Nothing to Do with Swimming, Part 2: Shetland

After London we went to the Shetland Islands, home of the eponymous ponies, an hour's flight from the northern tip of Scotland.  Shetland is composed of several islands, with the largest one (Mainland) budding off in several directions like a rose bush in the spring.  The northernmost islands are remote (Yell, Fetlar, and Unst) and are only served by ferry service, while the other ones are connected by short bridges or are very close, with hourly RoRo service (roll on, roll off for cars).  Orkney and Fair Isle are short plane flights away to the south (in eight-seat, perhaps home-made aircraft, that is expensive, barfy travel).  You can also journey to Orkney, Fair Isle, and Shetland by ferry from Aberdeen, and most people do -- though a 12-hour trip through the North Sea is not exactly the Queen Mary.

We were in Shetland to see Up Helly Aa, the pride-of-the-island fire festival held every year on the last Tuesday in January.  Shetland isn't so much Scotland -- with bagpipes, kilts, and Stuarts --  as it is a Viking outpost. 

Up Helly Aa is the highlight of the year for Shelanders, especially in 2023 with two years of cancellations only serving to build up anticipation.  The festival is led by the Guizer Jarl, a bearded, often redheaded man, who takes a Viking name and backstory and is elected by his peers based on years of community service and Up Helly Aa participation.  The Guizer Jarl selects his "squad" of 30-or-so mostly lookalike guys and they dress in Viking-themed clothing.  They have identical breastplates, furry boots, horned helmets, sheepskin capes, and tunics.  They are the BMOS (Big Men on Shetland) for the year, and receive a ceremonial decree from the Island Council President that they are "rulers" for the day of the festival.  The squad is pictured as the centerfold of the 80-page program, and the Guizer Jarl's image is all over town.

A large, maybe 60-foot Viking ship is constructed in the weeks leading to this, and it is trailered along in a large parade at sunset, winding through the streets of Lerwick, the capital city, to a large playground.  The GJ squad leads the way, with over 40 other squads following.  The other squads each have 20-40 members, this year including women for the first time ever (sheesh), so the parade is lengthy.  All members of all the squads carry torches -- really huge things that most of the guys carry with one hand, like the Tonga flag carrier did at the Olympics.  The other squads have no connection to Viking history, and are dressed and named for topical humor or just always-good-for-a-laugh costumes, like Elvis or Lady GaGa, or Trump.  (Ah American politics, the humor never gets old.)

All the lights go off in town with the firing of a cannon, and the torches are lit with the GJ squad getting their fire first, and the flame passed from person to person.  The squads wind over several blocks lined with cheering fans (us among them), mixed with drum corps and the occasional bagpipes.  This is now like 1000 people parading, in an island group with only 20,000 total people.  Unbelievably several of the tiny islands and villages have their own Up Helly Aa, so they don't even come because the Lerwick folks think they're "all that."   There are hundreds of cheering tourists and proud family members in the crowd.  Every ten seconds or so all the torch-carriers say "Aaaaaaaaaye," which makes joining in fairly easy. 

Did I mention winter in the North Sea? 

While there is occasional snow, the temperatures remain fairly constant all year due to the fact that the islands are narrow and surrounded by water, and the fact that they don't have any mountains.  Since the sea doesn't freeze, the islands don't either.  But that isn't taking into account the wind.  And it's real wind.  Like demon wind.  

When we landed on Shetland, flying in our cute little Loganair plane with a little tartan tail, it was ferocious.  The airport is on the southernmost tip of the island, where the rolling hills have flattened out, and the runway crosses over the road that passengers use to drive to the airport.  Because of this arrangement it requires two barricades and a guy to walk out to lower/raise them for every approaching flight, as the landing planes need the extra length.  The day we flew in was stormy, and even though it was still daylight (... ish, since the sun sets around 5 pm in January) the skies were so dark you couldn't see the runway lights until we were upon them.  The wind was so fierce that had the pilot backed off her landing speed we would have been blown back into the North Sea.  So she landed with engines roaring -- boom -- like a fighter jet being grabbed by a tail hook on an aircraft carrier.  Taxiing to the gate the hail pounded down on our wee plane like we were in a box of marbles and the plane rocked back and forth from the wind, with no one even raising a reddish eyebrow over our miraculous live-another-day experience.

So at Up Helly Aa, the wind roared back into life.  The thousand torches, all huge wooden logs, with tips soaked for days in paraffin and kerosene so that they burn for hours, were at least warm when they went by us.  But sparks were flying off like a dandelion behind a Loganair plane, causing all the women in the crowd with fur-trimmed hoods on their arctic parkas to furiously beat them down again and again.  Because of the small, winding streets, spectators had to decide whether or not they wanted to watch the parade and see the squads up close, or stake out a spot on the wall surrounding the park where the burning occurred (the crowd was 10-deep at the wall).  You didn't have time to walk from one view to the other and get a good spot.  We opted for the parade, and by great luck found ourselves near a guy with a safety vest and two cameras with huge Canon lenses, who was one of the official photographers.  So, great spot, by luck.  He answered all my questions about what was happening (shouting into his big red beard, to be heard over the 60 mph wind) and it was the coldest I'd ever been by choice.  It was like going skiing, when your lift chair approaches the highest part of the mountain and the wind and cold hit you like a unmanned Tesla.

After the parade, in the walled playground where the Viking ship had now arrived and been taken off its trailer, hundreds more fans were gathered along the outside of the wall.  The squads marched in through one entrance, single file for what seemed an hour, until all of them were inside.  (We watched from afar, still at our parade-spot on a hill nearby.)  Then, the GJ squad threw its torches into the ship (filled quietly with kindling, because ... showbiz) and it caught fire.  All the other squads moved in, in waves, throwing their torches and then backing off to allow the next group to move in close.  This went on for probably a half hour, until all the torches were inside (a Scottish Johnny Storm retrieved all the ones that didn't have enough loft and tossed them in) and it was ablaze like a comet had just crashed into town. 

There were a few speeches by local dignitaries, a lot more "Aaaaaaaaye-ing," and an Up Helly Aa song that was unintelligible even if we could have had closed-caption.  Then, the ship having burned to the ground, it was over. 

Did I mention that this was the second parade?  In the afternoon, the Junior Squads parade and set their 10-foot ship ablaze.  We watched that cute little parade, with the costumes tending to the Disney-side of self-expression, as well.  Torches were just as big, but held in a safety harness belt.  Unbelievably at both parades we saw not a solitary ambulance parked to the side, or even one fire extinguisher.  Helicopter parenting is not much of a Scottish thing, apparently.  The Junior parade was small enough that we got to see both the marching and the burning, so we felt like we got the entire Up Helly Aa experience.

BUT, that wasn't the end of the day.  After the burning, the squads visit something like 20 town halls (mostly church rec rooms) where there is much drinking and skits are performed.  The squads move from hall to hall, rotating through the town ... until 8 am the next day!  These halls have food and lots and lots of alcohol, and are invitation-only affairs, with tickets categories being Locals and Not Us.  It's a chance for the locals to celebrate each other and enjoy the day.  Truly, while we would have enjoyed a pint or nine, it was good to feel our toes again, in our hotel.

Having been to one Up Helly Aa, I think as much as I enjoyed it I'd like to come back to see the long days where the sun sets at 11 pm, and the puffins fly about like Monarch butterflies.  I did get my pony fix, but the rugged land is quite mesmerizing.  Summers are still only around 40-60° but there's a lot we missed, mostly because it was dark, freezing, and raining with gale-force winds.  That, and we were petrified to drive on the left, with mostly single-lane roads.  More about that later.  Aaaaaaaaaaye!