2023 Shetland

The west coast of Shetland

26.10.23 London Heathrow

Sitting in a dinky twin turboprop Loganair to Sumburgh in Shetland, via Dundee.  Just 50 seats.  Last time I was in a turboprop plane was in Mexico – and that was very turbulent.  The six-blade propeller just moved, then stopped… Another delay, sitting on the stand for 15 minutes more… Pushing back, props spinning up rather fast just outside my window (row 4).  Blades invisible, as you’d expect, except for a blur near the engine.  Reminds me that jets are almost magical in their invisible power.  Props make that power visible, just…  As we taxi out to the runway, Concorde is visible.  Beautiful plane, pity about the pollution. 

Loganair plane after landing in Sumburgh

Pretty impressive acceleration, lifting off quickly.  Brief stop in Dundee, where most got off.  Only around 10 people going on.

Doing a go-around at Sumburgh – almost  landed, but apparently there were “birds on the runway”.  Makes a change from leaves on the line.  Cloudy, but not actually raining at the moment.  Nice sun – above the clouds.

Landed in Sumburgh.  Picked up hire car – quickly, since I was the only one doing so.  Made a nice change from the long-drawn out process at some places – samples of blood, birth certificates etc…

Wind pretty strong, but I imagine it gets much stronger.  The road from Sumburgh to here – Hillswick – hard to mistake, since it is the road running the entire length of the mainland like a spine.  The landscape fairly unchanging – moorland, smooth valleys, low hills.  Reminds me of Harris a lot.  Road good, practically no traffic.  Further north, after the metropolis of Brae – even has a Chinese takeaway – the land begins to buckle and fold, become more beguiling.  The sea makes its presence felt in various directions as the inlets – the voes – poke in.  One is Sullom Voe, which I’d known of for nearly half a century since North Sea oil was a thing.  It’s a pretty exhausted thing now, but apparently brought prosperity to Shetland at the time.

We found our Airbnb easily – it was the end of the road – not just in Hillswick, but almost of the mainland.  The accommodation a well converted barn, mercifully warm, and with good Internet connection.  Right by the sea, which runs west uninterrupted to Canada (?).  In fact we are well north: above Stavanger, where we were last year, close to Norway and the Faroes.

The lady of the nearby house, who owns and runs the barn, came to say hello.  I was surprised – absurdly – when she spoke with a juicy Scottish accent.  Somehow I imagine people here speaking with Norse twang…

27.10.23 Lerwick

In the Peerie Shop café, upstairs.  Raining down to Lerwick, past the mysterious still wind turbines.  Lots of them, and big – so I’m guessing they are a new installation.  Also lots of works signs – lorries carrying material…

Lerwick seen from its harbour

Lerwick bigger than expected – we drove and drove, and finally found the centre after a few wrong turnings.  Parked by the harbour, big ships booming.  A quick walk around the old part of the town, then to here for a coffee – and warmth.

Along Commercial Street – where prices are indeed pretty commercial.  The Shetland Times Bookshop excellent – lots of local titles – “Lerwick’s Lanes” or some such – but I am brave, and manage not to buy anything.  Walking north along the street, a rainbow arch before us – rain and sun, but the rain soon passes, leaving us an un-Shetland sunny day.  Lots of cafés and restaurants here – must be busy in summer.

On the way, what is I presume a very Scottish road sign: “It is an offence to drink alcohol in designated places in Lerwick.  This area is a designated place for the purpose of this bylaw.  Maximum penalty £500”.

The Broch of Clickimin

Past the modern Mareel arts centre to the Shetland Museum.  Quite small – two floors – but well presented, especially the early stuff.  Interesting to read about Norn…  Then back along Commercial Street to The Dowry restaurant.  Busy here, a good sign, one hopes.  The street that runs through Lerwick – Commercial Street – reminds me of Reykjavik and of St. Ives – but rather livelier and more attractive compared to the latter.  To the Broch of Clickimin, conveniently placed near Tesco, with big thick walls, chambers – and two mysterious footprints in a stone slab, possibly for ritual purposes.

Two mysterious footprints in the stone

Then to Scalloway, the old capital of Shetland.  Small, tranquil, with a ruined castle under repair.  The sun begins to fall down to the west, still warm now that the clouds have all gone.  By the car park, a small public garden, with strange trees.  With the low sun streaming through interlocking twig fingers creating a magic garden.  A tidy house sits behind.

The harbour at Hamnavoe

Down to Hamnavoe, crossing two narrow causeways to and from Trondra.  A small but packed harbour.  And a seal bobs up the other side of the harbour wall – huge, 2 metres long.  As we take photos, it turns to regard us with what looks like supercilious contempt.

Sunset over the Atlantic

Driving back, the setting sun starts producing its customary conflagration over the Atlantic, the nearby hills tinged with orange and pink.   Up to Brae to take advantage of a rare petrol pump.  Tank now full for tomorrow’s great odyssey to the ends of the earth.

28.10.23 Toft

Waiting at Toft harbour.  Rain as we came down, now miraculously clearing.  The ferry opened its whale-like maw on arrival, disgorging a dozen or so (maybe two dozen) cars and coaches. Long valley down to Toft – felt very Viking, very Iceland. A strange effect: the wind-blown water surface alongside us make it feel like our car is moving…  Boarding soon for 9.45am sailing to Yell… on Dagalien.

Looking back to the mainland from Yell

Waiting at Gutcher for 11.20am to Unst.  Rained quite hard as we came off the Toft ferry, then gradually cleared.  The view back to the mainland fine – the land extending to the north more than I expected.  One main road to here, few villages en route. Flat moorland, heather fine in purple.  Blue sky now winning over the clouds, sun almost visible. Our ferry Bigga arrives – smaller, this one.  It comes in with its jaw wide open.

Skaw beach with its dark brown pool

Sitting by Skaw beach – finally.  Took wrong turn to Hermaness along narrow single-track road, then back to here, along another, poorly made-up road, with plenty of Tajiki-style potholes…  Not raining, but windy.  Skaw beach red and pretty.  The main pool fed by a stream a disconcerting dark brown.  Parked alongside the most northerly house in the UK.  And this point is pretty much the end of the country.  Odd feeling, and quite a trek to get here – which is half the fun.

On the way back from UK's most northerly point

We then reverse our journey.  Back through Haroldswick, still unable to find the famous Unst bus stop, kitted out with comfy chairs and other mod cons.  A fast drive gets us to the ferry earlier enough to take the 13.45 instead of 14.15 – we just squeeze on the last space.  Taking this ferry means we could make the 14.30 back to the mainland. This requires a fast-ish zip across Yell.  Interestingly, there is a convoy of cars from the ferry doing the same – all conscious of how tight it is.  Now waiting to see if there is space for us, since we’re unbooked for this (I booked for 15.30).  And we’re on – sandwiched between a lorry and big van…

The reconstructed Viking house and ship in Haroldswick

Back in our barn in Hillswick, via a detour that took us close to Sullom Voe terminal.  As we passed, we saw a huge tower flaring gas in a bright, twisting flame – an apt, malevolent image for evil fossil fuels, a modern-day eye of Sauron.

As with Tajikistan – fewer than five months ago – I’m all-too conscious of how thin my comments are in the above.  The problem is that I’m driving most of the time, and can only write when we stop.  And today has been under an additional time pressure, since we had four ferries to catch, and ran the risk of ending up stuck on an island if we missed one.

That sense of onward movement felt right in one way, because today was as if hurtling to the edge of the world, or at least this Westerly bit of it.  And the organisation to do that – in terms of getting to Shetland, then getting transport out across the waters to islands and then on – also felt right, as if this was some complex project to land on another planet.  In miniature it was, but microscopic in scale, and without the life-threatening danger.

Lost amidst beauty

Getting lost right at the end was part of this.  The narrow road to Hermaness felt right in its constant narrowing.   And the real road to Skaw, with its pot-holed, neglected surface was also right in its own way.  Skaw beach looked almost too calm, as if there should be huge cliffs and violent waves à la Cornwall.  But of course Skaw beach was on the east coast, looking across to Bergen, not at the vast Atlantic.

One curious feature was that just before the beach and the end of the road, there were building works at a site.  The site of UK’s SaxaVord Spaceport, no less, where 30 metre rockets will be launched from, allegedly.  There was a small sign on the road to that effect, and also one at Sumburgh airport.  By an interesting coincidence, a few days ago I received the official press release announcing this plan.  Not quite sure how they will get 30 metre rockets along the twisty dirt track that leads here – in pieces/by helicopter?

Nearly home

On the way back, as mentioned above, we missed the famous bus stop.  Looking at the map afterwards, and on Google Street View, it is evident that it was easy to miss.  And maybe nicer as a concept than in reality.

We managed to get on the earlier ferries not least because the main road on the islands – each only has one – are in very good condition, so zipping along at a fair notch is both practical and safe.  Well, apart from suicidal sheep that decided to amble across the road without regard for traffic.  I had to brake quite hard a couple of times.  Part of the problem is the sheep’s unpredictability- you’re never sure whether they will keep going or suddenly dart back.  Makes charting a safe route through them tricky.

There are sheep everywhere, far more than cows.  A few Shetland ponies were visible, huddling together against the wind and occasional rain.  Lots of raptors in the air, and geese – who left hundreds of deposits on Skaw beach, along with thousands of footprints.  No seals or whales that we saw, alas, although apparently the latter are visible from time to time, which is a good sign.  Also no otters, but they are shy it seems, so no surprise there.

Moonshine

Night.  The wind rising.  Broken clouds in the sky.  A patch clears, and the full moon shines with surprising brightness.  The sea below shimmers like shook silver foil…

29.10.23 Melby 

In Melby, looking towards Papa Stour

Stunning landscape here, but I can barely hold my pen – my fingers so cold from the whipping wind.  White horses on the waves, pushed into the bay here at Melby.  Long drive here through undulating moors, broken by pools and not much else.  Fab views to the north, and out to Papa Stour.  Stunning weather – we’re so lucky.  Almost clear blue sky, a few clouds, strong bracing wind.

The bleak landscape on the road to Melby

Now sitting in Frankie’s, allegedly the best fish and chip shop in the UK/world or something.  Facing a big haddock in batter, comme il faut…  And rather fine it was, too – sweet and succulent.  Whether it is the best in the UK/world I don’t feel qualified to say...but good enough for me.

The best fish and chip shop in the world?

The journey out east today was enhanced by the weather; I’m sure under rain/sleet/snow it is far less enchanting.  Roads single track after the turn off to Walls, rightly “Waas” = Vagr (Old Norse for "sheltered bay").  The view out to Papa Stour and the Atlantic very fine – I could put up with a house here (provided it was well insulated).

Driving back, we did not go via Aith as we did coming, passing through several tiny hamlets, but continued on the “main” road to Sound, then cutting up through Setter to the actual main road.  This took us past the works on the wind farm.  I discovered this is called “Viking”, will open next year with 103 4.5 megawatt turbines, giving nearly half a gigawatt of peak power.  They are all still now, but the work seems well in hand.  Because they will produce far more power than Shetland needs (enough for 200,000 people, but Shetland has only 20,000) a fat new interconnect to mainland Scotland is being built too.

Back home in Hillswick

Travelling around several islands here, it is striking that BBC Radio 3 is always available; 4G is more localised, but when available is fast.  Impressive.

30.10.23 Sumburgh airport

Waiting for the plane, just not the plane we booked.  The inbound flight from London has an electrical fault, and thus won’t be inbound.  So we have been put on a Loganair flight to Glasgow, and then we will have to take a BA flight to London Heathrow.  All part of the fun…

After leaving our barn in Hillswick, we drove straight down...to the Cooperative supermarket in Brae.  Amazingly, this is open from 6am to 11pm.  What it lacks in depth of offering, it makes up in opening hours.  Then, straight down to St Ninian’s Isle – of which more anon – passing through some quintessential Shetland places.  To wit:

Urafirth
Mangaster
Laxfirth
Tingwall
Veensgarth
Quarff (Easter and Wester)
Fladdabister
Okraquoy
Skelberry
Boddam
Virkie

The otherness of Shetland is evident.  

St. Ninan's Isle

So, St Ninian’s Isle.  A dramatic geography – an island joined to the mainland by a double-headed axe-shaped spit of sand.  To the south, a herd of small islands bunched together like granite elephants.  Some rain, some sun, lots of wind.  Then along the one-track road to Skelberry, rejoining the main road.  

Next task: find the only petrol station below Lerwick – necessary because our hire car was “full to full”.  We saw a sign for the petrol station, and drove on, looking for it.  On and on, until we ended up at Sumburgh airport.  Somehow we missed it – which is hard when there are almost no buildings here.  We turned around, managed to find a spot with 4G, used Google Maps to locate the phantom petrol station, finally found it hiding amongst a clump of nondescript buildings.

Jarlshof, closed alas

Down to Sumburgh, driving straight across the runway (just as you do in Gibraltar), heading to Jarlshof, a prehistoric and Viking settlement.  We park in the Sumburgh Hotel car park, march off towards the ruins – and find that they are closed on Mondays.

And so to here, to be told our plane to London isn’t coming, and that we will be routed via Glasgow.  Now I found out that Booking.com won’t change our taxi pick-up time.  Looks like I will be using them less in the future…

An update: I managed to contact the allotted driver, and we scheduled the pick up.  Then Booking.com phones, rather more helpful than before, so perhaps I was too harsh.  Glasgow airport rather nice – big, bustling, modern.  Lots of people travelling who knows where on a Monday evening.

Looking back to Sumburgh airport after take-off

Sitting on the plane to London Heathrow, but take-off delayed again.  It seems the plane we should be on had a fault, and that this is a replacement <sigh/>….

More destinations:

1987 Isle of Man

1988 Northern England, Glasgow, Isle of Skye

1990 Huddersfield

1992 Northern England, Scotland, Orkney

2020 Scotland: Isle of Skye, Outer Hebrides

Moody's Black Notebook Travels

2022 Stavanger

Over the North Sea 14.10.22

The good news: I'm flying to Norway.  The bad news: judging by the safety leaflet, it might be in the B737 MAX – the one that is so unstable if fell out of the sky twice. [Actually, Flightradar24 tells me later that it was the older, safer B737-800.]

On the way to Stavanger.  Why?  It seems very small – not even Norway's second city – shops seem to close almost as soon as they open, and the weather forecast for the next four days is rain, rain, heavy rain, rain, thunderstorms, and then showers when we leave.  But in all those respects, it's interesting.

Truth to tell, I was going to fly to Georgia – I've not been for three years thanks to Covid.  But as I was just about to book hotels and buy flights, that nice Mr Putin began his "partial" mobilisation, and tens of thousands of young Russians fled the country – strangely unwilling to get killed to salve Putin's pride.  In particular, flights to Tbilisi went up from $300 to $600, and hotels were sold out as Russians piled in.  So Georgia not the happiest of places – and probably a little too close to Russia in the circumstances [turbulence…].  Admittedly, Norway also has a border with Russia, but a long way from Stavanger.  Also, I don't think Putin would attack NATO country.  Little, helpless Georgia (population three million, two great chunks already missing thanks to Russia) on the other hand…

So, Stavanger is a kind of anti-Georgia.  Very expensive, very clean, very orderly.  Interesting for those reasons, although not much else to do.  It would have been nice to climb to the Preikestolen – the main image I have of Stavanger – but the torrential rain that is threatened is not really ideal for this.  Even fjord cruises are likely to be compromised somewhat.  But hej – at least we have the Oil Museum… In fact, since everything else in terms of museums and art galleries seems closed on Monday, the Oil Museum may be our only hope of getting out of the rain…

Flying Norwegian for the first time – I've often seen their planes.  Efficient Web site, expensive (around 500 euros for two), pity about the Boeings those chose [they do have some B737 MAX, and are buying more, it seems…].  Turns out that UK school half-term is upon us: result – Gatwick South Terminal awash with young families.  Not a problem, but made everything feel rather crowded, which I had not expected.  

Sitting in Fisketorget – pretty expensive, but then everything is here.  Fab view of the harbour, a big powered catamaran berthed nearby – seems the only one offering tours of the fjords.  

An easy trip from the airport on the bus to hour hotel, Darby's Inn, greeted by Mr Darby, I think.  A fine Victorian-era building.  Out into the rain, through the backstreets with their characteristic white houses, all similar, but all different.  The electric cars swish by, the only sound the wheels cutting through the rainy road.  The house number have a very pleasing typeface.

Down to the harbour, where a huge tug (?) looms.  Around the harbour, along to the old town.  Everything so far has been very restrained – reminds me of the Outer Hebrides, Cornwall, Iceland.  The gently sloping lanes remind me of the similar but completely different hill streets of Tbilisi.  The old part of the town an explosion of colour after the uniform white.  Rather gaudy and excessive – looks like something created with a digital painting program.  A bit more lively.  Reminds me again of Tbilisi, but also of Bucharest.  We take coffee in the Bacchus café – decent coffee, tea and apple cake.  This reminds me of a restaurant I visited in Copenhagen – relaxed, nice atmosphere.  Then through the streets full of female navy ratings (Stavanger is a NATO centre – our hotel has people from it staying) out on the town.  Then to here, lucky to find a table, especially by the window overlooking the harbour and sea.

Back in Darby's.  Harbour very attractive by night, especially after rain (lots of it), with the lights reflected on the wet pavement.  As well as the electric cars – and the absence of places to park, for example in hotels – there are electric scooters everywhere – being used, or left all over the shop.

Still raining…

Stavanger 15.10.22

A famously good breakfast at Darby's in the splendid dining room upstairs.  A mirrored ceiling, lots of chinoiserie.  Turns out Mr Darby was in the oil industry – Singapore, Houston, London, Paris, Stavanger.  Awkward.  His Norwegian wife extolled the virtues of the Oil Museum, understandably, perhaps.

To the city, absolutely devoid of people – looked like a film set for some post-apocalyptic movie.  Around the old part, bought some lunch – having failed to do in the nearby Extra supermarket – seems Norwegians don't eat sandwiches…

Bought tickets for the only cruise to the fjords at this time of year – 650 Kr, reasonably, unlike the £100 Booking.com site was quoting for exactly the same trip.  Reminder to self: don't use Booking.com for offers… Now on the super-modern boat (catamaran).  Fair number of people, but far fewer than the 297 the boat can hold.  Rather fresh this morning, so sitting inside, not on the open top.  Views would be better there, but I think we'd freeze.  Strangely, not raining, even a hint of sun.  But rain promised later, and for all Sunday.

The endless parade of hills and mountains woven together, reminds me – perversely – of the train ride from Samarkand to Tashkent.  That sense of consonance among opposites. Almost impossible to stay outside – wind so strong, you'd lose a camera so easily.  The neat houses and cabins perched on patches of grass remind me this time of the buildings high in the Alps as we drove from Italy to France.  So many clearly expensive places owned by so many rich people, about which most of us know nothing…  The walls of the fjord vertical, with lines that make them look like perpendicular style architecture – truly natural cathedrals.

Half way into the fjord, to the waterfall, a majestic force of nature.  In close, with water spraying everywhere (not me, though – I stayed inside).  The boat turns, stops at Preikestolen.  I realise I have misjudged the height of these walls: on the Preikestolen itself I can just make out tiny, tiny dots – people.  The top is gobsmackingly high.  Then we stop at the Vagabond's Cave – basically a huge cleft in the cliff.  Beautiful rock formations, sculptural.

The bridge at the entrance to Lysefjord reminds me of the multiple bridges and viaducts on the road leading to the Mont Blanc tunnel – an amazing drive.  There, the mood was refulgent summer; here, mellow autumn.  Sailing back the way we came, but with a different feeling.  You depart full of expectations, energy.  You return full of experience, tired but content.  The rain held off for this, and we are grateful.

Another echo, but a distant one: when I went down other fjords, as far from here as possible, in New Zealand.  Slight smaller and tamer, as I recall, but beautiful nonetheless.

Another contrast.  Norway is confirmed for me as an efficient, functioning society, as I saw in Oslo all those years ago.  Its huge North Sea oil fund means that it is well placed for whatever the future holds.  The UK, of course, is the complete contrast to that, especially now.  A government so dysfunctional that is already a global byword; chaos politically, financially, economically, ecologically.  I love it.  "May you live in interesting times" may be meant as a curse, but for me is a blessing.  I love wondering what new disaster will unfold each day, hanging on Twitter so as to be among the first to know.  I love it – the buzz, the madness, the sense of living on the edge.  It's so exciting.  Stavanger, by contrast, opens at 10am and closes at 4pm.  Restaurants shut early, museums are closed on Mondays.  It's efficient, smooth – and rather dull.  Give me bonkers mayhem every time.

After the boat trip, a walk around the town, which is finally a little lively.  Then along to the bus station, which is also next to the train station.  The latter small, as might be expected.  We're here to buy buy tickets for tomorrow's visit to a slightly distant museum.  I buy a 24-hour ticket, not realising it is for the next 24 hours.  Ah, well, at least we can take the bus back.  Both stations sit next to the Byparken, Stavanger's main city park.  Seagulls and swans dominate its lake, which is striking pastoral given the presence of archetypal urban features such as bus and train stations.  Back to the room.  It starts raining heavily, but at least we had no rain during the fjord trip.

Out for supper to the nearby Matsmagasinet.  No room in the restaurant – it's Saturday evening after all – so we sit in the bar, and choose from its small but inventive menu.  Tables full of young women laughing raucously and explosively set the tone.  Just one man there, sitting on his own, absolutely immobile for minutes on end.  We eat, pay and leave to avoid any acts of mass murder he may be about to commit…

A day that went far better than feared, with most of it rainless.  Tomorrow still threatens to be thoroughly wet.  We shall see – the weather system here seems to be even more unstable and less predictable than London's…

16.10.22

In the café of the Archaeological Museum.  Bright and modern, very few people.  Exhibits well displayed, with explanations in Norwegian and English.  After a while, Norwegian becomes vaguely comprehensible, close enough to German.

Raining mostly today, but odd spells of dry weather – enough for us to take the bus to the Kunstmuseum by the park.  Typical small city art gallery: modern building, very clean and tidy, with a couple of temporary exhibitions, plus a few older Norwegian paintings – some very good landscapes.  Park largely empty, as everywhere.  Then on the bus to the Archaeological Museum.  Again, the space very modern, the exhibits well laid out.  Lots of gold and other jewellery, posts, a huge cauldron, broken swords, a section meditating on the universality of Yggdrasil, the tree of life.

But for me, the highlight without doubt was the pair of lurs – ancient Germanic horns.  These were found in a bog, and were intact.  Not only were there two of them, they were a matching pair: tuned to the same note, and each forming a serpentine coil with different chiralities.  Amazing sophistication, and also shows how important music was to ancient tribes.

After lunch in the museum, it was still early, so we walked along to the Stavanger Museum.  Full of kids, and kid-suitable exhibits, with one notable and striking exception.  A propos of nothing, one room contained an installation called "Cranium Music".  It consisted of a dozen or so suspended animal skulls onto which were projected the faces of singers such that the animal jaws coincided with the singers' mouths.  In the background, the music that the singers – and thus the skulls – were performing.  Pretty disconcerting, and hardly consonant with the rest of the museum.

There was still a little while before every museum in the city shut, so we decided to fit in one more – the Maritime Museum down by the harbour.  A nice old building, ceilings showing lovely beams, perilously low for me.  An eclectic mix of exhibitions, plus recreations of merchants' rooms.  Nothing spectacular, but interesting enough.

Just as museums close at 4pm, so are many restaurants shut on Sunday.  Even supermarkets are closed.  We managed to find one, Bunnpris, which a few bits and pieces we will eat tonight, since the forecasts are awful – not the weather for wanderings.

17.10.22

As the saying has it: "as quiet as Stavanger on a Monday" – well, almost.  All the museums are shut, bar one – the Oil Museum.  Pretty much the last thing I'd want to visit, but needs must when the devil drives.  And there is a certain timeliness in the topic, when a European war is being fought over, and waged with, oil.  The museum itself is rather splendid, architecturally speaking.  It looks as if made out of leftover oil pipes and rigs.  As usual, very clean and neat inside, with jolly exhibits about the origin of oil, the history of drilling.  One thing I already knew but still find amazing is that the modern oil industry is so young: it more or less began in Azerbaijan at the end of the nineteenth century, when people noticed that his black stuff bubbling out of the ground burnt rather well.  (Reminds me, I really want to go to Baku – I do wish Armenia and Azerbaijan would sort out a peace deal…). 

The exhibits have a certain abstract charm: the rigs looked like enormous metal artworks.  My favourite bit was the, er, bits – various kinds displayed in a row.  A photo showed them arranged like exotic sea animals, or viruses.  Also interesting was a control room of some kind, an ecstasy of analogue dials and switches.  But overall, like all museums in Stavanger, rather small – not worth the £25 it cost us to get in…  Then out around the barely stirring town, people going quietly about their quiet business, mostly in quiet electric vehicles, which seems appropriate as well as laudable.

Stavanger airport.  Like the museums here, modern, clean, efficient – and quite small.  Just three days ago, this city was completely unknown to me.  Now, I've seen the main sights and walked its streets in myriad ways.  Certainly, I don't claim to know the place, but I have an mental image and a plan of it.

More destinations:

1989 Oslo

1996 Helsinki, Tallinn

2014 Riga 

2019 Reykjavik

Moody's Black Notebook Travels