Next leg – Orkney islands
It’s time to leave again. Seizing the brief pause in the North Atlantic depressions, we face a 4 a.m. wake-up to head into a still-rough North Sea. Not thrilling.
Wick didn’t get busier, but after a few days the grey buildings started to show their charm, helped by the sun and the friendliness of the locals.
We discovered an unlikely coffee shop, set up in the living room of a house: a table made from an old door, covered in dust and crumbs, mismatched chairs. But also a beautiful manual espresso machine and carefully selected beans.
The owner had sold his coffee roasting shop in Inverness and moved to Wick. The place felt like a side project, a way to keep the passion alive.
Minutes after we arrived, an English couple walked in. The husband talked to us for the next hour: Manchester, Wick, their honeymoon in Italy thirty years ago. Good fun, actually.
When they finally left, the owner leaned over and said: “Thank you for having provided him with a public.”
At Whaligoe harbour, we met a passionate local whose grandfather was one of the last fishermen to use it. Himself prone to seasickness and a little afraid of the sea, he never set foot on a fishing vessel and works as a mechanic instead. But his knowledge of the place, and his desire to share it, are unmatched.
The harbour sits at the bottom of 250-foot cliffs. A long flight of stone steps leads down to it. From 1792 until the early 20th century it was a herring port. Schooners came all the way from Russia. They wove between the rocks, turned in the narrow gap between the cliffs, and came alongside the pier to load barrels of salted herring.
Without engines, we still can’t quite imagine how they managed.
Time to prepare Capsula for tomorrow. 4 a.m. will come quickly.
Anne - Wick - 13/03/2026