Stories Of A Wee Canadian Lass

September 4, 2007

Suspicious Minds: When traveling, we inevitably put ourselves into positions where we have to choose whether or not to trust a total stranger. And part of the character of the places we visit is defined by how trusting the locals are of the invading foreigners.

Trusting the Traveler

I arrived in Lerwick, Shetland two days before midsummer. Like most young backpackers, I was traveling on a budget. I had intended to camp and cycle my away around Orkney and Shetland in the north of Scotland, completely avoiding accommodation and transportation costs, aside from the odd ferry. A heavy downpour managed to soak all my camping gear and clothing through their ‘waterproof’ packing, and the evening air was Baltic for late June. I couldn’t face the thoughts of trying to scout out a camp spot outside of town, proceed to crawl into a soaking wet sleeping bag, and then wait for the night air to reach its seasonal overnight low of around 7 degrees Celsius. I started to ponder other options.

I pushed my bike down a cobblestone lane where I could see the only lit window on the street. It really was a storybook setting, as I walked through the open door into a shop that sold authentic Shetland knitted clothing, sweaters and toques, scarves and vests. The lady behind the table was knitting to pass the time on what seemed to be a slower-than-usual evening.

She took one look at me, then leaned to have a closer look at my dripping bike propped up outside, then locked her eyes on me once again, seeming shocked that anyone would be out in such conditions. I explained how I was looking for a cheap place to stay, and that I was nearing the end of my tour and was low on money.

She continued to eye me carefully, not mistrusting exactly, but perhaps a bit wary of potential mooching backpackers. She had no qualms about sitting in silence while she took her time assessing the situation. I began to feel a bit uncomfortable, so I smiled and blurted out, “I’m Canadian”. Immediately she responded with, “Hold on one wee sec while I make a phone call”.

I listened as she spoke to Bruce, telling him of the ‘wee Canadian lass’ and how I was a ‘poor wee thing all cold and wet down by the harbor’. She hung up and said, “Bruce says aye, you can sleep in his daughter’s room. She’s awa’ studying at Glasgow Uni, you see…”

About 30 minutes later I found myself in a cozy kitchen being served homemade mutton stew with cinnamon and ginger and listening to Bruce tell stories of Norse midsummer traditions.

Tables Turned

I was cycling south to Lerwick again after visiting the most northerly inhabited island in the United Kingdom, the Isle of Unst. The novelty of the northward journey had worn out fast; endless hills of peat void of trees or any other signs of life apart from the odd pony or sheep. A white campervan went cruising by, with one lone male occupant, and I spotted a bike rack on the back, with a two-bike capacity, but only one bike. With aching thighs and no wine left in my pack, I was more than ready to take the easy way out if the opportunity presented itself. If only I had spotted the van and racks from my review mirror before it passed, I would have stuck out my thumb!

Discouraged, but taking the missed opportunity in stride, I carried on. Would I really have accepted a lift with a middle-aged male stranger, in a place where car traffic is so sparse that, in all fairness, the sheep have the right-of-way? At this stage of the game, the answer was yes. I rounded the next corner, and to my surprise there was the van pulled over at the side of the road. The other occupant I hadn’t spotted earlier was barking and burning off some excess energy in the adjacent field.

Tess was her name, and Lee seemed friendly, though slightly awkward. I was to learn he was an arborist from Dublin, on assignment in northern Scotland but decided to take a small detour to a land notorious for its lack of trees. When the offer for a lift to Lerwick came, there was not a moment’s hesitation. That night at the pub I was glad my judgment of the situation allowed me to trust this fellow. Now safely back in Lerwick, perhaps I felt I had cheated a bit accepting the ride, but the rum tasted just as sweet!