Where the North Sea and the Atlantic Ocean merge, a small Scottish archipelago sits barren and bald, hundreds of clumped islands of grey and green rock. Shetland is a 12-hour ferry ride from the granite port city of Aberdeen, and its population of about 23,000 stretches across one larger island and a few smaller ones that dot its shores. Even in the dead of summer, it is a cold and reclusive place. The most consistent weather is wind, which howls day and night.
While the Shetland economy benefits from North Sea oil and gas exploration and commercial fisheries, a certain old-fashioned atmosphere reigns. In summer, Lerwick, Shetland's largest town, decorates its streets with bunting. Recently, I received a piece of mail from a Shetlander whose return address is only their last name and the town they live in. Shetlandic dialect – no longer used regularly but still heard in homes and at the pub – leaves Shetlanders with an accent flecked with Scottish and the now-extinct language of Norn, which lilts with soft syllables such as ‘da' and ‘de'. It is a remarkable place to learn about the edge of the world.
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