Scotland travels (the ‘hot aches’)
Winter 2024 (Jan-mid Feb)
Scotland was a profoundly horrible place and also magical place to travel in the winter. I decided to go during the bleakest time of year not because I’m a hardcore adventurist, but because it’s the only season I could take a vacation from my farm. The last time I traveled abroad I was 23 years old, backpacking-hitchhiking-busking around New Zealand for six months in the southern hemisphere summer. It was warm, cheap, and easy. Scotland in January in my late 30’s turned out to be an entirely different beast that chewed me up and spat me out hard.
Despite doing a fair amount of research beforehand, I was woefully underprepared for navigating a typical Scottish winter. It thrashed me to the core. Wet cold sunk down into my bones and held fast the entire time I was there. I couldn’t shake it, no matter how many layers I wore or how many hours I soaked in public saunas (where I also happened to contract athlete’s foot for the first time in my life. I learned hydrogen peroxide is nowhere to be found in the entire country.) The weather was ‘dreich’ as the Scots say. Rain came in a dozen different forms, from curtains blowing across the ocean to relentless daylong drizzles to five minute micro showers followed by breaking sun and rainbows. The wind blew for days. There were times when I was literally counting the minutes of sunshine I got on my skin.
Scottish folks kept their indoor spaces barely warmer than the out-of-doors. Maybe it’s because heating is so expensive, or maybe living close to the elements is how it’s been done for hundreds of years and they’re just carrying on the tradition. I don’t know, but it was miserable. In the winter I like to be warm and cozy in cold places. Over there I could barely function. Being cold for weeks on end wore down my reserves in a way I didn’t expect and almost broke me.
I prefer to travel alone, venturing to places where I don’t know anyone and meeting people along the way. It was so easy to do in the New Zealand backpacker scene in my 20’s. Staying at hostels, camping and encountering people on the road. But in Scotland, solo travel in my 30’s turned out to be downright lonely. Most attractions were closed during the off season and local folks seemed to be in hibernation mode, or vacationing somewhere warm, which would’ve been smart. I rented a car for several weeks—note: the roads are MUCH narrower than in America—and meandered around the country, loosely following the ghostly tourist trail up into the Highlands, staying in quiet guesthouses and tracking down a few friendly farmers to visit.
I also discovered that the Scottish wilderness wasn’t terribly accessible to lay people like me. The government wasn’t keen on signage or trails, in general. I considered myself lucky to find a marked trailhead, even luckier if there was a map, and pretty floored if there was an actual footpath. Mostly there were pull-offs with vague unlabeled routes petering out across boggy hillsides. It was confusing and frustrating. I learned that the lack of signage was meant to discourage tourists from embarking into the outdoors unprepared because it’s dangerous country. I get it. The stark mountain landscape was beautiful and raw. Empty, primeval and unforgiving. I got a taste of some of it as safely as I could manage with my limited outdoor skillset.
Despite the overwhelmingly cold and difficult times I had in Scotland, I encountered some unexpected heart-warming experiences that changed me in a deep way. After struggling to get by on this trip for a month and having very little fun, I finally gave up and decided to bail early. Then it’s as if the mysterious travel gods heard my breaking point snap and knew I let go. And with their magic invisible hands they scooted me into the path of an amazing person in a tiny seaside highland village where I found love. Ultimately change is what I needed from this trip all along, I realize. I wanted travel to crack me open, to usher in movement and give me perspective in my day-to-day life. I spent the last weeks of my time in Scotland having incredible chats in front of a wood stove, paying social visits to new local friends, scrambling up remote mountains with a knowledgeable guide, drinking gallons of tea, hauling logs through the mud, opening my mind and heart to new possibilities. That experience has been a much-needed catalyst, causing a ripple effect of positive changes in my American life and inspiring me to grow into a clearer version of myself. Scotland, in all its wild beastly-ness and sweet endings, transformed me into a better human. I never know where my travels in this world will lead, but as long as I can let go and embrace what comes, I know it’s bound to be somewhere good.
