Different

10. A different kind of Northern Light (May '04)

Midnight in Tolstachaolais, and the sky to the north is still in twilight; burnt sienna at the horizon, fading through pale blue to dark blue overhead with stars scattered amidst the strip of small fluffy clouds that cross the sky like the tire-tread marks of Apollo's SUV.

I'm sitting on the wall of an old blackhouse, the traditional type of house that islanders lived in. The sides were made of an inner and outer wall of stones (like the mortarless stone walls that cross the countryside) with the space between them filled with peat and earth for insulation. The roofs were wooden frames covered with turf and thatch, which was held in place by a net flung over the top, and weighted with stones. There are many remains of blackhouses throughout the island; just the stone walls, though, since the roofs have long since rotted away.

It seems appropriate to visit this old husk of a house, because the house I'm living in now (the one-time post office in Tolstachaolais, just down the road from my old place) is the exact opposite: modern, beautiful, and newly refurbished. So newly, in fact, that my landlords were still here until 10:30 at night on the day I moved in, putting in the finishing touches like...oh...assembling the beds, hanging the light fixtures, and putting in a linoleum-esque floor in the bathroom. It was worth the worry and the wait, though, because in the end everything got done just in time, all the moving parts work like they're supposed to and it is a lovely place to live. The address is exactly the same as before, except that it's 11b, instead of 10. There are some pictures below.

Also pictured is Ralf, who came to visit me last week. We had a delightful time full of touristy visits to historical sites (ie. old heaps of stones), and beautiful beaches (ie. bigger heaps of smaller stones) and down to Harris, the south half of the island whose claim to fame is stunning natural beauty juxtaposed with stark, barren moonscape.

Part of the reason for going to Harris was so that I could play the harp for a wedding in St. Clement's church (a ridiculously picturesque church built in the 1500s and restored in 1873). Everything went beautifully, they both said, "I do," and it was a lovely place to get to play my harp. There are pictures from that, too.

And now to bed so that the sun can shine in again at 4 in the morning (the only drawback to having twilight at midnight).

Love,
Andrea

Andrea Blumberg