Stromness

Skara Brae is basically Scotland's version of Stone Age suburbia, a beachside Neolithic cul-de-sac from 3200 BC that's been miraculously preserved beneath layers of sand and grass, waiting patiently for you and your Instagram filters. Arriving at this eerily intact village near Sandwick feels like stumbling into some ancient Orkney real estate tour-without, thankfully, the aggressive sales pitch. Around mid-morning is your sweet spot, as you'll beat both the crowds and Orkney's unpredictable mood swings in weather. Book a few days ahead, especially in the buzzing summer months when history geeks and day-trippers descend like seagulls at lunchtime. Budget around £10 admission, plus extra for that woolly jumper you'll inevitably buy to combat the bracing North Atlantic breeze. And do bring a jacket, sturdy shoes, and perhaps an existential thought or two-wandering through these snug stone homes with their remarkably intact furniture, you can't help but wonder if prehistoric islanders griped about neighbors, contemplated life choices, or debated fiercely about whose turn it was to gut the fish. Sure, it's just a cluster of old huts in the sand-but finding yourself at the doorstep of a 5000-year-old civilization is worth it, even just for the bragging rights and cocktail party anecdotes you'll be dining out on for months.

Scuba diving into Scapa Flow feels less like a gentle underwater excursion and more like gatecrashing history's ultimate naval graveyard-imagine yourself drifting weightlessly over eerie, barnacle-covered battleships sunk in the wake of World War I. This corner of the Orkney Islands, once the Royal Navy's strategic playground and later the watery tomb of a surrendered German fleet scuttled en masse in 1919, now teems with marine life, rusting hulls, and mysteries caught mid-decay. Sure, the water hovers somewhere between "icy plunge" and "why-didn't-I-stay-in-the-boat?" territory, but that's why you bring a dry suit, a flask of warming whisky (post-dive, for safety, of course), and a colorful guide boasting stories equal parts heroism, calamity, and maritime mischief. Aim to book weeks-or better yet, months-ahead and budget around £200 per day for rentals, guides, and boat charges; dive early morning for best visibility and a chance to witness seals side-eyeing your awkward flipper kicks. Besides bragging rights at your next dinner party-because how often can you casually slip in that you circumnavigated a sunken fleet?-the real payoff here is plunging through history itself, a chilly handshake with ghosts of battles past.

If you've ever dreamed of bunking down in Britain's tallest land-based lighthouse-and frankly, who hasn't-then pack your thermals and sense of irony for a stay at North Ronaldsay Lighthouse. Rising dramatically from a windswept speck in the Orkney archipelago, this 19th-century beacon boasts history, isolation, and enough maritime mystique to make Captain Ahab pause and snap a selfie. Built in 1854 by towering legend Alan Stevenson, this landmark stands guard against rocks, tides, and monotonous Instagram feeds. Book a good two months ahead to snag one of the surprisingly cozy lighthouse keeper's digs and aim for summer if you're soft, or winter if you crave stormy authenticity. Budget around £100 per night and prepare for charmingly unreliable Wi-Fi, fierce seabird colonies unimpressed by humanity, and sunsets worth writing bad poetry about. Bring stout walking shoes, decent whisky, and an attitude ready to embrace breezy solitude. Even if your lighthouse fantasy involves fewer sheep and slightly warmer showers, it's all gloriously justified: a stay here guarantees an unbeatable anecdote, a true sense of isolation in an overly-connected world, and-at minimum-major bragging rights at future dinner parties.