I saw the Northern Lights from the plane. It’s the first time I’ve experienced this, but the pilot announced, just as we’d passed over Harstad, that he could see a great Aurora and that he was going to turn the cabin lights off so we could see. Apparently it was best on the left side, and I was on the right, but it was nice to see it. He also correctly predicted we wouldn’t see it after we landed in Tromsø due to cloud cover. The most amazing thing for me though, was that my friend Shirley was outside in Sorreisa watching the lights, when she saw my plane passing overhead. I wouldn’t actually arrive in Sørreisa until the evening after, but she was kind of with me before I even landed back on Norwegian soil.
It was deeply moving to arrive back. Because I lived in Norway for 15 years, it is somehow home, while quite different from the UK. The first thing I did, when I was through passport control, was to buy a hotdog wrapped in bacon. I didn’t apply the sauce very attractively, as you can see in the photo at the top of the page, but it was delicious.
After that, I caught a bus to get over to the Pingvin Hotel, where I was staying. The buses ran, reassuringly, until very late at night. There were signs like on the London Underground, telling me when the buses would arrive, and signs on the bus, telling me which stop was next, which made the whole process quite straightforward.
I had forgotten that the fast boat, that goes to Finnsnes from Tromsø and back, runs at different times at the weekends, so I was later getting to Shirley than I had thought, and will have to spend a night in Tromsø on the way back as well, but that is no great hardship. Staying in hotels up here has a wonderful familiarity about it too. I stayed away from home relatively often as a Veterinary Inspector. Triggering all those memories feels nice. Nobody does hygge/koselig like the Scandinavians.
Speaking of koselig, I had a lovely day in Tromsø.
So now I am in Sørreisa. It’s wet and windy and dark for much of the day. There’s snow forecast for next week, but there’s nothing I have to do. Living alone, I have to make myself cook, but with Shirley and Kai here, I’ve cooked or baked something nearly every day. They’re vegetarian, which means I don’t centre the meals around meat. We’ve had season pudding (like crunchy stuffing) with roast parsnips and delectable mushroom gravy, made from wine and stock and cream. We’ve eaten stuffed tomatoes, filled with breadcrumbs, onions, herbs and cheese, then creamy mushroom pasta with garlic bread. Today we’re having pizza, but I will cook a lentil and tomato sauce, to make lasagne tomorrow. And yesterday, while Shirley was out, I baked a light, fat free walnut sponge, and filled it with cream, laced with coffee. Delicious.
I have visited old friends from work and hope to see more this week. I want to go do some shopping and maybe buy some Christmas presents. Today will unfold as every day does. Chatting over coffee. A walk with the dogs. Home for breakfast. Kai likes to watch Heartbeat every morning and I sit and watch it with him. It’s a nice, gentle start to the day.
I’ll leave you with some photos taken on our morning dog walks. When they’re not swathed in mist, the tops of the hills are already white, though the snow line is advancing and retreating. Today, we were skipping between rainy squalls and the distant sound was strewn with white horses. Thanks for reading and I hope you have a good week.
This week, I had my first parmo. Eat like a local is something I feel like we should always aim for, or at least, when traveling, we should try local delicacies. (NB perhaps don’t try this in Thailand unless you want a burnt mouth). I haven’t yet tried the local delicacy in Dumfries, which along traditional Scottish carb on carb lines, is a tattie scone (potato scone) in a roll. I must correct that when I get back, but for now, while working in Middlesbrough, I have tried, and loved, their local traditional food, which is the parmo.
So what is a parmo? The one at the top of the page closely resembles that Scottish favourite, pizza and chips, does it not? That may be partly because, on the spur of the moment, I chose a pepperoni version. As a purist, I will return and try the original version, which is, in fact, a flattened, breaded chicken escalope with béchamel sauce, with melted cheese on top. It should, I understand, be served with a small side salad and garlic sauce, as well as the chips. I’m not surprised by its popularity because it was delicious. Something to look forward to when I return.
But for now, I am on holiday. On Thursday, after work (they let me get away early, thank goodness) I drove up to Central Scotland, to drop Triar off at Valerie’s house. Yesterday morning, I drove to Dumfries. Several weeks ago, I wrote that I was about to go to a ceilidh and had tried to pack everything for the next six weeks or so, which involved going from the ceilidh, to Mum and Dad’s, then on to Middlesbrough, then to Norway. I thought I’d got away with it, but earlier this week, Booking.com told me they were about to charge me for my hotel in Norway and I thought, “I’ll change that to my Norwegian credit card, to save any charges for currency exchange,” which is when I realised my Norwegian credit card was safely at home in a drawer. I’m glad I did find out, because having got some overpaid tax back, I actually have holiday money to spend. Not that I’m expecting to go out much, but if I want to buy anything, it makes things easier. Well assuming I can remember the PIN for a card I haven’t used for a year…
Hmmm… I seem to have rambled, but what I was saying was that yesterday morning, I drove to Dumfries, then in the afternoon, on to Settle, from where I will take a train today, to Manchester Airport and from there, hopefully will fly to Tromsø. I’m staying there overnight in the hotel attached to the hospital, then tomorrow morning, all being well, I shall take the fast boat to Finnsnes, where I will be met by Shirley and Kai for the last leg of my journey to Sørreisa. It’s all a bit exhausting, truth be told. It would have been more relaxing to stay in a hotel overnight near the airport and park in one of the long stays, but locumming isn’t as profitable as you might think (my last paycheck showed that I received less than half of what the practice payed for me, after fees and taxes) and not being 100% certain of ongoing work on my return (there’s no sick pay, for example) I didn’t feel secure enough to blow over £200, when the train fare was only a quarter of that.
I really need to start planning better for my complicated holiday arrangements though. I took Friday off, but there was still an awful lot of driving, all of which is going to happen in reverse, on my return, only with even less time, because I’ve booked my car in for its MOT in Dumfries on the Monday. I fly back to Manchester on Saturday afternoon. I could possibly still change the date, but I’m not sure how long it will take for any work required on the car, and I need to get back to work, so on it goes.
Still, I’m feeling very cheery. I’m still loving locumming and I’m about to go see Shirley. Yr.no says it’s raining all week in Sørreisa and getting down almost to freezing later in the week, but that will just allow more time for baking and perhaps writing. I will miss Triar, but Bailey, Ulva and the cats will be there to keep me company.
I’ll leave you with a couple of autumn pictures from my walks with Triar. We discovered a beautiful, overgrown woodland graveyard this week. I tried to photograph an angel with an ivy halo growing around her head, and the dappled sunlight flitting across her face, but couldn’t really capture her properly. Still, as always, thanks for reading and have a good week all.
I made a happy discovery yesterday evening, when I was travelling to Yorkshire. I like to break my journey at Tebay, but when it’s hot and I have Triar in the car, I tend to push on. Last night though, I was tired enough to stop. On entering the car park, instead of going straight ahead, I turned left up the hill, hoping to find some shade behind the trees. What I didn’t expect to find was a lovely shady dog walk, set among the trees. So as well as crunchy cheese and mango flavoured fizzy water, I got in 1,000 steps and a very pleasant woodland wander.
It’s been an unexpected type of week really. The only visits I had planned were to a farm where I was to TB test eight cattle. They had tested before as inconclusive, following a move up to Scotland from a higher risk area, so they were being retested. That was booked in for Tuesday/Friday (inject and read) so when my line manager sent out a message asking for volunteers to do night duty on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday nights, I quickly offered.
Usually, being on call is not too onerous. Sometimes there are phone calls in the evening, but it’s fairly rare, so I was quite unprepared when the phone rang at 2am on Wednesday morning. Quickly gathering pen and paper, I spoke to a vet about an owner whose dog had been in contact with a bat. The dog was now unwell and she wanted some advice. As both bat and dog were in central Scotland, the chances of rabies infection were small, but having been phoned, I had to make sure. Most of the form filling was left for the morning, but I was still up for a couple of hours recording the situation, so the vets taking over in the morning knew I was dealing with it.
So Wednesday morning was mostly taken up with the aftermath. The afternoon was quiet, but I was glad when home time came. However, I had only just sat down when the phone rang again. This time it was my veterinary advisor. Did I want to go on a report case the following morning. I’ve been waiting to do a report case, which is an investigation into a potential notifiable disease outbreak, so I said yes first, then braced myself for whatever she was going to say next. Whatever had run through my head, I wasn’t expecting what came next.
I was being asked to go to a beach where there had apparently been a number of dead birds found, as well as a seal (or maybe a porpoise). I was to test the seal for avian influenza and to do so would involve taking brain and lung samples, while fully dressed in all my protective gear, including my space-age hood, which circulates air through filters and blows it on my face.
I did double check about the hood. After all, I have tested dead birds in Norway for avian influenza and nobody even reminded me to wear a mask. But the answer was yes, I had to wear the hood. To be fair, brain sampling required a hammer, so spray was quite possible, but what struck me as particularly amusing was that this wasn’t a beach in the middle of nowhere. It was near a relatively popular west-coast holiday resort. I understand there were background discussions going on about whether we should let the police know. I was half imagining television cameras turning up, creating mass panic over people donning virtual space suits to approach dead animals that, half an hour earlier, someone’s dog might well have been sniffing.
Having spent two hours on Wednesday evening, learning about techniques for sampling marine wildlife and refreshing myself on donning and doffing PPE safely, and another hour on Thursday morning, ensuring I had everything in the car I might need, I drove an hour and a half and met my colleague , an experienced animal health officer, at the beach.
Partly because it was already warm, and partly to avoid causing alarm, I had decided that we should plot the position of the animals first, then get our final permission and instructions to test from VENDU (the Veterinary Exotic Notifiable Disease Unit). My plan was to photograph the animal or bird (necessary so that an expert can make sure what species it is) and get OS coordinates for each. All those details have to be recorded, so it made sense to do that before getting all the kit on.
In the event, what actually happened was that we walked onto the beach, made our way to the mark on the satellite image where the seal carcase had been recorded, and found… only tyre tracks. There were a number of dog walkers on the beach, so my colleague began to ask whether any of them had seen anything. None of them had. We walked on down the beach. No dead seal. No bird carcasses either.
I called my veterinary advisor. Was it possible the local authority, or someone, had already been and removed the seal? In the background, she started to make enquires to all the possible agencies and groups that might possibly have done so. In the meantime, my colleague and I walked on, scouring the beach with our eyes. After all, the worst possible scenario I could imagine was that we failed to find it after all the prep and travel, only for it to be reported again the next day.
The tyre tracks were explained – the local council had been out, but hadn’t found anything apparently. Nor did we. Despite walking for half an hour along the beach, the only things we found were a number of dead jelly fish and one, single, very rotten bird carcase, where there was nothing much left except bones and a wing. Eventually, we had to admit defeat and turn back. All that remained was to call VENDU and call off the hunt.
I did that, back at my car. I was just driving off when VENDU called back and asked whether we could go back and sample the bird. I said no. Sampling is from the cloaca and the back of the throat. Neither of those would have been identifiable. Not only that, but it was a good half-hour walk back to where we had seen it and there was no guarantee we’d find it again as, by that time, I’d abandoned all thoughts of OS coordinates.
We’ve been told that in hot weather, we have been allocated a £2 cold drinks allowance, so when I stopped for lunch, I ordered an iced caramel mocha. £2 doesn’t come close to covering it, but it was delicious, as was the goats’ cheese salad I ordered along with it.
I had a pleasant drive back down the Galloway Trail. Really, it ended up being one of those rare days where I look back and want to laugh and feel highly pleased that someone actually paid for me to do that. There are truly awful moments in this line of work, but there are some great ones too. And next time I am asked to go on a report case, there will be things I learned this time that will be put to good use.
I rounded off the week reading the TB test. Sadly, there were some animals that tested positive. Another farm, now under restrictions, with thousands of animals that all need to be tested. If I were in charge, I would be looking at banning moving cattle from high risk zones and into Scotland. I know there’s a lot of negativity about red tape, but the eventual cost of allowing those movements is unreasonably high. Then again, after 15 years in Norway, I’d be on board for massive limitation on moving animals around.
One of the highlights of my Shetland trip was visiting the Liberation Convoy which visited Lerwick while I was there. My friends, Melanie and John Arthur came over from Whalsay and together we explored the Norwegian ships which had served in the World Wars and were commemorating 80 years from the end of World War II.
Though it was a fascinating experience there was, as always when thinking about wars, a heavy sense of grief and loss. On the first ship we explored, Hestmanden, we read many stories about the young men, British and Norwegian, who served on board this and other ships. There was devastation brought to so many lives, both those of the young men lost and even of those who came back alive but broken.
One of the most haunting things I read was that many of the sailors who served in WWII were not even welcomed back in Norway at the end of the war. Norway was occupied for most of the war, so many of them could not go home during wartime. By the time liberation occurred, they had been outside of Norway for longer than was allowed, and having not been back, they did not have the right to return. Many did not get back in until 1947 as they waited for papers to be sorted out.
I guess the leaders were dealing with their own devastation, but if there was ever a time for rules to be pushed aside, surely that should have been it? Sometimes Norwegian life was uncomfortable for me as I didn’t really know or understand all the rules or expectations and occasionally, would come up against them and know I didn’t really fit in. It’s hard to explain, but I can’t imagine this particular circumstance having occurred in the U.K.
John Arthur, who is co-owner of a fishing boat and a sailor himself, was particularly interested in the engines. It was incredible to see the machinery from 1911, still in working order and very much still a living memorial. There were oily rags and modern tools to keep everything going.
In a converse to the non-understanding of the rules I mentioned above, there was a sense of freedom in many parts of Norwegian life that doesn’t exist in the U.K. This was reflected in our exploration of these vessels.We were allowed in almost every area of Hestmanden, climbing steep ladders, allowed to poke in corners that I know in the U.K. would have been chained off as too dangerous to enter. I feel I’m talking too much about me and my reflections on living as a foreigner in Norway and not enough about the ships, but it is opening up these thoughts as I am writing this, so you’re just going to have to share them!
Hestmanden was a cargo ship and many of her stories were of sailing in convoys, where many accompanying ships were destroyed and the devastation of how it felt to be a survivor when you had witnessed so much death and lost so many friends and acquaintances. The Andholmen, which we visited next had seen more direct action.
Built as a fishing boat in 1938, she was requisitioned in 1940 by the Norwegian navy up in Narvik in Northern Norway. Germany controlled the only deep water landing place, so small vessels like the Andholmen were used to put allied soldiers ashore.
Later she worked between Shetland and Norway and then was based in Peterhead. It’s not so obvious from that photo, but she was armed and still ready to go.
Climbing down into the cabin, there were tidy bunks tucked away in corners and many more weapons, presumably a collection and not necessarily used on Andholmen herself. The cold metal of the guns makes quite a contrast against the warmth of the wood of which the ship is built. Unlike Hestmanden, which was set up as a museum, this was much smaller, but equally fascinating as a historic part of the war effort.
We didn’t get the chance to go aboard the Arnefjord, but she was one of the ships that worked as part of the “Shetland Bus” service that brought resistance fighters from Norway to the relative safety of Scotland.
The Erna and the Heland were also fishing boats, requisitioned for the Shetland Bus. It was a wonderful experience to see them eighty years later, moored again in Lerwick harbour.
The rest of my week in Shetland was filled with sunshine and coastal views, from cliffs to rocky shores and wonderful golden beaches. Thanks again to Lindsay and Melanie for a fantastic holiday.
Leaving at the end was sad, but I hope to be able to go back. Triar also had a good time, I think.
It was lovely being back in Stavanger. As well as catching up with family, I also visited Wivek, who owns Triar’s mum, Trifli. Trifli had another litter three weeks before our visit and the puppies are now on their feet and getting adventurous! The last picture here is of Triar’s half sister, Kløver, who seems fascinated with all these new friends!
Stavanger looked beautiful under a clear blue sky. I have been very lucky with the weather, which is just as well as I couldn’t find my coat when I was packing. I thought I might have to buy a new one, but so far, I’ve got away with it!
I came north on Monday. The stunning approach to Bardufoss, with its deep blue sea and snowy mountain ranges was a wonderful start to my Northern odyssey and though it clouded over as we neared our destination, I was treated to the sight of a «glory» which is a rainbow-surrounded shadow cast by the plane onto the cloud cover.
I have been staying with my lovely friend, Shirley, for the past few days. I met Shirley just over a year ago on the fast boat to Tromsø. Hearing people speaking English in this remote area of Norway is rare enough that I turned round to speak to her and her visiting friend, Linda, and we’ve never looked back. Coming back was like returning to a home from home, not least because of the lovely dogs she and her husband Kai own. Here they are: Bailey at the front and Alva in the background.
It’s been interesting coming back. The snow melted on the lower ground quite early this year, but it’s a week or two too early for the incredible summer growth to begin. When I lived here, it always seemed like the least beautiful time of year, with its dead-looking plants and grass, but driving through the valleys, past snowy peaks and still-frozen lakes, it was easy to see the beauty in the landscape, despite the dust that covers the roadsides when all the winter snow has melted away.
We’ve had a wonderful week of cooking together and wine with dinner, as well as UK comfort TV, like Heartbeat and Judge John Deed. We went on a trip to Dyrøya on Wednesday and walked for an hour along a track above the fjord, with views over to the mountains of Senja to one side and rocky peaks to the other. There was even a sea eagle soaring in the blue sky, far above our heads.
On Friday, we went to Senjastua, a restaurant on the edge of Stavanger, which serves traditional and modern Norwegian food. I chose reindeer karbonader, which came with boiled potatoes and cream sauce. It was the perfect end to a very enjoyable week.
In an hour or so, I am heading north again on the fast boat to Tromsø, where I will be visiting John and Yoana for a few days. Have a good week all and thanks for reading!
I finally made it out of bed on Monday, just in time to go back to work. By Tuesday, I was on the road again as I made my way to Edinburgh for a conference, where APHA staff from all over Scotland came together to meet and learn.
When I drove over to Stranraer, I was craving memories and was rather disappointed at the lack of familiarity. Although I grew up in Penicuik, which is not very far from Edinburgh, and that I went to university in Edinburgh, it hadn’t crossed my mind to hope for something similar. It hadn’t crossed my mind that our route wouldn’t take us on the featureless motorway network, but rather through a load of places that were embedded deeply from my childhood.
We passed through West Linton, then Carlops: familiar names and places from long ago. But it was when we reached Nine Mile Burn, where you can turn off to drive to Penicuik, that I had that sudden feeling of nostalgia.
My adult life has been interesting, but I was fortunate enough to have a very happy childhood. One of my sweetest memories is of climbing onto a low hanging tree bough and sitting in dappled sunlight with my friend, Sharon. We had been watching Robin of Sherwood, Sharon had pictures of Michael Praed on her wall and we were at the age when everything still seemed possible. If there was one moment in my life that I could go back and relive, I am fairly sure that would be the one I would choose as it is so unsullied. A young man fractured my mind at university and by the time I was 25 I’d had skin cancer twice and I think that’s why that memory of unsullied innocence is so precious. I’d love to relive it with Sharon, but she also got cancer and she didn’t make it.
Goodness, I hadn’t expected this to take such a sorrowful turn, but those sweet, sweet memories do come with a hefty dose of melancholy. Anyway, the road carried on past Nine Mile Burn and we passed Silverburn, where my parents once considered buying the farmhouse. It was run down then, but now looks very smart. And then the Pentland Hills were on my left and those really were my old stomping ground. I remember some names: Carnethy, Scald Law, East and West Kip. Scald law was the highest hill, but we more often walked up Carnethy, or took the path over between the hills to a wonderful waterfall, though I don’t remember its name.
Pentland Hills – I think this one is Scald Law, but feel free to correct me!
The hotel in Edinburgh was very pleasant, though very much a typical, identikit modern hotel, with no distinguishing features. I’m still at the stage where there’s lots to learn, so there was plenty of new information to pick up. I enjoyed the evening meal, although the milk chocolate cheesecake, which I expected to be a sweet and fluffy concoction was more like a dark chocolate brick of solidity that even I couldn’t finish.
The conference ran from lunchtime on Tuesday to lunchtime on Wednesday, then on Thursday I had to go to Ayr to have a mask-fitting appointment. This was to check whether I can use the FFP3 masks at work safely. This involved having a mask on, which was attached to a tube which monitored the air I was breathing, while performing various manoeuvres. As this involved marching on the spot, while moving my head around in various ways, and then counting out loud, while trying to breathe normally, it was quite a challenge, given that I am still coughing after being ill, but I survived without falling over, and now I am officially allowed to use a mask if I have to check out any sick chickens.
Much as I love travelling (especially those identikit hotels) and consider it a definite perk of my job, I am rather looking forward to next week, when the most distant visit I have booked in is to Castle Douglas.
I’ve probably gone a bit quiet about my house buying. Compared to an international move, it’s very low key, but I’m now at the stage when all the papers have to be signed, I have to show where the money for my deposit is coming from, and I have to arrange to shift my accounts with all my providers from one house to the other, while leaving an overlap as I don’t want to move everything on one single day. I’m quite excited about buying a house, but it doesn’t quite seem real yet, even though the intended date of exchange is less than two weeks away.
You know, I write these blogs mostly to keep in touch with people, but I sometimes think they will end up being a bit like a diary. Maybe one day in the future, I’ll look back and all the memories will come flooding back. My mind feels odd at the moment. Part of me is chugging onwards, being quite competent, learning lots of stuff, but it’s overlaid with a feeling of there being too much going on. It’s not perturbing me too much, but I do have a sense that there is chaos rushing all around me, while I just wander through it, waiting for everything to settle. I write this weekly and I can’t tell whether any of that feeling is coming across, or whether what I write is as scattergun as it sometimes feels. This week, I volunteered to work as a vet at the Royal Highland Show, and I can’t yet tell if that will turn out to be a marvellous opportunity or a daunting responsibility. Maybe both! Still, you know me. I tend to grab what comes my way and worry about the consequences later.
Anyway, as usual, thanks to anyone who made it this far. I hope you have a good week, and I will leave you with a couple of pictures of Biggar, where we went on school trips to the street museum. I was intrigued by the tiny scarlet door in the first building. I presume the road and pavement have been built up over the years, but anyone using that door would really have to watch their head! See you next week.
