A wee treat.

Surprise! I'm not totally gone. As soon as I'm at my normal computer (I'm on vacation right now!) I'll post my final report, summarizing this travel journal. Stay tuned!

20) Fall in love. No specifics.

As I ventured homewards on an A33 jet plane this past Thursday, I tried to remember each step of my amazing Scottish adventure. In between groggy sleep and turbulence, I came to realize that, it’s true, I love Scotland.

I love, love, love Scotland. Although I never expected to fulfill this final task on my list in quite such a Platonic way, there it is. Even more than falling in love with Scotland, I think I’ve fallen in love with life, fallen in love with the LORD - each one complimentary to the next.

Scotland, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love the way that, after days of dreich and miserable weather, sunshine makes anyone forget the gray days before. I love how Scotland is the only country in the world where haggis is actually considered a delicacy. I love seeing men in kilts. I love hearing the drone of the bagpipes. I love eating bread-and-soup in a proper pub full of blokes. I love IRN-BRU adverts. I love a good, thick, Scottish brogue. I love how devoted Scots are to their rugby teams, with the same zeal of a Jacobite at Culloden. I love that, despite their stiff-upper lips, Scottish music could make even the roughest Glaswegian shed a tear. I love that, even though Scotland has been a part of Great Britain for over 300 years, most Scots would cheer for any team except England in the World Cup. I love that Scotland felt the need to have their own pound sterling.

I love the way that the Highlands just appear before your eyes as you drive into Perthshire. I love how virtually every hillside in the North Country is covered with bleating sheep. I love solid Scottish preaching. I love tearing around Ross-shire in a Land Rover and zipping over a loch in a speed boat. I love minding the gap and alighting. I love old drafty castles and charming cottages.

I love knowing that cups of tea are never far away. I love the hospitality of the Highlands and Islands. I love the closes of Edinburgh. I love the beauty of the Fife Costal Path. I love the rugged wildness of Skye. I love how the grass really is greener on this side of the world. I love the ever-changing idea of Scottish national identity. I love the creative way that lines between Scottish history and ledged are blurred. But, mostly, I love that Scotland seems to love me too.

How do I know that Scotland loves me? I know because Scotland has given me so many precious gifts. During my semester abroad, I’ve learned so much about myself and about the purpose of my life. I’m not afraid to be daring. I’m comfortable with my independence. I’ve kindled a passion for traveling, for meeting new people. Scotland has taught me to slow down a bit, take time to have a friend round for coffee.

More eternally significant, Scottish churches as taught me to be serious about my faith, to engage in a dynamic relationship. As I said, I feel my relationship with God has blossomed in this country. That change will be the most important, the most enduring, and the most important I’m sure. This blog has already followed my spiritual development; my prayer is that the most evident symbol of my transformation will be in the way I life my daily life in the future. Please, keep me in your prayers and rest assured you are in mine.

Until we travel again next time, this is Victoria’s Scottish Adventure, signing off!

Haste Ye Back!

One more post coming your way soon, but I wanted to let everyone know that I am safely back in the United States. The only thing worse for wear is my suitcase, which lost a handle along the way!

1) Return Scottish rock.

Well, I did it. I returned my Scottish rock. It felt slightly like losing a piece of my heart and, though dramatic, that metaphor is actually fitting. Of course, I’ll be taking a piece of Scotland with me, but I can’t deny that I do become very emotional when thinking about leaving this beautiful country. My wee pebble is safely nestled in a little village just outside of St. Andrews called Blebo Craigs – a special place of real charm and beauty. Today has been full of “sweet goodbye” and “until we meet again.” Though people say goodbye to each other all the time, indefinite farewells are always a bit more melancholy. Thankfully, as a Christian, I have the hope of seeing my dearest friends in Heaven; really, our goodbye is only as temporal as the Earth, and as lasting as eternity. A beautiful thought.

In many ways I feel like a rose (or a thistle!) in a flower pot, being moved from one environment to the other. Each time God needs to transplant me: my petals bloom a little more, my soil becomes a little richer, and my thirst for nourishment becomes even deeper. At least, I pray that’s been the effect. Hopefully that metaphor isn’t too far-fetched.

I’ve likened this semester abroad to a Christmas gift. It would be greedy for me to demand more of the present, rather I will always cherish what I’ve unwrapped and share it around with family and friends.

All good things must come to an end.

My whistle-stop Highland Fling of Scotland is officially over. I have to say, it was quite exhilarating and exhausting at the same time; there’s so much to say, I’m not quite sure what to say!

Thursday found me in Loch Lomond and I visited those bonnie, bonnie banks on Friday morning. Hosted very generously by a friend and her family, I felt very welcomed into her environment. The Strathclyde bit of Scotland is quite lovely, very quaint. We saw Loch Lomond by shore and by sea; I’ve decided that boats are the best way to properly see any impressive body of water. Of course, Loch Lomond only became a tourist hot-spot because of the song. Scotland is totally worth singing about, it has to be said! Although I totally recommend finding the quieter places where cameras and passport-holders aren’t to be seen for miles, any traveler would be remiss if they skipped the “big” sites. Short, but sweet, I was very happy to see the famous loch and listen to Runrig’s fantastic cover of the ballad along the way.

Friday night I was in Livingston, staying with another generous friend and her family, and on Saturday set off for Linlithgow Palace. Ancestral home to Mary Queen of Scots, this spot was on my top list. As one would expect from a Historic Scotland site, it didn’t disappoint. Ruined castles have a beauty all their own. There’s also a working Church of Scotland called St. Michael’s on the grounds as well. Whist we were traipsing around the town, we had the good fortune to happen upon a wedding. Our trio picked a nonchalant spot and watched the whole ceremony unfold. Can you imagine getting married in a church that was dedicated in 1242? Unbelievable!

Now, I’m back in St. Andrews before flying out of Glasgow on Thursday. It’s hard to believe that my semester abroad is in its last few days. Where does the time go? I’m keeping myself together very well, all things considered, and only cry about leaving this beautiful country when no one is looking. Everyone is being so kind and endearing, sending me off with their good wishes and love. I’m so lucky to have found such a welcoming place, so lucky to have made a temporary home out of Scotland.

PS. Final marks are in and I passed both my modules! By the skin of my teeth in one of them, but I passed! I’ve been going back and forth in my mind, wondering if I should have spent more time in the library and so on. But, you know, the life lessons I’m coming away with were not only harder to study, but also more worthwhile in the end. How’s that for a student work-ethic?

Perfect strangers!

You couldn’t possibly imagine how I spent my evening, so I’ll get right to the story. It’s actually amazing, providentially appointed I’d say.

I first visited the Skye Museum of Island Life. No wonder the Scots are such hearty stock! First off, the day was absolutely dreich. Wild winds brought in the driving rain and the idea of huddling next to peat fire until kingdom come actually sounded ideal. Of course, the museum isn’t a working model – figurines have been poised from the 1960s as blacksmiths, fishermen, etc – but the atmosphere was totally right. Life in a traditional island village was no picnic; crofters and fishermen have my total respect and admiration. This wee stop in Kilmuir is well worth an hour of any visitor’s time. Also of interest is the grave of Flora MacDonald, that feisty lassie responsible for saving Bonnie Prince Charlie from certain death after the defeat at Culloden. She’s a great role model for any young woman, but more on ideal role models later.

Due to the bus schedule, it made more sense for me to head towards Portree and then back to Uig. Let me just say, I am so thankful I decided to stay in fairly un-populated Uig rather than tourist-crowded Portree. Not that Portree is lacking - I had a very nice bread and soup at a local, uh, social establishment – but I’ve come to appreciate the vastness of the Highlands infinitely more in the back of beyond rather than in the middle of it all. Heading back into Uig, I happened to catch the school-bus home; because Skye is so spread-out, children ride on the Stagecoach rather than traditional buses. It was quite a little interesting piece of life that most tourists would miss, I think. Randomly, I sat next to this Australian chap who was catching the morning Ferry. The two hours back to Uig passed quickly and pleasantly, with conversation and views to keep me company. Here comes the promised story.

Tonight, I had every intention of attending the Church of Scotland’s evening service. To kill some time, I took my supper in The Ferry Inn which sounds rather romantic, like a line from The Highwayman, but when you’re all alone the romance quickly flees. As has been a running theme in this travel journal, ordering a “table for one” can be slightly depressing. Of course, my single table offered a great vantage point to spy on the whole restaurant. Like the far left table full of proper lads: each ordered a pint of Stella. Or the young couple trying to impress each other: both had expensive wines. The young family of four: sodas and juice. The slightly older family of three keeping up appearances: dad ordered a gin and tonic, mom downed a glass of port, and son ordered something fizzy. Even the elderly couple: both had quiet cups of tea. I took my coffee in the bar next door (I’m not an alcoholic!) and finished a very interesting memoir called The Kerracher Man.

The Church of Scotland, funny enough, is right opposite The Ferry Inn. As half-seven drew nearer and nearer, no sign of evening services had appeared. No beadle, no minster, no nothing! Then, three sweet women came ambling up to the door in their Wednesday-best. “O, hello dearie. Are you waiting for prayer meeting?” one with a very Lewis-accent asked.

“Well, yes, actually, I am.”

Long story short, in five-minuets time we introduced ourselves, discovered we were all on holiday, also discovered that prayer meeting was in the next town over, and decided to go for tea. Highlanders keep a slower pace of life, but they are always quick to form acquaintances. Knowing the generous nature of my hostess, I invited my three new friends “home” to the cottage. Growing up, I was always told to never get into the car with strangers, but I made an exception for the seemingly harmless evangelical seventy-something year old skirt-wearing Bible-toting women. If they were planning something dastardly, I deserved whatever was coming to me.

Rather than dragging me around the corner to an old abandoned warehouse, these three ladies sat with my hostess and myself for over an hour and took tea. We had such a lovely time! As I hinted before, Scotsmen are of the heartiest stock. What stories about cutting peat, sewing clothes, throwing weddings, and all sorts of daily-activities. Generations of traditions and history, all sitting in one living room. Unbelievable! Also amazing to me was the fact that, between the four of them, these women seemed to know everyone in the Highlands and Islands. Within mere moments they began name-dropping and place-naming. A handy skill, that one! But mostly, I was impressed with their dedication to the faith. Christians all their lives, the sweet travelers were genuinely upset to miss Wednesday prayer service, but kindly said that meeting me well made up for the loss. How sweet was that? You know, I think people who bridge the generation gap are truly special. We all have so much to give and share with each other.

At the end of our tea, we exchanged address and promised to keep in touch. You can be sure I will. The rare treat of finding solid friends, no matter their age, is not to be ignored or swept aside. I would write everything they taught me but, frankly, most of their lessons are going to be pondered in my heart. My hostess and I escorted the women back to their car and waved them off.

When I’m seventy-eight, I hope to be waved off as I drive away by a twenty-something myself. Then again, by that time we might live on the moon but, who cares? Days like today give me hope for the world, a hope that only comes from the LORD.

13) Wander the Highland Hills

Wandering the Highland hills, it must be said, is more desolate than I thought. Although I come from a very quiet little town in the South and have travelled around a great deal, I don’t think I’ve ever actually been in the middle of nowhere. I suppose I keep using that phrase “middle of nowhere” because it’s true. Uig is a sea port but, really, there’s not much here besides a ferry dock and cottages dotting the shoreline.

Today I had every intention to roam the village and stumble upon amazing experiences, but went about it the wrong way. First, I tried to fill my time with activities: posting mail, looking up ferry times to Harris, seeing if I could paint pottery or rent a bike - I desperately sought distractions. My long morning ended with me nestled in my cozy room, listening to one of my pastor’s sermons, and looking out over the bay. It took half-a-day to get to this place of quietness. I never realized how restless I really am. Maybe I’m not an introvert after all; maybe I do need people to recharge my batteries.

Without getting too lost in post-modern mumbo-jumbo, let’s get back to the point of my time in Uig: to not only see more of Scotland but also use this time as a spiritual retreat. Pulling myself together, I realized that the landscape wouldn’t come to me, but rather I had to seek it out. About an hour, and one soup-of-the-day, later I found my way back to Fairy Glen; this time, on foot.

Climbing into the hills, I could sense civilization disappearing behind me. Then, something magical happened. I forgot about what seemed reasonable, sensible, or normal for me and simply went onwards. Before I knew it Fairy Glen, paved by gorgeous scenery, appeared before my eyes. Dutifully, I pulled out my collection of poems about the Scottish Highland and Islands, wrote in my journal, photographed, and prayed. Thick clouds began to settle across the valley and I took the sudden change as a cue to begin my descent. Scotland is so changeable, sunny one minute and rainy the next but, with all the stunning beauty, you can’t hold the bad weather against the Old Country for long.

This evening, I was pleasantly surprised by my fantastic B&B hostess. I’ve finally warmed to the idea of a true family Bed and Breakfast and really do appreciate all the care and time she devotes to her borders. After dinner, my hostess asked if I’d like to go with her on a wee car trip. “We’ll be back for 7.” She told me. Thankfully, our jaunt lasted almost three hours! We literally made a circle around the tip of the Isle of Skye, from Uig to Staffin to The Old Man of Storr to Portree and back again. No visit to Skye is complete without taking this route. The Quiraing is just breathtaking and Kilt Falls is utterly stunning. God must be an artist.

Any of my previous doubts about over-familiarity are lost in the mist. What a genuine display of Scottish hospitality. We even stopped by the house of a friend and were invited for tea at her sisters’ cottage. Just lovely! These islanders are so warm and welcoming to perfect strangers but, then again, they would be happy to tell you that you’re not a stranger anymore.