I don’t know how we ended up on Stronsay – it was an accident and an adventure. I’d wanted to see the Orkney islands for a while. We hadn’t had a holiday for 3 years because of Covid and Mum dying. I think I idly started googling cottages and found Mingro on Stronsay. I didn’t even know where Stronsay was, but the cottage with its bright yellow door right on the beach with the seals, looked like a dream. I showed it to Colin, and he said “yes, if you really want to, sure”. The cottage was free from the end of June, and the deposit was really low (only £29) so I just thought – why not? But I didn’t really believe that we’d ever get there.
That’s when the planning started. Where could we fly from? Glasgow seemed best (train from Derby no problem, right). We had done it before on the way to Oban. Flights left on Saturday 25th June at 8.30AM and returned from Kirkwall at 10.15AM Saturday 2nd July. So, we knew we would need to get to Glasgow the day before and stay over. Then we checked the ferries to Stronsay. One left Kirkwell on Saturday 25th at 4PM, but there was no way we could get back on the 2nd in time for our return flight, so we would have to leave Whitehall on Stronsay on Friday 1st, at 8.40AM in the morning and stay over in Kirkwall.
So, we took our courage in our hands and booked cottage, flights and ferries. Colin stepped up and booked trains to and from Glasgow, and a one-night stop at the Premier Inn at Glasgow Airport. I went looking for a one-night stop in Kirkwall. This was hard! I tried several – all booked up. For a while I thought we might end up sleeping in the airport, then I found a room at the Ayres Hotel on Kirkwall Harbour. It cost a packet, and had slightly lukewarm reviews, but it was a bed! That was booked too.
The last step we thought, was car hire from Kirkwall airport. I booked a small 5 door hatchback From Avis at Kirkwall Airport. This was no problem except for the numerous kinds of paperwork they wanted to see – licence (I had to check that my old paper one was still valid), a DVLA code online, copies of recent bills and proof of address. A bit confusing but we sort it when the time came.
So amazingly that was all done. We’ll never make it I thought what with Covid on the rise again and my sister’s recovery after an operation going very slowly. I still booked the cat into a cattery though. Again, a bit hairy – third time lucky. It seems everyone wanted a post covid holiday at the same time.
After that, we had some good luck, and some bad luck. The good luck was that my friend Rhiannon offered out of the blue and with unbelievable generosity to look after Marshall, so we could cancel the cattery. She only lives over the river and all I had to do in return was to offer to look after her cat Chicory for one night. So, Marshall dodged a bullet, and my sister could come over to visit him which was great for her too.
The bad news – the rail workers were going on strike. I don’t blame them, the country is in a mess, and there was plenty of warning on dates, but we absolutely had to get to Glasgow if we were having this holiday. The strikes were on Thursday and Saturday, not the Friday, but we couldn’t risk the disruption, and started to look at alternatives. Could we fly to Glasgow from East Midlands? No, only from Manchester, which gave us the same problem. Could we get a National Express from Derby? No, only from Nottingham. But that was all there was so National Express it had to be. We booked on the 9.50AM from the new Broadmarsh Bus Station. It was going to take eight and a half hours. The return was even worse – leaving Glasgow at 8PM, driving through the night and arriving back in Nottingham at 4AM. We crossed our fingers and prayed that the rail strikes would be over by then.
After that it was just last-minute things. The balance on the cottage had been paid in April. I got all my documentation for the car hire in order (with a few wobbles) and check in online. We checked in online for the flight and the coach, put all our documents in a wallet, bought luggage tags and backpacks and started packing. The last thing was to book a taxi for Nottingham Coach Station. For some reason this was what made me the most nervous – we finally found that Albatross would get us there for about £30, but they sounded bonkers. We discussed falling back on the train if we had to and crossed our fingers. Ready to go.
Friday 24th June
Stage 1. Amazingly the taxi for Nottingham arrived right on time, at 8.15AM. The driver was a bit of a wide boy – he didn’t seem to know exactly where the Broadmarsh bus station was, and even when he found it wasn’t sure where to drop us off and ended up blocking a bus lane. But we got there and wheeled our cases round to the National Express departures – insanely early. We had about an hour to go. I ended up having to escort a visually impaired lady who had come up for the cricket over the road to Café Nero’s to get a snack – and my was she shirty. The bus station was so new there wasn’t even a shop open. But it passed some time and at 9.50AM the bus rolled in. The driver couldn’t quite believe that we were going all the way to Glasgow but what the hell. Bags stowed, seated, left just 5 minutes late. Away!
Stage 2. The coach trip took eight and a half hours and was without doubt the worst part of the whole journey. It started fine – we stopped off in Leeds for a driver break – and then headed on for Newcastle, past the Angel of the North and over the Tyne. The section from Newcastle to Edinburgh was gruelling. The Northumberland coast was lovely, but there was one guy coughing away remorselessly (masks on) and two girls opposite who bickered constantly about the next leg of their journey – one was such a drama queen. We even found that we’d eaten every snack we had and were starting to run out of water. I was dehydrated had a headache and when I finally went to use the loo it made me nauseous. Awful! But things looked up at Edinburgh. The two daft girls got off and the end was in sight with just an hour or so to go. Colin checked online and found an airport bus that would get us to Glasgow Airport which was perfect. Finally at 6.30PM almost bang on time we pulled into Glasgow Buchannon Street bus station and staggered off the coach. Thank the lord, Glasgow!
Stage 3: Colin’s discovery of the airport bus was the most perfect thing – instead of wandering around trying to find a taxi, we just wheeled our bags round the corner to another bus departure bay and the 500 rolled in. Quick break from the bus driver and we were on our way, £9 each. Miraculously, my headache disappeared. We were getting there. Dropped off right outside Airport Departures, about 7PM.
Stage 4: Colin now had to use his satnav to point us in the direction of the Premier Inn, as we couldn’t see it anywhere. It was just a 5-10 minute walk, but I was so tired it seemed longer. God bless him for guiding me so confidently. It was beautifully situated right next to a flyover but what the hell it was perfect. The check-in guy was so friendly, and I was sure some other people were also there for holiday flights, maybe Orkney as well. I started to feel like I was on holiday. We booked a table for dinner (nothing ‘til 9PM), went up to our room and collapsed.
Bliss!!!! Drank all the water to rehydrate. Put the kettle on for a cup of tea. Both decided to have a shower to freshen up, and to save time in the morning. Sent messages home to say we had arrived. Watched and a bit of TV, then went down for dinner. I felt stupidly happy eating a veggie chilli and drinking copious amounts of J2O. I think Colin paid, and I felt treated. After that, it was just back to the room, and an early night. But I felt so relieved – the worst part definitely over. I never want to go on a National Express for 8 ½ hours again. We swore that strikes permitting, we were going back on the train.
Sat 25th June 2022.
Stage 5: Our alarms were set for 6AM. I think I was awake before that because I do not like flying. As I realized morning was here, the euphoria of the previous day wore off a bit. Grim determination kicked back in. We just washed, dressed, had another cup of tea while packing, and were off again. Wheeled bags back to the airport. The queues to check in luggage were long and a bit chaotic, as always. And security was loud and intimidating, as always, though there was a wisecracking Glaswegian woman keeping it all moving along. Once we finally got to the other side, we went to a café for breakfast. I can’t remember what Colin had, but my nerves were kicking in, so I think I nibbled on a croissant and probably looked whey faced. Our flight was at 8.30AM, and the gate came up on time, so we went to sit and wait – almost the first there. This was the only part of the journey where we had a delay – there was fog at Kirkwall, and the automatic landing systems had “conked out”, we were told. AN hour later, we finally got onto the plane, only to be told by the pilot that he would “give it a go” but might turn round. I honestly thought at this point that we might not make it, and I had a sense of putting it all into the lap of the gods. Maybe it was not meant to be. But we took off, and I could see Scotland below, and the Pentland Firth, and it seemed like the weather was improving. I loved our Loganair flight in the end. We got a free cup of tea and piece of shortbread, and I was in heaven. Then we could see Orkney below us and I swear to God, the sun was shining, and I could hardly believe we were there. Kirkwall airport. Getting up and staggering out into the Orkney wind and turning to Colin and saying, “What an adventure!” (not for the last time). Kirkwall airport id not much more than a shack. A nice one, with nice loos and a little café, but not like any airport I’d ever seen before. We were on Orkney.
The bags came through so quickly – we were late, but it was only 11AM and I went off to collect the hire car from Avis or Tullock’s, which was just one guy behind a tiny kiosk desk. By the time I had the keys, Colin was standing with the bags. We wheeled them out into the car park and wandered up to the top where we’d been told it would be parked – and there it was, our little silver Ford Kia. I was a bit nervous about driving a new car, but I shouldn’t have been. It was great! I changed from walking boots (I wore them the rest of the journey) into sneakers, and we set off, a bit gingerly, to find Kirkwall, again with Colin’s satnav helping out. It was no more then about 1 15 – 20 minute drive, a funny little harbour town clustered in a dip. And the sun was still shining.
Stage 7. We decided to do the practical stuff first in Kirkwall and drove straight to the co-op to stock up on food. This was a bit of a boring choice, but easier than looking for local supplies, and we knew we’d get everything we needed. I’d already produced a shopping list of everything we’d need for at least 4 days – I think I was a bit unconvinced that Stronsay would be able to produce much. Island fear! We stored everything on the car and drove down to the harbour front car park, where we got the last space. We later found out that a) this was lucky because it’s almost always full, as it’s free, and b) it didn’t really matter because there was a perfectly good pay and display around the corner by the police station, mostly empty, fairly cheap and very safe! Then we wandered along the harbour front to get some lunch. We got really lucky here Helgi’s was almost the first place we came to, it was quiet (only just noon), and the food was amazing. I had a falafel burger, which was just delicious while Colin had something beefy to arm him for the vegetarian days ahead. Just the best food and we started to feel like we were on holiday. After that we wandered up through the town to St Magnus Cathedral. I found I hadn’t got my mask and insisted on going back to the car – we got a bit lost, but did find the famous Orkney library, so that was a bonus. Second time around. I did love the sandstone cathedral with the sun pouring in through the windows and the big memorial stones for worthy men and women. Though almost no one was masked in the end. When we came out, the sun was still blazing (though the wind was constant and cool) so we decided on an ice cream from the parlour right next door – a honeycomb for Colin and a raspberry ripple for me. Like everywhere they were short staffed, and we had to wait but the ice creams were great. We sat on a bench outside the cathedral in the sun, looking up at the electric blue sky, and watching truck loads of hen party goers (we think) being driven past hollering, about 8 times over. They looked like Vikings, tarred and feathered. Blackpool it ain’t.
As it crept round to 3PM, we started to run out of steam a bit. We’d been up very early, were both nervous about the ferry, and eager to be in our own cottage. We went back to reclaim the car, and even though last check in for the ferry was 3.40PM, decided not to wait, and drove the 5 minutes round the corner for the ferry terminal for the North Isles.
Stage 8. We really had no idea what to expect from the ferry – but could not believe how casual it was. Colin directed me to park in a lane marked with a sign for Stronsay, behind another car and we just sat there, clutching our online booking form. I even got out and tried to find someone to tell us what to do – but all I found was a cleaner! In the end, a guy finally came along with a clipboard and colour highlighter, said “Is it Watkins?” and then “yer all right”. That was it. I started to relax a bit. Then another guy tapped on the window and told me I’d be reversing on. I was honestly a bit terrified, but obviously didn’t say so. Then the ferry rolled in. You just have to trust to the guys in the crew to get you on, they know what they’re doing. I crunched the gears a bit getting into reverse and probably looked a prat, but they waved me on, and we got parked. Turns out the 4PM to Stronsay is pretty quiet. Then we went up to the deck where I sat in the sunshine, hood up against the wind, looking back towards Kirkwall. Feeling us leave the deck was so strange. I watched Kirkwall disappearing and I felt completely released, even though I didn’t know what I was going to. I said goodbye to everything, except myself and Colin. It was weirdly emotional. I loved that ferry ride. I sat and watched other islands appear and disappear, and gannets swooping over the water. Other passengers were talking, and I listened in vaguely but kept crossing back, and didn’t join in. Colin went for a walk, but I don’t think I moved once. I sometimes get seasick, but no chance of that here – it was wild and open in places, but mostly calm. The journey was an hour and forty minutes, but it seemed over so soon. Right on time, we pulled around the North of Stronsay and were called below deck to collect our cars. AT least I would drive off front forwards! And there it was, Whitehall, and we’re on the harbour and driving onto the Island, Stronsay.
Stage 9. Our first job on the island was to go and collect the keys for our cottage. Colin read out the directions as we drove off the pier and round to the left, where a lane curves round the bay, with fisherman’s cottages from the herring industry on the right. This is where the cottage owners’ friend lived and he was waiting for us on the wall outside. He was kind and helpful and gave us his number in case we needed it. By this time I was pretty exhausted – I manged to let the wind rip the door out of my hand and it bashed against the wall, which was a bit frustrating – but I get the impression that happens a lot in the Orkney islands. Wind! We managed to turn the car around in the narrow lane and set off again. Last leg!
Stage 10. Finding your holiday cottage for the first time is always a challenge – even on Stronsay. Again, Colin directed me back through Whitehall and along the harbour front, past the pub and shop, and bending round to the left at the far end. The road heads up to the “top road”, which is the North|South spinal road, where we turned left, and then further on, turned right for Rothiesholm. This is where it got a bit confusing – the road has sea on both sides and winds further than we were expecting, and we both lost our bearings. We were also both exhausted, got a bit ratty, and started to think we must have missed it and gone too far. We’d have to turn around and go back. But no – just as I almost wanted to cry, there it was. Is that it? I think that’s it! That’s definitely it! The cottage that I’d only seen on the internet, that I’d thought we’d never get to, with the yellow door and it’s own beach – we were actually there. We pulled onto the gravel in front of the low-lying house and turned off the engine. We were there, 620 miles, 2 days of travelling, a taxi, a coach, a bus, a plane, a car and a ferry. Mingro.