Farewell to Stromness

It's always sad leaving somewhere you love and it seems more so when it is an island. There is something about that ever widening gulf of water between you and land that makes the departure so much worse. There is no turning the car around and having a last drive around, there is a finality about sailing away from the pier.

It was an early start for His Lordship and me. We were up at 5 am and click-clacketting our cases on wheels down the cobbled street at 5:30.
The Hamnavoe left exactly on time at 6:30 and I stood out on the deck with a lump in my throat until the ferry rounded Hoy and Stromness was lost to view, only going out again to capture the Old Man of Hoy, which is my extra image.
In a strange way a departure feels a bit like a death, when life goes on in the place you have spent time, but you are not there taking part.

We are home now, bearing with fortitude and forbearance the 9 hours of bus travel from Scrabster to Edinburgh, (with our magic passes, happily free)
The lump in my throat appeared again as the taxi inched its way through traffic in an Edinburgh bursting with visitors and I finally realised the holiday was over and we were back in the centre of a metropolis. No more views of the sea, watching ferries and fishing boats passing by, early morning walks when nobody else stirred and catching up with my Blipfoto friends, Poppy, Iain at Creel and Northern.
The last three weeks have been delightful, and only another 49 till the next time, DV!
Our Orkney house sitters left the taps shiny bright. I thought you should know