New York might be cheaper than I’d thought. I’ve found a flight and an apartment. Now I just have to find the money.
New York has been on my list of things to do since long before I ever had a list. I keep my eye on prices of flights, accommodation, etc. and always give a slow shake of my head thinking ‘no way’. The cost of flights during school holidays can be astronomical and I really wouldn’t want to pay that much for a week somewhere. I could go for longer, even the whole six weeks of the summer holidays, and that would make the cost seem a little more bearable if I divide the price by the number of weeks holiday I’d be getting (anything to make it seem more like a bargain), but then the cost of actually being in New York is so high I don’t see how I could afford to stay more than a week. So my New York wish has remained firmly on the wishlist.
Recently I saw someone mention on their blog that they’d booked really cheap flights to New York with United. Interested, I looked at United’s website and searched for flights outside of school holidays and way in the future. They weren’t anything like so cheap as the other blogger had mentioned, but they were cheaper than flights I’d looked at previously. And that was only one airline.
For some reason all the cheap flights went via Washington DC. Hm, seems a shame not to jump off and have a look round there too. And I hear all the museums are free. So I changed my search to see if I could maybe have a week in Washington DC and then a week in New York. Now I wanted to go to Washington and actually get off the plane, all the cheap flights went via New York. Huh? (That’s an American term – I’m practising).
Ok, so it was looking like if I do this I have to change at Washington in both directions but won’t actually get to see it. But if I’m thinking of 2 weeks maybe I could do 2 weeks in New York and have time to see more than just the main touristy stuff. Hell, (another American term) maybe I could spend a whole month there and have the time to get myself a regular coffee shop where I can sit, read, write, watch the world go by. And possibly drink some coffee. Though Amercian style buckets of watered down, lets add a whole cow’s worth of milk, coffee really annoy me. Maybe they’ll taste better when they’re in the right setting.
I was already liking this plan, but wasn’t sure if I’d be able to spend a month camping in Central Park unnoticed, so thought I should look for some paid accommodation. First stop, the YHA website. How much??? Jeez (yet, another Americanism – I’m starting to feel fluent), is this the Youth HOSTEL Association or the Youth HILTON Association? Next, I looked at private hostels. They were cheaper, but still way too expensive for a month.
Ok, so how do I really wanna (there I go again) do this? If I want to spend a month and try to get under the skin (I know, I know, it’s only a month, but it’s four times better than a week), then I should really get an apartment and pretend to be a real New Yorker.
So next up, was the AirBnB website. I’d heard of this, but never had reason to use it before. It seems to be people basically renting out rooms in their homes (or sometimes their whole homes) on a short-term basis. There are some luxurious places on there, but they didn’t grab me. And although they are probably a great price in the big scheme of things, they are way out of my price range. Then I found a wonderful apartment with three bedrooms that are rented out separately. The apartment is in Brooklyn which I like the sound of (‘I live in Brooklyn’ sounds so much more me than ‘I live in Manhattan’). The apartment is small but quirky and rather than the stylish designer pads I’d been looking at, this one reminded of Monica’s apartment in Friends. I know I could be at home there, I know I could. The price was ok and even a bit cheaper if staying for a month.
So I’ve found a flight (November seems to be cheapest) and I’ve found an apartment. Now I just need to find the money to pay for it. If prices have gone up by the time I get the money together, I won’t be going in November. But now I know I can do it, I will be going sometime. I’m already working on my itinerary.
Burly men in beards and bras. Definitely a night to remember.
As I watched the flames die down and the burning galley turn to ash, I was buzzing with everything I’d seen, heard, felt and smelt so far this evening. It was after 9pm, but the night was only just beginning. It would be at least 12 hours until I’d get to bed. With exhilaration coursing through my veins and anticipation tingling my nerve endings I made my way to the primary school where the evening’s entertainment was just beginning. It was already busy when I arrived. I gave my name at the door and, thanks to Linda, the daughter-in-law of the man I’d met earlier at the galley, my name was on the list and in exchange for 25 quid I was given a wristband. Up Helly Aa is expensive. The costs involved in making the detailed costumes and weaponry and building the galley are no mean amount. I don’t know if any of my £25 went into a general Up Helly Aa fund or if it was all to cover the costs of the evening, but either way by 8am I definitely felt I’d got my money’s worth.
A disrespectful tribute to Elvis. He was sat on the toilet which flushed each time the music changed.
I headed first for the toilets to peel off a few layers of clothing. A couple of girls were fluffing their hair and applying extra make-up. They looked very glamorous and in my trousers and plain top I felt very under-dressed. I mentally kicked myself for not having packed an outfit on the off chance I got lucky enough to be invited to a hall. Fortunately I’m not one for letting the wrong outfit get in the way of enjoying myself and I made my down to the far end of the school corridor where I stashed my bag and extra clothing.
Buxom ladies at a local cafe
This area was doubling as the ‘bar’ area and people were sat around tables enjoying a beer, glass of wine or something a little stronger. No alcohol is sold in the halls so it’s strictly BYO. Most people were very well prepared, with stacks of plastic glasses as well as the booze of their choice. Alcohol is not allowed in the main hall so throughout the evening people were disappearing back here to return a while later with an extra glow to their cheeks.
Tea-dancing OAPs find themselves in an aerobic class
I found my way to the main hall and pushed through men in fancy dresses to enter. The 48 squads make their way around the 11 participating halls and put on a short performance in each. There are two to three squads in each hall at a time and once they’ve all performed, the band strikes up and everyone is pulled up onto the dance floor to be whirled around in a series of traditional dances with names like Strip the Willow, Eightsome Reel and St Bernard’s Waltz.
Green Been / Red to Come – the numbers representing the squads
A board behind the band held the numbers representing each squad. The numbers started out red and were changed to green once the squad had performed.
‘I Don’t Look Good Naked Anymore’
As the squads are all male and many performances require female characters, the squads adhere to the traditions of theatre from years’ past and enthusiastically embrace cross-dressing. It is said that lingerie shops in Lerwick do a roaring trade in the month before Up Helly Aa with all the butch builders, plumbers and roadworkers piling in to buy their bras. Shakespeare would have been proud.
The Jarl’s squad arrived at about 12.30am
As the squads are meant to be in disguise most performers wear masks, heavy make-up or dark glasses, only revealing their identities once their performance is finished.
They must’ve been feeling hot
The performances are outlandish and tend to be risqué with the squads having names like Fat Bottomed Girls (pink frocks and well-endowed bottoms) and Horny Germans (lederhosen and William Tell hats). Some acts had performers removing clothes, thrusting their pelvises and generally behaving in ways you wouldn’t want your granny to see. Except the grannies here had seen it all many times before and didn’t bat an eyelid. Other performances poked fun at local issues, one such being the skit performed by the Clangers. The squad were dressed as the pink woolly Clangers from the 1970’s children’s TV programme and in the style of the programme, which was quite subversive in some of the issues it alluded to, pulled no punches in referring to all the ‘clangers’ they say Shetland Islands Council have been responsible for.
‘Fat Bottomed Girls’
As well as performances and dancing and trips to the bar there were visits to the buffet. Hot soup was being served along with unlimited mugs of tea. Plates were continually being replenished with sandwiches, cakes and biscuits. The tea was welcome, especially when it got to about 5am and I was starting to flag. A couple of mugs of tea and I was raring to go again.
A ‘Fat Bottomed Girl’ watching ‘Putindabootin’ Russian dancers
It did strike me that, despite all the merriment, party-spirit and alcohol, no-one seemed really drunk. There was none of the falling around you see on Saturday nights in city centres. No-one burst into tears or started a fight. And I didn’t see one person throw up. I don’t know if it was because of the mixed age group or because everyone knows everyone else or just because of the laid-back character Shetlanders all seem to share, but I do know I liked it.
He wasn’t really naked
By the time the last squads had performed, the last tunes had been danced to, and the last mugs of tea had been supped it was 8am. There weren’t quite as many people as there had been earlier, but there were still a lot. Everyone was still cheerful as they made their way out, shouting their byes and dispersing to their beds.
In need of a bikini wax
I walked back to Tesco car park where I’d left my van. I was surprised to see the burger van in the car park was open for business and had a customer. How could anyone still be hungry after all the food in the halls? I wasn’t surprised however, to see the customer was a man wearing a tutu.
In need of a diet
Note: my photos are RUBBISH. Trying to take photos of fast-moving performers indoors whilst facing a spotlight was a challenge way beyond my photographic abilities. I’ve included a few here anyway as they at least give an idea of what some of the performances were like.
It looked as though it was going to rain, but I wasn’t worried. Up Helly Aa NEVER gets cancelled because of the weather. Only world wars have been able to stop it (and that was probably due only to the lack of men). It was postponed at the last minute for Winston Churchill’s funeral but no-one was very happy about that (and still aren’t if the lack of interest in his 50th anniversary was anything to go by). Far too many sandwiches went to waste and people who’d come up specially ended up missing it. So that’ll never happen again.
I wasn’t in any particular hurry as I knew the Jarl’s squad were getting breakfast and facial tattoos in Islesburgh Community Centre and I wouldn’t be allowed in. I’ve been able to pass myself off as a lot of things, but I don’t think even I’d pull off impersonating a large bearded Viking. After breakfast the squad were taking the galley down to the waterfront for an official photo session and then leaving it there for the rest of the day whilst they went around town visiting care homes, schools and the hospital. I thought the waterfront would be too crowded so instead waited near the town hall. Afterwards, when I saw how good the photos of the whole squad atop the galley looked, I wished I had gone myself. Instead, the first I saw of them was when they came marching up the road to the town hall, roaring and generally making a lot of noise. They did look rather magnificent.
The Vikings are here!
Raven wings and a mighty beard
So much care had been put into the costumes and weaponry: textiles, chainmail, carved, highly polished wood, intricately patterned metalwork, and of the course the Jarl’s helmet resplendent with its raven wings. Once they’d all gone into the town hall I went down to the harbour to look at the galley. This was equally magnificent. The level of detail equally intricate.
There were still quite a few people around and as I waited for a chance to take a people-free photo, I got chatting to the man who was looking after the galley. He told me his son will be Guizer Jarl next year and so this time next year he will be touring the care homes in full Viking dress rather than standing in a raincoat guarding the galley.
Named after a penguin named after a Viking
He was dismayed to hear I wouldn’t be going to any of the halls. The halls are a really important part of Up Helly Aa, but all are privately run. The festival is a really special time for Shetlanders. If islanders who have moved away are going to come home only once in the year, it will often be for Up Helly Aa. People I spoke to told me it’s more important and a bigger event than Christmas, Easter or birthdays. It’s easy to understand then why, although they’re happy for outsiders to watch the parade, the halls are private and for friends and family only. To have a load of tourists in your hall would be the equivalent of having a load of tourists come round to your house on Christmas Day morning to watch you open your presents. You probably don’t mind the tourists coming along to the carol concert or midnight mass, but there is a line you don’t want them to step over. I understood this and accepted that, as much as I would like to, I wouldn’t be going to any halls.
Spot the penguin
I should have known better. This is Shetland after all. People are friendly and rules are just there to, yeah, well, whatever. John told me his daughter-in-law (wife of next year’s Jarl) was running one of the halls and that when he got home he would ask her if there was a spare ticket for me. He took my mobile number so he could let me know. Just in case he called over some other people and got me the phone number of someone running a different hall, so I had a backup plan if his daughter-in-law didn’t have any tickets.
Even the boats have beards
I spent part of the afternoon wandering round town. The window displays in the shops all had an Up Helly Aa theme. Even Specsavers had joined in with a poster depicting a Viking squad hauling a fishing boat along to the burning place instead of their galley, unaware of the irate fisherman chasing them; the caption was, of course, ‘Should’ve gone to Specsavers’. As well as Vikings, there was quite a penguin theme. This was because the Guizer Jarl is known by the nickname ‘Penguin’. There was a penguin design painted onto the galley which was named Nils Olav after a penguin in Edinburgh zoo with the same name.
The Bill had been attached to the market cross earlier that morning. It’s a carefully hand-inscribed proclamation satirising local events and notable people from the past year. In red and black painted text it lampoons the discussion around school closures, the unreliability of the Northlink ferries and the controvesial Mareel arts centre. It took me several readings to understand most of it, but even though I try to keep up with Shetland news, there were still parts that were over my head.
Crowding into the museum
The Jarl’s squad was due at the museum in the late afternoon, so I made my way over in plenty of time. The entrance hall was already quite crowded with people waiting to see Vikings. A couple of guys were keeping everyone entertained with live music. The Jarl’s band arrived first and they squeezed in with their bulky instruments and got set up. Then the rest of the Vikings arrived. Before they came in I would have said it was impossible to fit seventy Vikings all in bulky costumes into the already crowded space. But fit they did. More and more of them pushed through the doors and spectators were crushed back to the walls. They could have shown rush hour commuters on London Underground a trick or two. For their theme song, they had chosen Daydream Believer, albeit with a few word changes. As their voices reverberated around the hall, big grins on their faces, light glinting of their chain mail, swords and double-headed axes, I knew I’ll never be able to hear that song again without thinking of Vikings.
Just 2 Vikings having a chat
Following the sing-song everyone piled outside where the Vikings lit their torches for a TV interview. Dousing the fire in the harbour, they then did what all good Vikings do and drove off on their bus.
TV interview
The Junior Jarl’s galley
Wandering back up to the town hall I was in time to see the Junior Jarl’s squad setting off on their parade. The schoolboys also have real torches and proudly set off marching, pulling their galley to the playing fields where they would burn it. It was just starting to rain, but didn’t manage more than a few drops before stopping again in plenty of time for the main parade.
Schoolboys with a burning mission
I went back to my van which I’d moved to Tesco car park so I wouldn’t have too far to walk at the end of the night. As I got my layers on ready to stand around for a few hours watching the main parade and galley burning my phone rang. Yes! I had a ticket. It’s the custom to dress up for the halls but as I hadn’t expected to go to one I didn’t have any posh clothes with me. I wasn’t going to let a little thing like that stop me though. I put a slightly nicer top on over my thermals and considered myself ready.
By 7pm the streets were heaving. I think Shetland’s entire 22,000 strong population, along with several thousand visitors had all congregated on the same few streets. I’m not used to crowds in Shetland. All 48 squads take part in the main parade. As they are nearly all holding burning torches, not all of them are wearing their costumes (or disguises). If the outfit is likely to be flammable (or affected by the weather) they wear ordinary clothes on the march and change before starting their rounds of the halls. The torches are lit, the streetlights go out.
At 7.30pm a rocket is fired from the town hall and they’re off. As 1000 men wind their way round the route a ring of fire encircles the spectators. It’s dark, in the distance only the line of fire can be seen. Even when they are marching behind buildings, the sky is strangely lit up in shades of flickering oranges and reds like an all-encompassing sunset.
I had a great spot right at the kerbside. The smell of paraffin, the heat from the blazing torches, the singing and Viking yells, a thousand men marching past, flames flickering, everything seeming to move so quickly my eyes struggled to focus, let alone my camera. I felt like every one of my senses was being overloaded and maxed out. Still they marched. Still they yelled. Still the flames flared devouring the oxygen from the street.
Earlier John (the man guarding the galley) had pointed out that nowhere else could you give a thousand men a bottle of whisky each and not expect trouble. Here, they not only give them a bottle of whisky but a flaming torch and then plonk them down in the middle of this heady atmosphere. Trouble? Of course not. I don’t know if it’s due to the laidback Shetland attitude or if it’s because this is such an important tradition. Although there’s plenty of alcohol involved, it’s taken far too seriously and with too much respect to be turned into a free-for-all piss-up.
Finally the squads made their way through the gates into the playing fields and stood around the galley waiting for the Jarl to disembark and give the signal for the torches to be hurled onto the galley. It caught light quickly and a year’s work was turned into a bonfire. I’d moved to the road above the playing fields but was struggling to see over people’s heads. Standing on tip-toe I peered over shoulders. The boat took a long time to burn and people started to move away whilst the blaze was still roaring. I got a better view then and watched as the dragon head slowly drooped and fell, succumbing to the flames.
I stayed till the fire was almost out. Most people had left by then, but I wasn’t in any hurry as I didn’t have to be at the hall till 9.30pm. I wandered round to the other side of the playing fields. Most of the squads had left as they needed to get into their costumes. A few men were left watching the last of the flames die down. For some reason one of them decided to do the Haka – the Maori war dance made famous outside of New Zealand by the All Blacks who perform it at the start of their rugby games. A Viking doing the Haka; now that’s a cultural mish-mash I wasn’t expecting to see.
I chatted to an older guy who told me he’d spent some of his younger years around Manchester and Lancashire and then slowly made my way to the hall, buzzing from what I’d experienced so far and excited about what was to come.
To be continued …
To find the continuation in which I write about the Up Helly Aa night in the halls click here. I wrote about the Up Helly Aa traditions here and about the history here. You can find the main Up Helly Aa website here.
It was a grey and gloomy day in Unst. But I still liked it.
Unst is my favourite island. I couldn’t go to Shetland without a trip up to the very top of the British Isles. I woke up at lunchtime on the day after Up Helly Aa (or should that be four hours after Up Helly Aa?) to find everything covered in white including a thick layer over the windscreen. I took a few photos – Lerwick looked so pretty in the snow – and then headed slowly up the winding road out of Lerwick on my way to Unst.
The further north I got the less snow there was and the clearer the roads were. When I drove off the ferry in Yell I headed to the right on the small road that leads round to Burravoe Pier where there’s a lovely little set-up for campers and boaters. A small building, with an old lifeboat for a roof, houses very sleek kitchen, laundry and shower facilities. I had a lovely hot shower, heated my evening meal up in the microwave and filled my flask with hot water. There’s an honesty box for payment but no recommended price list for showers and kitchen use. As it’s £1.60 to shower at the leisure centres, I chucked a couple of quid in figuring the extra 40p would cover my boiling of the kettle and three minute use of the microwave.
Thus cleaned and fed I continued on the narrow road up the east coast of Yell. It was dark and the snow had now reached the north. I drove very slowly through a blizzard (at least it seemed like that in my headlights) until I reached the top of the island and the ferry to Unst. There is a wider road further west, but I didn’t want to backtrack to get to it. I saw nothing on the drive up apart from a few hardy sheep. I had to be careful of them as they blended into the blizzard, their wool providing the perfect camouflage. I was the only person on the ferry to Unst. As it was dark and there are toilet facilities at the pier, I parked up and spent the night there. Next morning it was a bit rainy, a bit gloomy, but not snowy. I drove off to do a quick visit to some of my favourite places. I had thought about doing a short walk, but the peat bog which can be soggy-going to walk on at the best times, looked completely sodden. Instead I drove around taking pics and sat staring at the grey skies and grey seas from the comfort of my driver’s seat. I’d wanted to come up here to see if I liked it as much in winter as in summer as part of me would really like to live here at some point. Although it’s bleak and I realised it would be difficult to get any good walking done in winter, I still liked it. I sat in the self-service cafe in the Skibhoul bakery for lunch and found two other tourists in there who also had a campervan. Theirs was a proper motorhome type, so I felt I retained my self-imposed title of the craziest person in Shetland for sleeping in the back of a van in the middle of the North Atlantic winter.
Self service really means self service
In the evening I headed back to the pier to catch the ferry back to Yell and did my journey (including the shower stop) in reverse arriving back in Lerwick later that evening. Here are some pics showing Unst in winter …
The hostel in Uyeasound is a wonderful place in summer. Full of interesting people. And it has a large well-equipped kitchen and a lovely conservatory in which many a late evening has been spent drinking Valhalla beer, chatting and watching the sun finally go down and darkness spread across the water. It’s closed in winter and looks really forlorn. And it’s strange not see my little green tent perched on the lawn.
Views of the rocky beach in front of the hostel
Muness Castle was built around 1598 for Laurence Bruce who was half-brother to Robert Stewart, first Earl of Orkney. It burnt down in 1627, supposedly after being attacked by French raiders. Renovations were made, but by the late 1600s it was uninhabited. The Dutch East India Company rented it in 1713 and used it as a storage facility for salvaged cargo from a nearby wreck. It has been completely uninhabited and left to ruin since 1750. It’s now owned and maintained by Historic Scotland. Entry is free and the castle is always open and unmanned. Torches are provided at the entrance. The old cottage with stone walls is next to the castle.
Bobby’s bus shelter is named after the little boy Bobby Macauley, who at the age of six got fed up waiting for the school bus in a dishevelled and draughty bus shelter and wrote to the council to ask for a new one. The council duly obliged and Bobby got his new bus shelter. Soon, various items of furniture and ornamentation appeared. No-one knows who started it, but the bus shelter soon gained curtains, a sofa (actually an old bus seat) and a TV. Over time, the decorating of Bobby’s bus shelter became more formalised and there is now an ‘executive committee’ (as far as I can find out it’s currently his mum) who decides on a theme each year and furnishes it accordingly. The themes are often topical such as an African theme the year Bobby (no longer a little boy) moved to Swaziland, or a World Cup or Queen’s Jubilee theme. I’m assuming the theme I’ve just seen is still last year’s and is in honour of Nelson Mandela as he died at the end of the previous year. I’m quite a fan of Nelson Mandela and so was pleased to see him commemorated in this way at what is just about the opposite end of the planet from South Africa.
Probably the world’s most photographed bus shelter
These photos were taken at Norwick beach – one of my favourite beaches in Unst. Even on a grey, miserable day I could have stared at it for hours. Imagine living in the white house at the end of the bay and having this view all the time? The little ‘island’ is the Isle o May (I’ve never managed to find out why it’s called that).
Over on the west side of the island is Westing beach and I finished my day here. It was starting to rain huge icy drops and the wind was spattering them over my camera lens. After a last longing look I headed for the ferry pleased to feel I could happily survive a winter here.
Up Helly Aa, as it’s known today, is a relatively recent introduction to the Shetland calendar, though its origins are rooted far back in time. The torchlit procession and burning of the galley (Viking longship) stem from the ritual cremations of Norse chieftains and the ancient pagan ceremonies held to welcome the return of the sun following the winter solstice. The elaborate use of disguises seen today echo prehistoric fertility rites; even until the Middle Ages people dressed in straw costumes to encourage the gods to bless them with bountiful crops and productive animals. The feasting and all-night partying is reminiscent of the Viking drinking halls of times gone by. Norse skalds were known for their sharp wit and today this tradition is continued in the form of the ‘Bill’ which is displayed on the Market Cross from early morning on the day of Up Helly Aa.
A Different Calendar to the Rest of the UK
Shetland retained the Julian calendar long after the rest of the UK adopted the Gregorian calendar in 1752. This meant Christmas was celebrated on the modern-equivalent of January 5th, New Year on January 12th, and Uphellia which marked the end of the Yuletide festivities was celebrated 24 days after Christmas making it the 29th January. The celebrations involved fire and feasting, but not Vikings.
It’s all Napoleon’s Fault
The Auld Yule and Auld New Year (old Christmas and New Year) were celebrated in Lerwick with guizers (people in disguise) grouping together to visit private houses and be treated to food and drink. The festivities were lively and lasted all night. Uphellia festivities, on the other hand, are thought to have been more of a rural tradition, presumably because appeasing pagan gods in the hope of ensuring a good crop was of far more relevance to the country folk than the townsfolk. The festival only really spread to the main town of Lerwick when soldiers and sailors returning from the Napoleonic Wars brought their newly-acquired tastes for firearms and debaucherous partying with them. The adoption of Uphellia was a good excuse to let their hair down, kick their heels up and set fire to things.
This year’s Up Helly Aa programme quotes the diary entry of a Methodist missionary who visited in 1824:
‘the whole town was in an uproar: from twelve o’clock last night until late this night blowing of horns, beating of drums, tinkling of old kettles, firing of guns, shouting, bawling, fiddling, fifeing, drinking, fighting. This was the state of the town all the night – the street was thronged with people as any fair I ever saw in England.’
A Merging of Traditions (and calendars)
Over time the Auld Yule and Auld New Year traditions in Lerwick melded with the rural Uphellia celebrations in the beginnings of the Up Helly Aa festival we see today. By 1879 it was decided that Christmas and New Year would follow the rest of Britain and be held on the 25th December and 1st January. The Uphellia celebrations continued to adhere to the old calendar and were still held on January 29th.
Burning Barrels of Tar
Around 1840 burning tar barrels were rolled down Lerwick’s narrow main street for the first time. Rum or beer casks were cut in half and filled with wood shavings mixed with coal tar (the tar being acquired as it was ‘accidently’ left outside the gasworks). Up to ten barrels would be fastened to a trolley and pulled, burning, through the street. This continued until the 1870s when the ideas that are still seen today started to come into play. The tar barrels had been dirty and dangerous, more so because rival groups often came to blows when they met in the street. Special constables were introduced to little effect. Despite complaints by the middle classes and interventions by the town council it seems that the tar barrelling only came to an end because the interests of the participants were changing and enthusiasm was developing in Shetland’s Viking past.
And then there were Vikings
Firstly, the festival began to be known as Up Helly Aa (sometimes Up Helly A’) and, rather than the 29th, the last Tuesday in January was fixed as the date. Guizing was introduced in a much more elaborate form, as was the torchlight procession. The first clear Viking themes were introduced in 1877 and in 1881 the first torchlight procession took place with 60 torches carried through the street. By the late 1880s the galley (Viking longship) had appeared. In 1906 the first Guizer Jarl (chief guizer) was appointed.
It was only after the First World War that the tradition of the Guizer Jarl having his own squad of Vikings became an annual event. Although money was tight in the 1930s the festival limped through. It was in these poverty stricken times that the ‘Bill’ poking fun at those in charge became the greatly anticipated proclamation it is today. The BBC filmed the festival in 1949 and it was from this year on, that the previously haphazard timings became the tightly adhered to schedule we see today. Since 1956 there has also been a Junior Jarl’s squad.
For more about the modern celebrations see herefor a post I’ve previously written. You can find the Up Helly Aa website here.
I’ve got the chance to go to Up Helly Aa and I’m jumping at it.
Up Helly Aa has fascinated me ever since I started visiting Shetland and first heard about it. There are various Up Helly Aa festivals held between January and March in different parts of Shetland, but the main festival, the biggie, the Up Helly Aa to end all Up Helly Aas is held in Lerwick on the last Tuesday of January. This presented a problem for me as the last Tuesday in January is always smack-bang in the middle of term time. And it’s not as though Lerwick is a place I can just nip up to for a few hours in the evening and be back in time to get a good night’s sleep ready for school the next morning.
Because of this, I made a pact with myself that the first chance I get I will be there. As I’m not teaching at the moment that chance is now. I’ve been keeping an eye on the ferries and at this time of year there are a lot of delays and cancellations due to the weather, so I need to plan to arrive a few days in advance just in case. Imagine shelling out all that money and getting really excited just to turn up in Aberdeen the day before the festival to be told the ferry isn’t leaving tonight. It’s not a risk I’m prepared to take.
I’m going to go up in the van so I have a place to sleep. It’s expensive taking a vehicle on the ferry and as I’ll be alone I won’t have anyone to split the cost with. Add to that the cost of fuel and this isn’t going to be a cheap trip. But without the van I’d have to pay for accommodation and would be limited in what I could do as public transport isn’t the greatest. I’d also have to add on the cost of train fares to Aberdeen and if I arrived off the train in Aberdeen to find the ferry wasn’t leaving I’d be left hunting for last minute accommodation and shelling out again.
I’m wondering if I’m a little mad planning to spend a week sleeping in the back of a van on a small North Atlantic island in January. But, thanks to the Gulf Stream, Shetland doesn’t get anywhere near as cold as other places on the same latitude do in winter; there’s not a lot of snow and temperatures don’t drop much below zero. So I’m sure I’ll be fine, but I will take my duvet as well as my winter sleeping bag.
This is probably the only time I’ll get to sleep on a full-length bed on a plane.
As a grand finale to my wander through Sweden I’d booked myself into the Jumbo Stay Hostel at Stockholm’s Arlanda Airport.
Although this is the budget alternative to other accommodation at the airport, I’d have chosen to stay here even if money were no object. The novelty factor far outweighs anything the posh hotels could offer me.
The hostel is, as its name gives away, a refurbished Jumbo Jet. The plane used is a 747-212B built in 1976. It was originally built for Singapore Airlines, served time with the now defunct Pan Am and ended its days in the air with a Swedish airline that went bankrupt in 2002.
It was then bought by a guy who owned a hostel in Uppsala. He had the interior ripped out and refurbished it with tiny dorm rooms, bathrooms and a cafe.
I didn’t technically need to stay at the airport as my check-in wasn’t until midday, but I was so intrigued by this hostel I couldn’t miss out on the opportunity.
I arrived fairly late in the evening as I’d spent the full day and part of the evening exploring Stockholm and then had to go back to the hostel I’d spent the last few days in to collect my bags. It was easy enough to get the train to the airport and then I jumped on the free airport bus that regularly goes between the terminals and car parks. The bus stop is outside the Jumbo Stay and so only a few seconds walk.
An ugly metal staircase is attached to the side of the plane and there’s also a lift. As I had my big backpack I wimped out and took the lift. The hostel has a shoes off policy and so as soon as I was through the door I had to take my shoes off and leave them on the shoe rack.
The reception desk faces the door and is manned 24hrs a day. The cafe is to the left of reception at the front of the plane. It doesn’t serve much, but is the place to get breakfast in the morning. It was quite a nice space and I spent some time sitting and reading and drinking coffee the next morning.
The bulk of the plane is dissected by a narrow corridor with the rooms on either side. I stayed in a 4 bed dorm which had 2 sets of bunk beds. Even though I was late I was able to get a bottom bunk. My room had one girl already in it and another one arrived late on and left very early. The room had a row of porthole windows and a TV which none of us had any interest in using. The beds were comfortable and, unusually for Swedish hostels, came with bedding supplied at no extra charge.
The bathrooms are at the far end of the plane. The toilets and showers are tiny but the shower was surprisingly good. The basins are in a kind of annexe sticking out of the side of the plane. An ironing board, PC and bookshelf are also at this end of plane.
I slept really well and next morning, because I was already at the airport, I could relax and chill. After breakfast I explored a bit more and did a wing-walk – shame that isn’t on my list of 60 things to do before I’m 60!
Ok, it’s a very tame wing-walk as the plane is on the ground, but it’s the only chance I’m ever likely to get to walk on the wing of a plane. The wing has been turned into a kind of veranda and it’s possible to do the wing-walk even if you’re not actually staying at the hostel. Non-residents have to pay, but it was only a few kronor and so is something worth considering if you ever have a few hours to spare at Arlanda.
Underneath the plane there are picnic tables and a tyre swing, but the weather really wasn’t good enough to spend much time sitting outside.
The engines are currently being turned into private rooms and these would also be quite interesting to stay in if like me, you quite fancy the idea of being able to drop, ‘I remember the time I spent the night in the engine housing of a Jumbo Jet’ into a conversation.
The place I really want to stay though is the cockpit. Stairs enticingly, but out of bounds, led up to it from the side of reception. It’s a double room and is the penthouse of the plane. I’ve seen pictures online but didn’t get to see it for myself. It gets booked months in advance.
The Jumbo Stay costs more than hostels in the city and I could easily have stayed in the city and got the train in the morning to the airport. If I’d had an early check-in I may have done just this. But because my check-in wasn’t till lunchtime, I knew I’d have time to explore the plane properly, relax and enjoy my surroundings and so I considered it money well spent.
And I got to find out what it’s like to sleep on a full-length bed on a plane AND have a shower on a plane for a lot less than a first-class flight would have cost me!
The Bridge. Yes, that Bridge. As in the popular Swedish/Danish TV series.
I love all the Nordic Noir that has become popular recently. I like to think I discovered it long before it became popular and that everyone else is just copying my good taste. I’m glad it has become so popular though, because it means lots more books are translated and series like The Bridge, The Killing, Wallander and Arne Dahl are shown on the BBC.
So when I got the chance to go to Copenhagen recently, I couldn’t not nip across The Bridge to Malmö on the Swedish side.
Opening in June 2000 and stretching across the Øresund – the body of water separating the two countries – the 8km long bridgeis part of a 16km link between Copenhagen and Malmö. The rest of the link consists of an artificial island and a tunnel.
The bridge looks architecturally stunning, but it’s when you see pictures taken from the air that you realise this really isn’t any ordinary bridge.
It doesn’t actually reach the far side and disappears into the sea. The patch of land where it disappears is a man-made island housing the entrance to a tunnel. The island, Peberholm, has become a breeding ground for birds as well as a habitat for rare insects, spiders and toads.
The bridge can be crossed by train or car/bus. The road is higher and runs above the train tracks. We decided to take the train.
Trains are really frequent as they run to Skåne, the county right at the bottom of Sweden, from Copenhagen’s Kastrup Airport. Even if you don’t plan on visiting Denmark and want to go straight to Skåne you’ll probably find this to be the closest and easiest airport to use. The trains go through the centre of Copenhagen and then across the Bridge to Malmö, Lund and beyond.
We caught the train at Copenhagen’s main train station and went all the way to the main station in Malmö. For our return journey we realised we could actually get on the train at the small Triangeln station close to our hostel and didn’t have to walk back into town with our backpacks. The journey from central station to central station takes around 35 mins.
The view from the speeding train window
The view of the bridge from the train wasn’t great as we were below the road. You’d probably be able to appreciate the structure a lot better if you travelled on the upper road level. However, we still had a good view of the sea from the windows and it was exciting just to know I was actually on THE BRIDGE!
Once in Malmö, I tried to get photos of the bridge from the coast near the Turning Torso tower, but it was so misty I couldn’t see it. There are supposed to be good views of it from the roof of the Emporia shopping mall near Hyllie station which is much closer to it, but we didn’t have time to go there.
The Bridge is out there somewhere
Update: 19th February, 2016
I’ve recently been reading about how the ‘migrant crisis’ has affected travel across the bridge. Sweden is requiring transport operators to only allow people to cross if they have valid photo ID. As the operators risk a large fine if they don’t abide by this even though there is no infrastructure in place to carry out these ID checks, many train services have been suspended or heavily disrupted. Who would have thought the open borders of Europe would slam shut so quickly and easily?
When I crossed I made a video from my train window and I’ve finally got round to putting it on YouTube.
A lighthouse keeper, a CBeebies film crew, a toothless local and a man who may or may not have been called Mark.
My first morning on North Ronaldsay, the most northerly of the Orkney Isles.
The North Ronaldsay plane
It was touch and go whether I’d get here at all; trying to match up flights and ferries was a major pain in the proverbial and it was only after numerous phone calls, copious amounts of head-scratching and much staring at timetables, turning them upside-down to see if they’d make more sense that way, that I finally got everything to work out. I flew up in a tiny plane yesterday evening. Everyone and their dog (well, one dog) was squished together with enough leg room for, ooh, maybe one leg. It was only a 15 minute flight so the squish wasn’t a problem. I took some photos of the islands from above, enjoying recognising the ones I’ve been too.
squished passengersview from the plane
Arriving at the airport terminal / airfield / toilet with a runway attached, I hoisted my collection of bags as they were passed out of the plane, National Express style, and wandered over to the people waiting to collect passengers. Quickly finding Simon, who it turns out was based at the Fair Isle observatory when I was there in 2010, I piled everything into the Landrover and we drove the few minutes to the bird observatory and hostel where I’m camping for the next 3 nights. I had wanted to stay in the hostel so I wouldn’t need to worry about carrying camping gear on the tiny plane, but it was fully booked with people who are in North Ronaldsay filming a children’s programme for CBeebies. Although I’m camping (£5 a night) I can still use the hostel facilities – fortunate as otherwise I wouldn’t be able to cook as I don’t think I’d have been allowed to carry fuel on the flight (though liquids and sharp objects were no problem).
My home for 3 nights
I got my tent up and retired to the hostel kitchen, which I had to myself, to cook up enough food to last several days and using all the fresh vegetables I’d bought in Kirkwall.
… back to this morning …
I was up, showered and leisurely breakfasted and ready to head out for just after 10am. Just as the electricity went off. It doesn’t usually go off; they’ve had mains electricity here since 1983, but today, and possibly tomorrow, there are workmen here doing something to the powerlines meaning the electicity is off for the whole island until 5pm this evening.
I explored the area around the hostel, spotting a couple of heliogoland traps (used to trap birds for ringing) and trying to get to a gorgeous white beach. But there was no way my brain was ever going to be capable of figuring out the knots tying the gate firmly into position and I couldn’t be bothered climbing over as I wanted to focus on the north part of the island anyway.
I veered off track to check out a standing stone – the only one known to have
spot the hole
a hole in it, and then stuck pretty much to the main road which took me from the bottom to the top of the island. I wanted to get to the north so I could visit the old and new lighthouses.
The old lighthouse was built in 1789 by Thomas Smith and is one of Scotland’s oldest lighthouses. The 70ft stone tower which was topped with oil burning lamps and copper reflectors cost £199 to build. In 1806 the building of Start Point lighthouse on Sanday made the North Ronaldsay beacon redundant and it was decommissioned in 1809, its lantern being replaced with a giant stone ball. It was soon realised that North Ronaldsay did need its own lighthouse and a new, much higher one was built close to the original beacon. At 139ft it was, and still is, the highest land based lighthouse in the British Isles. Originally its red brick exterior was left au naturel, but in 1889 it was painted with a couple of white horizontal bands to aid visibility.
I was going to have a look at the old lighthouse first but as it began to rain heavily I made for the new lighthouse which I knew had a cafe and visitor centre I could shelter in. I paused inside the open door at the bottom of the lighthouse itself and then, as the rain eased slightly, went for a wander round the buildings. The former lighthouse keepers’ cottages are now rented out as holiday lets by the National Trust for Scotland (and very nice they looked too, from the tiny peek I had through the windows).
The cafe was full of lunching BBC film crew and so I had a look round the exhibition rooms. One room had photos and exhibits concerning North Ronaldsay in general and the other was more specifically on the lighthouse and the lives of the keepers. There are a few short films but due to the power cut I wasn’t able to watch them. A smartly uniformed lighthouse keeper popped his head in the door and asked if I was the lady looking for a tour of the lighthouse. I wasn’t the lady he was looking for but I was a lady looking for a tour.
Billy had been keeper of the light for over 40 years and is a native of North Ronaldsay. He lost his full-time job when the light was automated in 1998 but still looks after it when need be and also acts as tour guide. Today he was in the role of TV star as he was the lighthouse keeper the BBC were here to film. The short 15 minute programme involves Billy showing his (real) grandson around the island and telling him about his life as a lighthouse keeper. He told me he would be with the film crew till about 2.30pm and then he’d be able to do my tour. As the crew had finished their lunch and were getting back to their filming, I went into the cafe to have my lunch.
The menu was somewhat limited due to the power cut but I was still able to have a steaming bowl of home-made carrot and coriander soup with home-made wheaten bread followed by home-made tangy lemon drizzle cake and cream and a cafetierre of fresh coffee.
The man running the cafe had time to talk to me as I was now the only person there. He’s originally from Essex and has been on the island for two and a bit years. His wife is a nurse practitioner and got fed up working in a busy surgery with 18,000+ patients on the list. She said she wished she worked on a small island with few people and lo and behold there happened to appear an advert for exactly her job on a small island with few people. Although there aren’t many people on the island, as it is an ageing population she is still kept quite busy. As for the man (let’s call him Mark, as I can’t remember what he was called but think it may have been Mark), he’s got himself settled with his role running the cafe, everything home-made, and giving tours of the adjacent wool mill.
Whilst I waited for Billy to finish up with the film crew Mark offered me a tour of the wool mill. None of the machinery was running of course, due to the lack of power, but he was still able to show me around and explain how everything worked. The mill began when it became unprofitable to send fleeces south to be processed. A chance comment at a science fair in Kirkwall led to a North Ronaldsay couple going on a fact-finding mission to Canada to research small-scale wool mill equipment. It all looked good and the investment was made. Now the islanders can wash, de-hair (North Ronaldsay sheep, like Cumbrian Herdwick sheep, but unlike any others, have wool next to their skin and hair on the outside), card, spin and wind their own wool. The hair, by the way, shows as black threads in the wool and is the part of a jumper that gives it an itch factor. As well as hair being removed, lanolin and large amounts of sand are washed out of the fleeces. This leads to a big reduction in the actual weight of the end product when compared to the fleece at the start of the process.
As my tour finished, Billy appeared and I was straight off on my tour of the new lighthouse. A quick climb up 176 steps (despite being 64 Billy practically skipped up them; I had to stop for a breather) and we were out on the veranda that runs around the top of the lighthouse just below the light.
We stood on the sheltered side, out of the wind whilst he told me the history of the lighthouse. The views looked pretty good today but on a really clear day it’s possible to see Fair Isle, Sumburgh Head and Foula.
Ducking back inside we went up into the light itself. The Fresnel lens is made up of many curved and flat layers. Although these days the light runs off electricity with its own generator in case of power cuts, the old parafin lamp is still there. Looking through the lenses everything shimmered, rainbows flickered and images doubled, tripled and flipped upside-down psychedelically.
Billy covered the light-sensors with cardboard to fool them into thinking it was dark. Over a few minutes the bulb came on and started at first to glow blue, but then to get brighter and brighter. Although the bulb itself has a steady glow and does not flash, the revolving lenses make it appear to flash every 10 seconds. Each lighthouse has its own sequence of flashes meaning they are easily identifiable. The beam can be seen for 24 nautical miles. Once the light-sensors were exposed to the light again the bulb switched off immediately.
The light slowly came onfoghorn
Back downstairs, Billy walked me over to the fog horn, no longer used as ships can pick up the lighthouse by radar now when it is foggy. A cone shaped piece of machinery fastened just outside the light recognises when a radar is searching and appears as a dot with initials NR on the ship’s radar monitor. Billy had intended to put the fog horn on so I could hear it, but then realised it wouldn’t work with the power off.
Billy outside his lighthouse
Leaving the new lighthouse I walked over to the old lighthouse which is covered in scaffolding. Funding has been secured via a TV programme to renovate it and the hope is to eventually have a staircase inside so people can also go up inside this one.
I started what I felt would be long walk back to the bird observatory at the other end of the island, but was picked up by Charlie, an ageing local with not too many teeth. He drove me all the way back and seemed like a real character. He had a few funny stories to tell on the short journey. He’s been up the lighthouse many a time himself as he was involved in painting it and told me he’d painted the 176 stairs I’d walked up.
Back at the bird observatory I sat in the lounge, with windows on three sides and enjoyed some evening sun.
I called in the community shop in the village of Lady (great name for a village) to stock up on muesli and ask if anyone knew where I could find tidal times for Start Point as I wanted to walk across to the island and lighthouse. No-one knew but a customer googled on her phone and was able to tell me the times for Kettletoft pier which is fairly close and so probably similar.
The low tide was happening right now so I jumped in the van and headed north. I squeezed between 2 cars and set off down the track just as it started raining. At the end of track I met an older couple and presumably their son on the beach making their way back to the track. They’d tried to get out to the lighthouse but given up because of how slippery it was.
Start Point Lighthouse in the distance
I picked my way over the beach and soon reached the slippery rocks. Several times I thought I was going to have to give up and turn back but perseverance paid off and I managed to find a way through the rocks, seaweed and slime to get to a stretch of water that I waded through getting my sandals and the bottoms of my trousers completely soaked.
Reaching the island, I headed to the right round some derelict buildings and almost made it to the lighthouse. Unfortunately I was stopped by a wall and an electric fence. I was dubious over whether the fence was electric or not, as there were no warning notices and no sign of anything to power the fence. I gingerly touched it and it was fine. ‘Great’, I thought and touched it again to make sure. Ouch! The shock went right to my upper arm. I’ve never felt an electric fence shock so strongly and I wondered if it had anything to do with my rubber soled shoes being so completely water-logged.
I back-tracked and then tried to walk round the other side of the island. This seemed more do-able but I came to a gate that was seriously tied up and would have needed climbing over. I was about to do this, but couldn’t really see if the way was passable up ahead and I was concerned about the tide and how long it might take me to pick my way back through the slime.
I decided I was happy with what I’d done – I’d made it across to a tidal island and had a good wander round, and I could see the lighthouse, looking like a gigantic Everton mint, from where I was anyway.
I turned round and slipped and slid my way back to the beach and the track leading back to my car.
A few facts
Start Point was built in 1806 by engineer Robert Stevenson, grandfather of writer Robert Louis Stevenson. It was the first Scottish lighthouse to have revolving light. At the time this meant it was easily distinguishable from other lighthouses. It’s still just as distinguishable today due to it having been painted with vertical black and white stripes in 1915, thus giving it its current elongated Everton mint appearance.
Warning
I rinsed my walking sandals out thoroughly with fresh water to get rid of the salt. As they dried they began to really stink. The smell got so bad I had to seal them in a plastic bag. I’ve since put them through the washing machine and they smell slightly better, but not much. They’ve been wet before and it hasn’t been a problem so I think it must be from whatever was in that water I waded through. So if you are intending to do this walk, wear either wellies or shoes you don’t care about!
Start Point Lighthouse is on the island of Sanday in Orkney.
As a grand finale to my wander through Sweden I’d booked myself into the 
Ok, it’s a very tame wing-walk as the plane is on the ground, but it’s the only chance I’m ever likely to get to walk on the wing of a plane. The wing has been turned into a kind of veranda and it’s possible to do the wing-walk even if you’re not actually staying at the hostel. Non-residents have to pay, but it was only a few kronor and so is something worth considering if you ever have a few hours to spare at Arlanda. 
