October, 2025 --- Day 9
✨ Scottish Fantazy
🍌 Day 9 — Green Bananas, Shimmering Rivers & the Race to the North
“Bananas betray. Adventures don’t.”
We woke from a peaceful, cozy sleep — the kind that melts into morning like honey — though the moment we slipped out from under the quilt, the cold pounced on us like a cat.
But nothing stops Charlie. He was already bright-eyed, ready for a half-day adventure in Inverness. Our morning started with a quick wash, toothbrushes dancing to the soundtrack of The Chorus. And then came the villain of the day: a suspiciously green banana. 🍌
Charlie grabbed one as a pre-breakfast snack; I followed, foolishly loyal.
Turns out it was a tiny dynamite stick in disguise.
My heartbeat sped up, my stomach began stirring a storm — and yet the beautiful Inverness sunshine seemed impatient for us to join it. We returned to our old habit: breakfast in a cute café, this time sitting beneath a glowing heart-shaped decoration ❤️. Charlie took care of me like the gentleman he always is. I ordered salmon Benedict; he feasted on croissants with smoked salmon and two Americanos — our classic pairing.
The plan for the day was a scenic cycling trip along the forest paths we’d discovered yesterday. But Inverness had other ideas.
The bike-hire shops on Google Maps were ghosts — gone, closed, vanished.
We ran around in circles, twice, hoping one would magically appear. At last we wandered into a souvenir shop at the “correct” location… only to find a few lonely abandoned bicycles and a sign of days long past. So we went on foot — and Inverness shone for us.
The ducks were waiting at the exact same spot, like little friends calling us back.
And so began our second morning of duck feeding. 🦆
Sunlight spilled across the River Ness, making the water glitter like silver threads. Acorns covered the ground; Charlie scooped up two handfuls, dividing them solemnly between us.
Competition began immediately. He was so focused — completely absorbed — that I knew the ducks’ affection had become serious business.
We carried backpacks today, heavier than usual. As we ventured deeper into the forest, my stomach still felt wobbly. Without a word, Charlie took both backpacks — one strawberry-pink, one black — and with both slung over him, he looked adorably like an Oreo cookie. 🤭
He carried the weight as if it were nothing. My hero. XXOO. The city slowly melted into wilderness. The path widened into a proper running and cycling trail, lined with ancient trees. After the Highland Archive Centre, we officially stepped into a nature reserve.
Then nature called — loudly. Charlie searched desperately for a WC, and just when hope felt faint, we found one near a tiny playground bathed in sunshine. Children were laughing, autumn leaves rustling — and Nessie herself seemed to wink from nearby.
Caught up in the moment, I ran to the trampoline, bouncing like a child until my stormy stomach reminded me I was still human. 🤪 And then came the surprise at the edge of the park — Hydro Ness, a whale-shaped turbine system swishing river water into clean electricity. So brilliant, so alive. The water ran faster and wilder there, urging us onward.
But time was calling: our 2 p.m. coach to Scrabster, the Northlink Terminal.
After two cancellations, tonight we finally had a ferry — 7 p.m. to Orkney and then another to Shetland around 11 p.m. This was our last chance to reach the northernmost edge of Britain. On the way back, we treated ourselves to a warm American-style lunch — chunky milkshakes and fries 🍟, pure comfort. Then a practical stop at Tesco, preparing “just in case Shetland has no supermarkets” (silly us).
Finally, our ember-red coach arrived. Rain and wind howled again, but inside we were warm, cocooned, napping and listening to stories as the world outside grew emptier. Civilization slowly slipped away; the landscape turned wilder, freer — only us on the road.
As we neared the sea, the wind strengthened, rain slashing sideways. And then, through the haze — Northlink!
Charlie practically vibrated with excitement. “I’m a man who has boarded the Northlink now!” he bragged (老子也是坐过Northlink的 😎).
But the sea heard him. And the sea does not forgive arrogance. The sky darkened; the waves rose. From the cozy lounge, windows showed little but grey. The ferry bounced and rolled. My heart and stomach adjusted quickly — but Charlie grew pale, quiet, nervous. Northlink moved up and down; our pulses followed.
An hour later — Hello, Orkney.
Except we were late. Twenty minutes late. And the last bus to Kirkwall — the one we needed for our Shetland connection — was gone. I panicked, calling taxis, but none answered.
Then we tried something new: our first attempt at hitchhiking.
Nervous but determined, I asked car after car. One kind lady even called her stepdad to try helping us. Finally — like magic — a lovely woman pulled up, there to collect her daughter and friend for a ride to Kirkwall. She opened her door. Our hearts exploded with relief.
We had a ride. And maybe — just maybe — Shetland would be ours.