to us with the couple we met the day before on the ferry.

“You’re not going walking in this weather are you?” he asked.

I shrugged. It’s the only day we have for it.

“Well how far is it?”

I pulled out the guidebook and showed him the map. “It’s supposed to be 7.5 miles,” I said, “but if you did the entire circumference it’s 18 kilometers.”

“Seven and a half miles! I hope you brought food with you, did you?”

I almost laughed as I assured him we did. Their level of concern for us was touching.

We moved on up the next hill as they drove off to explore the historic church on the island. There is a long history of religion on the islands. The Vikings nicknamed it Papey Stora in Old Norse which means the big island of priests. A community of Celtic missionary priests lived on the island as early as the 6th century. It was also a Norwegian royal farm and is full of prehistoric remains.

It was hard to imagine how people survived on the island for 5000 years and now 20 inhabitants remain.

As we started to walk over sheep pastures to the north side of the island we could see large waves breaking on the rocks. We climbed and kept climbing until we reached the highest point on the island.

A lot of what was to become a 12 mile hike/walk had me feeling anxious about heights. We kept safely clear of the edges of green turf where cliffs straight down to the ocean were exposed but it was still worrisome as we made our way ever higher among the cliffs.

As we got to the far western edge we could see how the sea had sculpted arches, stacks, and skerries. It reminded me so much of the desert around Moab, Utah only in the sea.

As we walked skuas attacked us several times but this time we knew the trick to put one hand up in the air to scare them off. Still it’s unnerving to get attacked by a large bird while you’re walking perilously close to a cliff edge.

The rain started half way through the walk and our outerwear was completely soaked when we got back to the house. As we got close to home we stopped into the church to look at the stain glass windows commemorating the service of men and women in World War II.

It had been a marvelous day. Full of astounding views, historic stone structures, sheep and birds and not another soul out there with us.

Day 6 of The Shetland Diaries: West is Best, The Windswept Isles, and the Waves of Papa Stour

The coastal path at Sandness with a view of Magnus Bay and the west end of Papa Stour island. 

There is a saying in Shetland that “West is Best” referring to the west side of the island and its sunnier weather than the east part of the mainland. 

But the sun was not cooperating when we left Lerwick and headed for the west coast, which is about a 30 mile drive but took us over an hour because much of it is single lane roads with the occasional passing pullover. 

Instead it was an extremely windy day, and we enjoyed the protection of the car as we drove through hills full of sheep and small villages with the occasional loch to one side or the other. 

I directed us to the coastal town of Sandness where we found the trailhead to the Coastal Walk on the west coast and parked our car next to a croft, which is what we would call a sheep ranch with a historic home attached. 

The trail started in a sheep pasture and we followed it along southwards taking the occasional photo of Papa Stour, the island where we would be staying that night. 

D. was worried about the weather and whether the ferry would run because it was so windy. I had called that morning to check and they assured me it was going. We looked out to sea and could see whitecaps. It was unnerving to think about being on a boat in that but that was the plan. 

We spent about 90 minutes exploring the cliffs and looking out to sea and then retraced our steps across the Croft and headed back east and north to catch the ferry at West Burrafirth. 

The ferry pier was in a little cove with a small building that houses a small waiting room and toilet. To the side was an old telephone booth that nearly looked antique. 

A few cars and a couple pulled up and we all waited as the ferry pulled up. There was room for only three cars and a small trailer which made me glad I made a reservation several months in advance. The small crew lashed down the cars to the deck with ropes, took our 13 pound fare, and took off toward the open sea with us hanging on to a few handholds in open air. 

I briefly went into the passenger berth where other passengers were huddled but I couldn’t stand the up and down motion of the swells. When I got outside D. motioned me over to the side where he was facing around the boat looking at Papa Stour. While I watched a huge spray of ocean came up and over him and the cats and he turned and grinned at me. 

I was hanging on in the back with another couple from Scalloway and joked with them, “some people do this for fun as a vacation!”

They were excited to go to Papa Stour as well and asked us with concern, “Did you bring food?” I nodded yes. We stocked up at the grocery store before leaving Lerwick. There are only 20 inhabitants on Papa Stour and no stores. 

D. stood by the side the entire way, getting soaked by the waves and loving every minute of it. I was nervous but towards the end when I could see land felt pretty confident we would make it. 

Fortunately, one of the passengers, an older man with a trailer full of straw turned out to be a neighbor of ours and showed us the way to the traditional Croft we were staying at. He even offered us a toilet paper roll. Which I could decline because we came prepared. 

The Croft had a view of the ocean and was surrounded by sheep when we arrived. We parked in the pasture and brought in our stuff. I was thrilled. It was cozy, comfortable and rustic. It smelled exactly like the house we ranch sat in about 14 years ago when we were taking care of a sheep farm in Montana. All of the amenities we needed were in it and we soon got settled in and each took a nap. 

When we woke D. convinced me to walk down to the Kirk Sands with him. Kirk means church and Sands means beach. There is a church above the beach. 

As we were walking on the coast D. spotted 3 seals who were watching us and followed us the entire way. They are very curious creatures.

It was blowing hard and we found some driftwood on the beach that we brought back to the Croft to make a fire. 

So while D. made a fire I whipped up a dinner of English baby potatoes, broccoli, rocket (arugula) salad, and Scottish salmon fried in butter and garlic. It was delightful. 

Day 5 of The Shetland Diaries: History Lessons in Lerwick, an Invitation for a Cuppa, and Jimmy Perez’s House

Jimmy Perez’s house in the television series Shetland.

When people ask me why we decided to visit Shetland, I react a bit like someone who met their spouse online when asked how they met. 

“Mmm ... uhhh ... we’re big fans of the Shetland tv series,” I say. Which is like saying you are visiting New York because you love the series Sex and The City. 

Not necessarily a bad reason, but a bit gauche, don’t you think? I mean I would rather visit Shetland because I became obsessed with the Shetland ponies and wanted to know where they came from or because I read an article in National Geographic or happen to know someone there or was researching Vikings. 

But no, I just happen to be a huge BBC fan of the Shetland tv series about a cop investigating murders on this little island north of Scotland. My new thing is to joke with the locals that we came to see whether the murder rate was really as high as it seems on tv. The truth is that crime is nearly nonexistent here and the locals act slightly chagrined by the existence of the series. 

Anyway, so that’s why we got a little bit excited when we spotted Jimmy Perez’s fictional home In Lerwick yesterday and the reason I booked a historical tour with a guide who had also played an extra on the show.

Historic Lerwick, the capital of Shetland

The historical tour of Lerwick was supposed to take several hours and we were a bit late after getting breakfast at a wonderful coffee shop so I was hurrying D. to get there. 

He didn’t want to go so I left him in the car park while I ran to the tourist Centre to meet my guide. Only problem was ... my guide wasn’t there. The woman at the counter said she had just seen him but he had left. I called the number I had. I emailed. No response. I had paid in advance and even bought the optional insurance if we didn’t make it (silly, I know). 

I went out to find D., downhearted and with the brochure of the tour in my hand. He went in with me to the Tourist Centre and we looked around at the beautiful crafts and books for sale. Finally I showed him the brochure with the guide’s photo and he exclaimed, “That’s the guy! I just met him and his wife in the car park!” 

Apparently D. had parked the car and a woman who parked next to him told him she liked his hat. This is a mystery to me since that hat has been worn to near tatters but we will save that for another conversation. 

They chatted and her husband came up and D. told them his wife was going on a tour. “Well, she’s not on my tour” the man said glumly and kissed his wife goodbye. Only I was! 

I was so disappointed so D. tried to cheer me up by suggesting we find Jimmy Perez’s house, which is actually a historic waterfront building called a Lodeberrie where smugglers used to hide goods from ships. 

We walked up the street and spent about an hour photographing ourselves in various poses in front of the house from the tv series, which we later found out is occupied (and thus exceedingly embarrassing that I basically did a photo shoot without permission on someone’s doorstep.) 

We were walking back to the car park when our guide called! He apologized and then laughed for about five minutes straight when I told him he met D. in the parking lot. We made a plan for 2:00 and I called every fish and chip shop in town to see if they had gluten-free fish and chips. 

Turned out that Harbour Fish and Chips a block away had gluten free batter. We were so excited! D. grew up in New England and loves haddock, which is the fish of choice here. Two teenagers took care of us and wrapped our fish and chips in paper with a side of white vinegar and we sat outside at the Harbour feasting on steaming hot fish and chips. 

While sitting outside we met a man who had retired with his wife to Shetland and couldn’t say enough good things about it and twin sisters who were funny and thought the acting in the series Shetland terrible and embarrassing. 

We left to meet our guide and spent the next two hours learning the history of Lerwick from a man who very much reminded me of the character Hagrid from Harry Potter. He had a jolly laugh and we pretty much laughed the entire time. 

Here is a recording of him sharing a poem in Norm, the dialect on Shetland that comes from Old Norse. 

He took us to Shetland city hall, which has stained glass windows that depict the entire history of the Norwegian and then the Scottish rulers of Shetland. We also went to Fort Charlotte where legend has it that John Paul Jones was coming to attack Shetland during the American revolution and turned around when he saw the women of Shetland who had gathered wearing red coats and he thought the army too big to defeat. Now that’s a stretch! But a fun story. 

We left him and returned to our kayaking guide’s home in the country because I had accidentally underpaid them by 10 pounds. Fortunately I caught the mistake first but we had to return to give them the money. They run a greenhouse as well as a kayaking business and we found them in the garden. We saw a few of their bumblebees and chickens and they invited us in “for a cuppa” tea and a spoonful of their homegrown honey (delicious). 

They asked about American politics and we spent a half hour trying to explain the electoral college (surprisingly hard) and why Americans have so many guns (also hard). But in the end we left feeling warmer and the richer for it. Traveling is really about the people you meet (not a tv series). 

Lerwick Commercial District

Day 4 of The Shetland Diaries: Sea Kayaking, Seals, and Scalloway

The worst part of traveling on Shetland is driving on the left-hand side of the road and scaring ourselves silly every time we come to an intersection and have to turn right.

D. is doing all of the driving because I can’t drive a manual stick shift. The last time I tried to learn I burned out the clutch in D’s pickup so he has given up trying to teach me.

Besides, I would be terrified driving on these narrow, winding roads. We drove up to Lerwick yesterday in a line of traffic and D. did his best James Bond impression driving the 30 miles north. Especially since we missed our turn twice.

But … we arrived out in the country just in time to join our group with Sea Kayaking Shetland for a guided half-day excursion on the North Sea from Quorff to Galberwick..

The tour company is run by Angus, his wife Wendy, and daughter Rosalind. We loved them immediately. They gave us rubber pants and hooded jackets and we all suited up to go kayaking in the rain with 4 other women. One of them lives in Scotland, and is married to an American who grew up in a town 5 miles from where D.’s mother lived for years in northern New Hampshire. It’s a small world after all.

After some training Angus and Rosalind led us out into the North Sea to follow the coastline north for 5 miles through rocks and caves and inlets. The photos below are courtesy of Sea Kayaking Shetland and we’re taken by Angus. My camera was tucked safely into the front pouch of my jacket and never came out.

Fortunately, our Air B&B was ready for us to check in after so we could dry off before dinner. It was an adorable addition to a home just on the edge of Lerwick and our host even bought us fresh strawberries and fruits to welcome us.

We decided to drive to Scalloway for dinner because everything closes In Lerwick on Monday nights. Scalloway is Shetland’s ancient capital and so cute and colorful.

The Hotel Scalloway serves gourmet meals and we had fresh Halibut and scallops for dinner. D. confused our waitress by asking for a cup of brewed coffee. She had to ask the chef for directions.

Afterwards they literally gave us the key to the Scalloway castle, the former estate of Patrick Stewart, Earl of Shetland who was not loved. Next door the museum still has the ashes of the last witch he burned!

Day 3 of The Shetland Diaries: St. Ninian’s Isle, the Quendale Water Mill, and Jarlshof Ruins

Have you ever been somewhere that is so awe inspiring you wonder if you’re imagining it?

That is what walking on St. Ninian’s Isle over the tombolo was like.

After enjoying a full Scottish breakfast at our hotel (sausage, bacon, poached egg, a kind of white baked bean, a fried hash brown wedge, mushrooms, canned fruit, and of course tea and coffee) we felt suitably energized to walk the rest of the day.

We drove down mostly one lane roads through small crofting villages to get there. When we arrived we met a girl walking her Great Dane on the tombolo who had just gotten braces and was feeling so self conscious she kept her hand over her mouth most of the time. She was incredibly friendly and agreed to pose for a photo with us.

The walk was quite easy even with some uphill stretches. We kept away from the cliffs and when we met another walker from Virginia who was standing a few feet from the edge D. asked her to move away because he was so nervous she would trip or a gust of wind would blow her over.

Turns out the biggest danger were bonxies or Arctic Skuas protecting their chicks by dive bombing us. We both screamed and ran across a field full of sheep and lambs while two giant birds the size of hawks flew a few inches from our heads.

Later I fell in a thistle patch and had large welts all over my legs for the rest of the night. But minor scrapes and scares in all.

We stopped at Quendale Water Mill because I was curious to see the local crafts on display and had a nice conversation with the local curator who had recently retired from working at the airport. He told us about a pod of orcas that had recently been seen in the area and recommended a few other sites.

At the end of the day, Jarlshof ruins were the perfect way to end our day of touring. Especially since we were the only ones and it was on the doorstep of our hotel.

Shetland has a fascinating history. In 1469 it was pawned as part of a dowry to Scotland’s King James III. Denmark fully intended to get it back but that never happened because the Scots realized what a gem they had.

The Vikings settled it in the 8th Century but its history dates back 4000 years. And there are still archaeological sites remaining that tell its stories. About 2500 years ago large stone circular buildings called brochs were built across Scotland, most likely for protection. To give some context, this is before the pyramids and Mesa Verde were built.

Jarlshof has a Broch as well and it’s hard to fathom how they built these tall circular structures made out of sandstone rocks that weren’t even on the island at the time.

Day 2 of The Shetland Diaries: Ponies, Puffins, Petrels, and More …

We woke at 5 a.m. Inverness time to meet our taxi to the Inverness airport. I didn’t feel too bad. Possibly because my body felt like it was 11 p.m. instead of early morning.

Our taxi driver, like the one the night before, chatted us up all the way to the airport. I learned that the movie Braveheart and the series Outlander were filmed at Inverness, and that children can go to all Gaelic speaking schools to keep up their heritage.

We took Loganair to the Orkney Islands and then to Shetland. It was a beautiful day for flying. Our flight attendant wore a red tartan dress and shiny black flats with tassels. Perfect!

On the way to Orkney. We were in the front row. Only about a dozen people on the plane with us.

At the airport I learned that Iron Brew, which is a type of orange soda, is illegal in the U.S. and you can’t get enough Haggis around here.

When we arrived at Sumburgh I found this poem in the bathroom. We rented a car and D. spent 15 minutes trying to figure out all the manual speeds. A friendly woman who worked at the airport got in the car and showed him what was what.

Our hotel is a 5 minute drive from the airport and they let us check in early and served us a full Scottish breakfast complete with sausage, ham, a fried hash brown wedge, beans, tomatoes, and poached egg. We both felt so good after eating that we promptly took a 6 hour nap. No kidding!

We woke up in the afternoon ready to go see some puffins at Sumburgh Lighthouse. And we did! These rare birds waddle a bit like penguins, could fit in your hand, and can fly like the wind. We watched for several hours and explored the light house area.

Dinner at the hotel was a divine assortment of seafood and the best gluten-free bread I have ever had. We had an Elton Mess for dessert which our server struggled to define for us, but I would call it berries in a mess of cream and meringue. Delicious!

We drove in the rain north to Sandsyre Pier to take a trip to see the Mousa Broch, on Mousa isle. It was wet. The people on board looked miserable but we had a great time walking to the Broch to see the storm petrel birds return at night to their nests after 2-5 days feeding at sea to sit on their egg while their mate takes its turn feeding as well.

It was 2 am by the time we returned and had a hot bath to warm up. I cracked up when I saw this photo of us at the 60 degree north latitude that our Scottish guide took of us. So funny!

Day 1 of The Shetland Diaries: An Unexpected Trip to Inverness

What do you call it when things work out better than you planned? Serendipity? Good Luck?

Well, whatever it is we’re feeling particularly grateful for it because when I first found out our flight was canceled from London to Aberdeen I didn’t think it was good luck.

Of course, at that point I had had a total of 2 hours semi-tortured sleep in the middle seat of our row on the Dreamliner from Calgary, Alberta to London, Gatwick and was in the back of a van trying to avoid motion sickness.

I looked over at D. and he was positively green from the motion of the van in London traffic in the rain. “Our flight is cancelled,” I told him. He looked as if he was being flogged at sea.

This is the irony of travel. You can have these beautiful moments of the new and unexpected but to get there it seems there is no way around sleep deprivation, backaches, smelly clothes, crooked necks, unplanned fasting, and near sickness in the back of a van.

Can’t say it isn’t worth it though.

So I am desperately trying to get my wi-fi to work that I paid extra for in the van that I paid extra for in order to save a flight I paid less for because it was with a different airline at a different airport.

I knew that making this connection might be tough. We had 3 hours to clear customs, get from Gatwick to Heathrow, clear security again and board.

Traffic was terrible and though our driver was doing the best he could it ended up taking twice as long as expected and he told us he was “exhausted” when he finally dropped us off at Heathrow only 30 minutes before our flight to Aberdeen was supposed to take off.

Good thing it was cancelled! Because we probably wouldn’t have made it on time anyway.

So I stood in line to get rebooked to Shetland just mainly hoping I could arrange a hotel quickly. But British Airways was remarkable! They rebooked us for a flight that left in two hours to Inverness and paid for our hotel overnight in Inverness and dinner to compensate for the trouble. Amazing!

We stayed at a lovely hotel in downtown Inverness and took a wee walk down to the river and a local castle after. Grand.

How to find a great pet sitter online

Dawn (pictured left) is our pet sitter from Atlanta during our trip. 

So, our pets are the kids in the family. We have two Maine Coon cats and one “we have no idea” dog who we adopted two years ago.

They are the limiting factor for us to travel and we are one of those crazy couples who hardly ever travel together because somebody has to be there to take care of the animals.

But I was determined that this year would be the year we would go away together, without the pets, and without any family involved in our travels. We love our family but traveling for family visits is not the same as traveling to explore new places - just us.

So I promised Doug I would find someone who could stay at our house and take care of “the kids”. We had spent 18 months house sitting a few years ago in various places after we sold our house. It was a travel adventure and we traded housesitting and pet sitting for the opportunity to explore a few places a few weeks or months at a time.

We did that by using a couple of websites matching homeowners with house sitters who have background checks and references and so I decided to post our house sit on one of them: housecarers.com.

I was shocked that we immediately had 6 people apply to housesit for us almost immediately. We live near Glacier but it’s still rather remote. Some wrote long letters gushing about how much they wanted the job!

After talking to 3 of them we offered it to Dawn (pictured above) who traveled from Atlanta to be with our pets for the next two weeks. She is a kindred spirit and already a close friend. We were amazed by how much we have in common.

She has been here the last few days getting to know our pets and property and I feel completely at peace knowing she’ll take great care of everything while we’re gone.

And I love the karma of offering something to someone that we once received and hopefully giving her an incredible travel experience visiting Glacier while we’re in Shetland.

All is well and getting better!

My garden's "before" photo

We re-planted our tomatoes tonight. D. wasn’t satisfied with how the first tomatoes looked. They took a beating because it took a week for us to plant them after we bought them and then they got hammered by rain.

D. worries over his tomatoes. I’m serious. I call him the “tomato-whisperer.” We stood over tomato plants for at least 30 minutes this week discussing their “state” and whether they would recover. This is serious business!

I felt terrible yanking plants out of the ground, but the growing season is short here, and we can’t afford to nurse sickly tomatoes all season. So, new tomatoes, and a few new basil plants too. It’s going to be a good season!

Pictured here are our crop of pepper plants, from spicy to bell, and back again. It’ll be fun to show this photo again in August when the peppers are growing and the squash in the back has completely taken over the ground. I’ll share photos of the beautiful tomatoes too.

How to pack for two weeks with just a backpack

So, we leave on Thursday for the Shetland Islands. I feel the need to use an exclamation point!

If you’re not familiar with the Shetland Islands, they are about 375 miles north of Scotland. For purposes of comparison, that’s about as far as from the north of Montana to the south of Montana. But in this case those miles would be covered by sea.

We are not taking the ferry from Scotland to Shetland. It’s about 15 hours and I don’t enjoy long boat rides, so we’re going by air for the entire trip. Which meant that there were a lot of discussion in our household about what suitcases we would take and how we would pack.

I haven’t taken a backpack as my only form of luggage for 20 years. But in this case, since we need backpacks for extended walking (aka hiking) around Shetland, and because I wanted a good old-fashioned minimalist challenge, we have both opted to take a backpack and perhaps another small carry-on like a computer bag or larger purse. Obviously, D. will not be carrying a purse.

In addition, the temperature ranges from 45 degrees Fahrenheit to 55 degrees Fahrenheit year round on Shetland, so we need some warmish clothing.

Here’s what I’m takinf that fits in my backpack:

• Rain Gear (rain-proof jacket and pants)

• One pair of jeans, one pair of leggings, and I’m wearing a pair of hiking pants on the plane.

• Two long-sleeved shirts (one for the plane), one t-shirt, and two light sweaters.

• Socks and underwear.

• Sleepwear

• Swimwear

• One belt

• One down coat for warmth (which I’m wearing on the plane despite how ridiculous it will look to wear one in summer).

• One hat, light gloves, and a neck gator

• Hiking boots (which I’m wearing on the plane) and possibly sandals (they may need to go in the other bag).

Here’s what I’m taking in my other small carry-on:

• Wallet and Passport

• Phone

• Computer

• Kindle

• Notebook

• Toiletries

• Umbrella

And that’s it! I’m not going to anything fancy, and so I’m packing for comfort, ease, and practicality. And I’m really looking forward to living out of a small backpack and mputer bag for two weeks. Really!

Hiking Glacier's Scenic Point and A Month of Dares

I was double-dog dared to do this post. And I don’t back down from a dare. But getting back into the saddle after being bucked off isn’t the easiest thing to do in the world.

The story I’m about to tell is one of overcoming fear, not really about Scenic Point, which is awesome, but really how it’s a metaphor for risk, fear, and reward.

That’s why I’m doing a month of dares. I’m daring myself each day to get outside of my comfort zone every day in June. And I’m writing about it, because writing is one of those things I’m daring myself to do..

Writing brings up a lot of fear for me. Fear of being vulnerable, fear of sharing something that may not be “good enough”, fear of pissing someone off unintentionally, fear of being boring, and perhaps fear of self.

Anyway, back to Scenic Point. Two years ago, D. and I took a hike up Scenic Point in mid-may. Scenic Point is a south-facing trail and slope, so it’s one of the first places you can hike in Glacier in May without hitting too much snow.

The hike was beautiful. We got up to the same point where this photo was taken, just below snowline near the summit. The only trouble was I came back with an uninvited guest. The next day as I was letting my dog outside, I felt something in my hair and pulled out a tick. Should have kept it, but screamed and flung it off of me instead (it’s a natural reaction and anyone who tells me different is a liar).

Two nights later I woke up in the middle of the night with a fever, and I thought, “Why do I have a fever?” I swallowed and didn’t have a sore throat. Didn’t feel like I had a cold. And then I knew. I knew immediately what I had even though I really didn’t know much about it at the time. Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever.

It’s caused by tick bites, and it causes fever and an all-over body rash, and can be life-threatening if it’s not caught in time. Fortunately, my doctor was in our small-town clinic the next day, and I got right in, and she believed me. I had a fever, and fortunately no rash (it comes on after about a week). She immediately got me on antibiotics, and I spent a week in a fever, feeling red, blotchy, tired, and scared.

Anyway, it was a scary time, and I learned all sorts of things about ticks I never really wanted to know over the course of that week, and I recovered.

Which brings me to the “getting back on the horse after being bucked off” metaphor. We decided to hike Scenic Point again this Memorial Day, and this time, I sprayed myself with bug spray (even though I am one of those type of people who doesn’t believe in getting anywhere near DEET), and I stayed away from brushing up against vegetation and trees. I kept thinking, “Did I pick that tick up here? Was it here?” And tried to stay cool so that D. wouldn’t think I was a total paranoid freak.

The thing about tick bites is you can kind of never know for sure if you did get bit or not (which is why people get Lyme disease and have no idea where they even came into contact with the tick). Yes, you can find them and you can find bites, but it’s not always a sure thing.

So, we came home, and I inspected myself, and prayed. It’s been nearly a week and I’m fine. I’ll likely keep going back up to Scenic Point, because it’s beautiful, and south-facing, and there isn’t a high chance of meeting a bear on that trail. And because I need to keep taking risks.

For those of you who want some real travel information on Scenic Point, you can access the trailhead driving into Two Medicine Lake campground. It’s a shorter trail with lots of elevation gain, beautiful views, and a real summit. The photo above is of Two Medicine Lake and surrounding mountains (I won’t name them all).

Right Here In Texas

So, on my way to Whole Foods tonight to pick up some food supplies while I’m at this conference, I learned all about Egyptian food from my Egyptian Lyft driver. He went on for 10 minutes straight!

I love talking to recent immigrants about food. They are so passionate about it! I even recorded him explaining his favorite Egyptian dishes, but I’m having trouble uploading it, so I’ll just say this … it sounds Mediterranean, but it’s got it’s own spin. Lots of lamb, onions, garlic, spices, and tomatoes.

On the way back, I took a ride with a Lyft driver from Nigeria. He talked about plantains and spicy, spicy food. He said he goes to an African market in Dallas to get groceries to cook with, and often visits an African restaurant when he’s busy. But … he said his favorite American food is …. chicken. What kind of chicken, exactly? Fried chicken. And wings! He waxed poetic about chicken for several minutes.

You can learn a lot about food by taking a Lyft.

Margherita Pizza in Vegas

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There are two things to remember when you go to Vegas.

First, bring your walking shoes. You’ll walk more than you walk anywhere. Including New York City. Second, nothing is easy to find. The signage is almost deliberately confusing. My theory Is the owners of the casinos want you to get lost, tired, and finally sit down at a slot machine and feed it all your money.

All of these things (except the slot machine bit) happened to me today, and I was only in Vegas for 3 hours! It was a layover on my way to Dallas. But, here’s the thing about taking a discount airline: Expect the unexpected.

I did a hacker fare to go to Dallas, and it routed me through three airlines, and two stops. I checked in a normal carry-on bag (because it was cheaper than paying the extra to put it on the plane), and then picked it up between flights in Vegas. It arrived in Terminal 1. My next flight was in Terminal 3. After asking for directions to the airline check-in counter three times, I finally found the right shuttle to take me to Terminal 3. I got to Terminal 3, found the ticket counter, re-checked my bag, stood in line for security, and then took a train to my gate.

By the time arrived at my gate I had spent 2 of my 3 hour layover. The good news is that I got 7,000 steps in on my Fitbit. And the other piece of good news is that I had just enough time to stop at California Pizza Kitchen and get this delectable Margherita pizza with a gluten-free cauliflower crust to tide me over for both a late lunch and dinner.

And now I’m at my hotel in Dallas, about ready to hit the hay.