Outside my window, the sunset lingers for hours as the plane I’m on jets northeast along the shadow of the earth. A full moon shines on pale blue clouds out the window opposite mine. Slowly, the sunset turns to sunrise as we curve along the earth’s shadow.
I land in Glasgow. For the next nine days I will travel around Scotland on my own. As a traveler, I look forward to the time I’ll have to myself and the people I’ll meet. As a guy named Scott, I can’t help but feel excited to visit a place called Scotland, silly as that may be.
GLASGOW
Glasgow welcomes me with sunshine and weekend merriment. I walk all over the West End, eating delicious Indian food, marveling at Glasgow University’s architecture, and exploring the parks.
At night, I visit the Necropolis, a large graveyard on a hill overlooking the city. It’s late and no one else is here. I am all alone with my thoughts and the people beneath my feet.
OBAN
I arrive via train in Oban, which is to be my launch point as I explore the nearby islands for next two days. After a tour of Oban’s whisky distillery, a small ferry whisks me away to the island Kerrera just across the channel.
On the ferry I meet a group of people my age. They’re amazed at the weather. One girl tells me she’s lived in Oban for two years, and today is the first day she’s worn shorts.
Kerrera is mostly composed of farmland set against green lumpy hills. Sheep scurry away as I amble past them. Greens and blues spill out in every direction, painting a duotone landscape. Just ahead, perched on a cliff top, sits Gylen Castle. Only ravens and pigeons live inside the former stronghold of the Clan MacDougall.
STAFFA
I board a boat to Staffa, an otherworldly island to the north. I almost can’t believe my eyes as it looms bigger and bigger in the windows of our boat’s cockpit. Staffa looks both oddly manmade and fiercely natural at the same time. Hexagonal basalt columns rise from the water, erupting in a brimming head of tumultuous volcanic rock.
The island’s intangible presence grows stronger.
I get off the boat and hike around the edge of Staffa. Pausing to admire the massive columns of rock that make up the island, I notice the faint sound of a bagpipe coming from a sailboat several hundred feet offshore. How perfect.
Continuing on, I reach the entrance of a magnificent cavern. This is Staffa’s gem. One of nature’s finest cathedrals, a gothic structure so majestic it inspired Mendelssohn to compose an overture in its name, Fingal’s Cave recedes before me, stretching into the darkness.
I stare for quite some time, admiring the textures and the imperfect hexagon shapes that make up the columns. My heart sinks in my chest.
IONA
The boat ride from Staffa to our next destination, Iona, flies by. Staffa still captivates my contemplation. How that small green island enchanted me! I must have looked like a little child, running around the island wide-eyed, giggling at the puffins.
My thoughts carry me off the boat and along a path that winds north across Iona. The trail leads past an old Abbey that stood through centuries of Viking attacks, to open fields of flower-speckled grass that look like star fields.
Crossing over some dunes, I arrive at Traigh Ban Nam Monach, the White Strand of the Monks. A momentary feeling of disbelief arrests me. Am I still in Scotland? Ahead lies a pristine beach of white sands and turquoise water.
My shoes come off at once.
SKYE
The weather on the Isle of Skye provides a sharp contrast to the sunny skies of Glasgow and Oban. Here, grey blankets of clouds hug the mountain peaks.
I’m guided around the island by Donald, a native of Skye whose family has lived here for generations. He speaks in a cheerful, bouncy Scottish accent and loves showing off the marvels of his homeland.
Our first stop is the Fairy Pools. The trail meanders past countless waterfalls, each splashing into its own pool of clear water. The imposing Cuillin ridge rises up from the pools on all sides, poking into the grey sky.
All around, the world is green. We visit several other places with fantastic names, like the Fairy Glen and Kilt Rock. Each unfathomable landscape looks like it has been coated in bright green shag carpet.
Donald looks nervously out the window as we coast along the road to Staffin beach.
“I don’t have a good feeling, Scott. The tide looks high.”
I try to stay hopeful, but worry takes over. Out of all my plans for Scotland, I was most excited to see the dinosaur footprint on Staffin beach. Now, as we park and walk onto the mossy shore, things aren’t looking good. The footprint sits under several inches of water, barely visible. Donald is unfazed.
“Ah, give it ten minutes, the tide will go out.”
So I wait, and sure enough, the footprint slowly reveals itself. Kneeling on the wet sandstone, I reach down and touch the spot where a large carnivorous dinosaur left its legacy.
Something stirs deep within me. This footprint was stamped 165 million years ago, before the Cuillin mountains were even formed on Skye. Just a moment ago it was shrouded in water. Now, I lock hands with the eons.
EDINBURGH
A beautiful bus ride takes me six hours southeast through breathtaking landscapes from Skye to Edinburgh. Contemplation, music, and reading fill the hours.
Scotland’s bustling capital city is the last leg of my Scotland trip. I’m sad to feel the trip winding down, but inspired by the medieval spirit of the old town.
I spend my two days in Edinburgh going for hikes, eating at trendy places around town, and playing guitar in my hostel. In the music room of the hostel, I meet a guy named Carlos, who goes by Charliee.
As I start playing one of my songs, Charliee closes his eyes and starts bobbing his head. After a moment, he starts singing passionately in Spanish. I can’t understand a word as he belts flurries of heartfelt verses. I play my song twice through to accompany his extended improvised performance.
We jam through several more songs, and Charliee sings with the same enthusiasm each time. Finally I put down the guitar and ask him what he sings about when he improvises.
“When I close my eyes I see images, so I sing about whatever those images are. That last song, I sang about a tree that grows forever, and when the tree is turned into paper, all of the stories of the world are written on the paper.”
Charliee’s imagery sticks with me even as I pack my bags and catch the bus to the airport. As my plane takes off, the story of my Scotland trip joins the rest of the stories of the world on the paper made from Charliee’s tree of life.
