A Holistic Holiday

‘When that April with its showers sweet/The drought of March had pierced to the root,/Then longen folk to go on pilgrimages.’ Chaucer

As long as I can remember, I have always wanted to visit the Orkney Islands. I know about Orkney from reading the poetry of George Mackay Brown, looking at the paintings by Sylvia Wishart, and reading the news about its natural beauty that is untouched by human hands, unspoilt beaches and the slower pace of life. Above all, it has the most beautiful art gallery in Scotland; the Pier Arts Centre with the most outstanding collection of artworks by St. Ives Group and Scottish artists who were influenced by St. Ives abstraction.

In 2005 a friend invited me to come to stay in Orkney with his family during my summer holiday. But I could not accept his invitation because of my fear of sea crossing on the ferry. Although water is an element I need to live with in my daily life, I prefer to appreciate the sea from the distance. I have a debilitating motion sickness and a fear of flying which has prevented me from travelling to a distant shore.

This was my first visit to the Orkney Islands after many years of inability to travel on the ferry that gives me extreme motion sickness and fear of flying. Gordon and I decided to travel together by car and the shortest ferry crossing (one hour ferry ride) to Orkney from Gills Bay. I came prepared with prescribed medication for my seasickness from the doctor.   

Since the only way to get to Orkney is either by taking a ferry or flying, it put me off from visiting the islands for many decades. But there was a constant yearning to see Orkney that never went away. Gordon kept asking me “Don’t you want to go and see the real paintings of Winifred Nicholson, Bet Low and Sylvia Wishart?” One year I decided to pluck up my courage in rather jocular fashion by booking a holiday in Orkney in the late summer when the sea was still calm and the weather was warm. When one reaches to a certain stage in life, one should go on a pilgrimage.

If Gordon came with me, I would be able to take medication to sedate myself and tear me out of myself from my fear of motion sickness and uprootedness, which is one of the conditions of an exile that has no cure. Flying is still out of the question. But there is a shortest ferry journey (only an hour) from Gills Bay to St. Margaret’s Hope in Orkney. After booking for our holiday, I turned into a highly superstitious pilgrim who was constantly praying and checking the weather to make sure that it would be a safe and gentle crossing on the ferry.

It was a beautiful day to travel on the road. The sun was shining. Gordon played Jean Redpath singing Scottish folk songs from the album called First Flight (1989).  

Our car journey lasted for five hours before we arrived to John o’ Groats, which is the most northerly point of mainland Britain and our last stop before we continued to Gills Bay, which is situated about three miles west of John o’ Groats and the mainland terminal for Pentland Ferries. Gordon played the Scottish folk songs sung by Jean Redpath to calm my nerves while I read the agrarian essays by the American writer and poet, Wendell Berry from a collection titled ‘The Art of the Commonplace’.  There was nothing to write home about the small, godforsaken village of John o’ Groats. The facilities were rather limited with a few shops selling tourists’ knick-knacks and souvenirs and one restaurant for food. I would recommend bringing your own picnic with homemade sandwiches as the restaurant has very limited options. 

During the car journey, I read Wendell Berry's collection of essays entitled The Art of the Commonplace (2002). I never suffer from motion sickness when I travel in the car and yes, I can also read a book. Image credit: Wendell Berry, Henry County, Kentucky, 1970s. (James Baker Hall). Library of America 

John o' Groats is a forlorn place and there is nothing to write home about. One feels like one has been marooned on a desert island, far away from civilisation. 

In my effort of going somewhere, I seemed to have arrived at a place of nowhere. I suddenly missed home as one felt one had reached to the end of the world. There was nowhere else to go except waiting for a ferry to cross the sea. Gordon said to me: “This is the furthest point north, the furthest you have been away from home. We have got here at last. In a couple of hours, we will be in Orkney.” I do not think that Gordon was talking about literal recognition when he said I have ‘got here’ but more an inner recognition, a salutation of something deeper.  It made me think of a Dantesque journey where the poet with his naïve innocence could not made the journey on his own, and he had to rely on the guidance of wiser companions; Virgil and Beatrice.        

Gordon said to me: “This is the furthest point north, the furthest you have been away from home. You have got here at last. In a couple of hours, we will be in Orkney.” 

What was unknown to me was what the world can look like in this remote country away from the civilisation. Even in the middle of the summer, the landscape looked almost barren, desolate and bleak with no trees. The wind was harsh and cold. I could not imagine what it must be like in the winter. It is often said that we live in an escapist society. 

 It is often said that we live in an escapist society. 

It may be one of the reasons why we take such trips to furthest away from our rigid routine and mundane existence to forget our external lives. It is a form of paradox. We have to make the outer journey in order to find ourselves in an inner journey. In some ways, we want to be transformed or strengthened by the experience of travelling like the pilgrims who are willing to escape from the society to face the treacherous journey through the deserts and mountains to holy places.

The writer Tahir Shah is fond of quoting a proverb that goes ‘much travel is needed before a raw man is ripened’.

The Romantics are famous for their saying: ‘It is better to travel hopefully than to arrive’. And yet, a constant striving for the arrival is an act of living. 

Human beings are creatures of ceremony. There is a famous sign post in John o’ Groats which seems like a totem that everyone wants to touch and stand in front to pose for a photograph. The couples were embracing each other and the cyclists who travelled from one end of the country to another were celebrating, clapping and cheering to mark the occasion in front of the landmark that they ‘got here’. They made it to the destination. The Romantics are famous for their saying: ‘It is better to travel hopefully than to arrive’. And yet, a constant striving for the arrival is an act of living. Otherwise, what is the point of the cyclists’ adventure by travelling the whole length of the island of Great Britain between two extremities, from the southwest to north east, from Land’s End to John O’ Groat for 14 days?   

The book titled An Orkney Tapestry is George Mackay Brown’s intimate and lyrical portrait of islands and people of Orkney. This is where I first came across with the beautiful drawings by the Scottish artist, Sylvia Wishart. But more importantly for someone who suffers from motion sickness, one should take note of what Mackay Brown said about the Pentland Firth crossing on the first page. He wrote: “The crossing can be rough enough – the Atlantic and the North Sea invading each other’s domain…George Bernard Shaw visited Orkney once in the nineteen-twenties. He was impressed by that mighty outpouring of waters. There was power enough in the Pentland Firth, he wrote, to provide all Europe with electrical power.”

While I was sitting in the car, listening to Soile Isokoski singing orchestral songs by Strauss and waiting for the ferry to arrive, I remember these sentences from George Mackay Brown’s book about Orkney. But I kept my eyes on the sea which looked calm and peaceful and there was a gentle breeze. The queue of cars waiting for the ferry was very short and we were ahead of the queue. All the tourists had gone home during the late summer and the absence of noisy crowds was a blessing. And then, there was an announcement from the speaker that the ferry was arriving shortly and we should take a seat in the car and be ready for the departure. This instruction pierced me to the heart. I tried to keep calm by doing my mindfulness meditation.  

The queue for boarding on the ferry. During the late summer, there were very few cars and no tourists. Everything was very well organised by the ferry staff to control the traffic to get onto the ferry. They told us what to do every step of the way. My heart was pounding when I saw the approaching ferry. 

I made sure that I took my medication for motion sickness before boarding and the effect was tranquillizing. 

I had already taken the medication for my motion sickness and I was willing to let go and let god handle it all. My heart was pounding when Gordon started the engine, and the cars in front of us started to move as soon as the ferry arrived. The procedure of getting into the queue and driving onto the ferry was very smooth. The staffs at the terminal were very experienced with controlling traffic and they were well-trained. It made a huge difference when there was someone who was standing there to tell you exactly what you need to do each step of the way.

The sitting lounge on the ferry was very quiet. I chose a middle section and sat down quietly to do my mindful meditation. A lady in front of my seat kindly asked me if I was doing fine. I remember the poet Wendell Berry’s dictum: ‘Healing is impossible in loneliness; it is the opposite of loneliness. Conviviality is healing. To be healed we must come with all the other creatures to the feast of Creation.’ 

There were plenty of seats in the passengers’ area on the ferry. I tried to find a quiet corner in the middle of the ferry by avoiding the front and the back to reduce the risk of my seasickness. I sat down and did my breathing exercise while I kept my eyes shut. I listened to a calming music of Peter Maxwell Davies, Farwell to Stromness performed by the guitarist Sean Shibe. A woman who came to sit in front of me kindly asked me if I was doing OK. I smiled and said yes and thank you. I felt reassured by this human presence. I remember the poet Wendell Berry’s dictum: ‘Healing is impossible in loneliness; it is the opposite of loneliness. Conviviality is healing. To be healed we must come with all the other creatures to the feast of Creation.’ I was grateful for the lady’s conviviality when she asked kindly how I was doing.  

I listened to a wonderful guitarist Sean Shibe playing Maxwell Davies’ Farewell to Stromness to calm my nerves on the ferry. I love the way he plays this song in slow, melancholy tempo and he recently performed this song and other Scottish songs at Wigmore Hall. What a talented artist and musician he is!    

Gordon rarely suffers from motion sickness. He loves to watch the sea on the deck of the ferry while it is still moving. On the contrary, I insist on complete immobility once I find my seat. I can never understand his fascination and enthusiasm but the thought of looking at the sea while one is on the boat actually presage nausea. I suddenly longed to take a refuge in the static arms of Mother Earth. Gordon came and sat next to me to make sure I was not seasick. The Captain made an announcement with his beautiful, soft Orkney dialect that has sing-song intonation like the voice of Ariel. The tone of voice is not harsh or stern but it is pliable. It is absolutely charming to listen to someone who speaks with an Orcadian accent. It is the voice of empathy.   

The Orcadian poet Edwin Muir wrote about this unique accent: ‘It is a soft and musical inflection, slightly melancholy, but companionable, the voice of people who are accustomed to hours of talking in the long winter evenings and do not feel they have to hurry; a splendid voice for telling stories in.’   

I can't say that I haven't been warned. George Mackay Brown wrote about the turbulent journey: “The crossing can be rough enough – the Atlantic and the North Sea invading each other’s domain…George Bernard Shaw visited Orkney once in the nineteen-twenties. He was impressed by that mighty outpouring of waters. There was power enough in the Pentland Firth, he wrote, to provide all Europe with electrical power.” The Captain made an announcement to say that the ferry would be leaving Gills Bay shortly in his melodious Orcadian accent. 

But I said to Gordon why someone with such a charming voice had to tell us all the boring facts and the housekeeping awareness and the premonitions of what we would have to do in the case of emergency and hazardous crossing. I did not want to hear about the figures and facts about the low and high tides, the weather condition and safe navigation in details from the intercom. It made me more nervous. I said to Gordon: “Wouldn’t it be much better if the Captain with his beautiful sing-song Orcadian accent reciting us a poem by John Masefield?”  

But the final reassurance came when he said: “The crossing takes approximately one hour during which you will sail through the Pentland Firth and into the Orkney archipelago. This is the shortest and quickest sea route to Orkney.”

We are approaching Orkney's St. Margaret's Hope. I was absolutely thrilled to be getting off from the ferry.  

I did not know whether it was a nice weather, the effect of medication, or my mindfulness meditation, I did not feel extreme dizziness or nausea although I could feel the boat swaying from side to side. The blessed release came when we saw St. Margaret’s Hope village as the ferry approached to the small harbour. Gordon and I shook hands as a gesture of congratulations for making it back to the land without any trauma and sickness. It was a feeling of relief and deliverance to realise that I would be back on the land again soon.

It was an amazing feeling to be back on the land again where nothing was moving. The first thing I noticed about Orkney was the purity of air and everywhere you look is green. I felt a soothing comfort of mind and body when I saw a deep blue sea in the distance.

I wanted to kiss the earth to welcome me back to a place where the ground is still and not moving. The first thing that I noticed about Orkney was the air. It was incredibly pure, fresh and unpolluted. The kind of air that is free from commercialism, tourism and industrialisation. Although there are not many trees because of the salt-laden winds that can be quite relentless throughout the seasons, everywhere you look the sea is clean and the whole vista is the greenest nature in the world; one of the few green pockets of the country that is untouched human hands.

There is an emerging sign of mass tourism and moving towards mechanistic development to cope with the large international cruise ships in Kirkwall area. Most of the shops in Kirkwall are designed to attract the tourists rather than the local residents who live on the islands. Tourism tends to destroy traditional cultures but the rest of the islands are still keeping with ecological, cultural and traditional Orcadian values.

There was no traffic on the road on this coral island. Gordon said that driving in Orkney was an immense pleasure because there was hardly any car and no traffic lights once you are out of the main city. We headed straight to our accommodation in the rural location; about 20 minutes drive from St. Margaret’s Hope.  

We arrived to our accommodation around about 9 o' clock at night and the sun was just setting. The crimson sky after the sunset was breathtakingly beautiful. 

Everything was quiet and peaceful. There was not a sound of human presence. All you could hear is natural lullabies; the sound of nature and the sea outside the window. I slept very well on my first night. 

Our accommodation was in a rural countryside in a close proximity to Stromness. The countryside was incredibly beautiful and we arrived there around about 9 o’ clock in the evening. We were both very tired. Gordon was tired from driving for long hours and I was feeling drained and drowsy after the hours of tension and the indescribable fear of being on the boat to cross the North sea. I took my sleeping pill and I slept very well that night.

A soft hazy sunlight came into the gable end window the next morning. The birds were singing and the cowbells in the distance were enchanting. I thought about a faraway haven described in James Hilton's novel, Lost Horizon. 

I was fully rewarded the next morning with a hazy sunrise, and there was not a sound in the countryside that was shrouded in the sea haar. Everything was very peaceful and calm. In his famous novel, Lost Horizon written in 1933, James Hilton wrote of an idyllic settlement, 'Shangri-La', high in the mountains of Tibet. Hilton’s Shangri-La is a symbol for paradise. 

James Hilton's novel Lost Horizon was published in 1933. It struck a chord with many contemporary readers who wanted to escape to a better world from the dazed aftermath of the First World War and the Great Depression. This novel offers the readers a glimpse of spiritual paradise in times of constraint and the rise of Fascism.   

James Hilton (1900-1954), the author of Lost Horizon. In 1933, this novel won the Hawthornden Prize for the most imaginative work of that year by a young British author.  

On that morning in Orkney, I also felt that I had found my Shangri-La, a place of serenity, harmony and natural beauty. Hilton wrote Shangri-La was a place where time ‘was scarcely a feather-weight’. In the Tibetan language, Shangri-La translates as 'secret mountain pass', a gateway hidden among the world's highest mountains, that leads to a sacred haven of peace and beauty. The community in Shangri-La believes in the philosophy of moderation, which means there are no extremes of any kind. There are no badgering people, no demands to be made, no disturbances from the world at large, and the sense of time suddenly vanished. I have an affinity with the protagonist, Conway’s feelings expressed in words by Hilton: ‘For years his passions had been like a nerve that the world jarred on; now at last the aching was soothed, and he could yield himself to love that was neither a torment nor a bore.’          

“The first quarter-century of your life was doubtless lived under the cloud of being too young for things, while the last quarter-century would normally be shadowed by the still darker cloud of being too old for them; and between those two clouds, what small and narrow sunlight illumines a human lifetime!” – James Hilton, Lost Horizon

The summer wind lifting the mist from the sea like translucent nets being pulled by the wind. 

'True solitude is found in the wild places, where one is without human obligation. One's inner voices become audible. One feels the attraction of one's most intimate sources.' ~ Wendell Berry

I cannot think of a greener pasture than this. 

The sound of a small ferry can be heard from the house and the day was dictated by the sound of the sea and the ferry instead of an alarm clock. This small ferry is a main transport from the mainland to other small islands. There are 70 small islands in total.  

Both the sky and the sea are shimmering blue. It reminded me of a description: "When he rose in the morning and saw the soft lapis blue of the sky through his window, he would not have chosen to be elsewhere on earth..." in James Hilton's novel, Lost Horizon.  

On that morning, we felt that we were on the threshold of a great discovery. On our way back home from our morning walk, we sang Sea Fever, a song from a beautiful album, Sea Shells by Peggy Lee. 'When the wind is blowing out of the singing south/then will I be going, sea spray salty upon my moth/When the tide is drifting over the silver sand,/my heart sails are drifting, set upon another land/When the stars are staring out of a cloudless sky,/then would I be 'faring out where the gray gulls cry...' 

Gordon's gift for my birthday. Winifred Nicholson is one of my favourite artists. I was longing to see her paintings at the Pier Arts Centre, a place we would be visiting later that day. 

After we had our leisurely breakfast, we spent our day peacefully reading about art and artists we admire. I love and admire Milton Avery's paintings. There are only two paintings by him in the public collection in the entire country. When will I be able to see a retrospective exhibition of Milton Avery in UK? I hope it will happen in my lifetime.    

Our first stop on our pilgrimage was St. Magnus Cathedral. We came here very early to avoid the tourists from the cruise ship in Kirkwall. The Romanesque architecture, built from yellow and red sandstone, looks absolutely magnificent. It was founded in 1137 by Earl Rognvald Kolson and dedicated to his uncle, Earl Magnus Erlendson, martyred by a rival on Egilsay. The bones of St Magnus were brought to the Cathedral.

Like Westminster Abbey, there is a poets' corner inside the cathedral. There are three plaques dedicated to the three famous sons of Orkney, two poets, George Mackay Brown and Edwin Muir and one artist, Stanley Cursiter.

Our second stop was The Italian Chapel. It was build during WWII by Italian prisoners of war, who were confined to their camp on this remote island while they constructed the Churchill Barriers to the east of Scapa Flow. We were moved by the Italian prisoners who built this little chapel as a sign of peace and sanctuary in the time of war and adversity. There is a novel based on this chapel as well as the factual account of building this chapel by the same author, Philip Paris. 

Our last stop was my favoruite, Pier Arts Centre in a beautiful town called Stromness. It is the BEST small art gallery in Scotland. I waited many decades to come here to visit. It is a personal collection put together slowly more than 30 years by Margaret Gardiner, who was a friend of St. Ives and Scottish artists. 

The collection is well served by the architect-designed gallery, on the pier, in 1976 by Kate Heron and Axel Burroughs of Levitt, Bernstein Associates. The interior of the gallery is very well-lit and intimate. There are no digital, computer interactive screens and intrusive devices. The interpretation panels are very informative and insightful. The display of art remains true to Margaret Gardiner's vision of elective affinities and art for art's sake approach.

Beautiful sculpture by Barbara Hepworth. There is a contemplative and spiritual quality in her work. 

I can look at Winifred Nicholson's seascape all day. It has a dream-like serenity. She can easily move from representation to abstraction. But my favourites are her still life and landscape paintings.

Orcadian artist, Sylvia Wishart. I first came across her drawings in George Mackay Brown's book, An Orkney Tapestry.  

I fell in love with Bet Low's painting, In the Hoy Hills (Orkney). I can really see the essence of Orkney's landscape in her work. She was such a painterly artist and yet, the most underrated Scottish artist. I want to live with her paintings at home. This painting could have been painted by Milton Avery. Bet Low was the artist of that calibre.   

This reminds me of Bet Low's painting at the Pier.

The natural light coming from the windows really enhances the viewers's experience of looking at these paintings in the gallery. I love the interior and the exterior are in harmony. The sea is in every direction you look.

Winifred Nicholson's still life painting. Isn't it absolutely exquisite? It made my journey across the sea worthwhile just to be able to see this painting in its original home location. As John Berger writes in The Sense of Sight: 'beauty is always an exception, always in despite of. This is why it moves us...Art is an organised response to what nature allows us to glimpse occasionally...the transcendental face of art is always a form of prayer'.

After our visit to the Pier, we walked around Stromness. The streets are old and narrow. What you can't see in these photos is the infernal wind whirling through the street and it was quite cold and fatiguing. If one wants to live here, one will have to face the wind. 

Nature conservation, climate change and green politics dominate the Orkney islands. You can tell from the colour of the window that they are not too keen on red! 

A plaque outside the poet's house

There are no big supermarkets and fast food restaurants in Stromness. The locals support the small businesses and locally produced, environmental-friendly food shops and greengrocers. 

Even a flight of old, worn stone steps looks so poetic. Perhaps, it is when you say something that has a character. It cannot be new but old because it has been shaped by all different weathers. 

Wisharts - the family's hardware shop

In Stromness, the streets are narrow, winding and echoing.

The house prices are very reasonable. I wonder if the price for this house is going cheaply because of its unfortunate name, Twatt. It would be embarrassing on the address. 

Gordon and I came to Orkney not as tourists but pilgrims. A tourist goes for entertainment, for passing pleasures, whereas a pilgrim goes to learn, to identify, to discover and to take part. For pilgrims, a journey, a road, a track, a mountain, a valley, a river, the sea become terms of symbolic discourse. They are all a part of the voyage of discovery. It was one of the most holistic holidays I have ever experienced. Holistic means taking care of the whole being’s needs – spiritual, emotional, physical, intellectual, and social – in a spirit governed by balance, proportion and beauty. At the end of our pilgrimage, we can no longer retrace our worries as if the wind had erased the impression from the mind. We felt like we both had been touched with the healing balm of the Orcadian spirit.    

In some way a trip to the Orkney Islands was an unforgettable voyage of discovery. One day I will be back to Orkney again. It was the most holistic holiday I've ever had. 

 I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

~Wendell Berry~

From The Peace of Wild Things 

(Published in New Collected Poems, Counterpoint, 2012)