It was a cold and windy Friday morning. I was getting my pulse up making sure everything I needed was in the suitcase. It was not at all an early flight I had to catch, but my brain has proved over and over that it works best under pressure – five minutes before I should be out the door is when the brain decides to wake up and remind me of everything that should come with me across the fjord. This never fails. This morning I also wanted to take Son to kindergarten as I would not get to enjoy his company for the next four days.
The day before I had called Charlotte at the Craigmonie B&B to make sure our reservation was ok. She had a wonderful Scottish accent. I was in my office by myself, and as I hung up the phone I closed my eyes, her voice echoed in my head and the butterflies took flight. I smiled, drew my breath and could finally feel that the trip was just around the corner.
At the airport I was greeted by one of the world’s most wonderful ladies. Our eyes met and our smiles widened, yes, we had both been smiling to ourselves. We checked in, walked through security and found ourselves on the path to a new adventure.
Due to a full plane my travel companion had been seated with a group of coffee drinking Brits, I was placed among alcohol consuming Scandinavians. Accompanied by a slightly drunk Dane, who sat closest to the window, I first saw land. The cliffs and beaches of the eastern coast of Scotland stretched out in front of me. I looked north, knowing that I couldn’t, but still hoped to, catch a glimpse of Slains Castle near Cruden Bay. Then I looked in the opposite direction, hoping we were far enough south for me to spot Dunnottar Castle near Stonehaven. Both were too far away. The wee plane descended a little as we flew over land. As if the pilot knew how thrilled I was to be back, the short flight over the city became a short sightseeing tour for me. I saw Union street break up the maze of roads beneath me, the hospital was still there and I could see the railway lines running out of the city. Under us, on the right, just escaping my view, was the University, the football stadium, the view from my former lecture room and the room in which I spent no more than a few months. We crossed the Don and Dyce appeared. The plane steadily descended. I saw the roads, I knew the shops, many of the signs were still the same. And I saw the road which we would soon follow north. The plane touched the ground and shortly after came to a halt in front of the terminal.
It felt like coming home. I get the same feeling when I have been on vacation and return home after being gone for weeks. I only spent a few months in this country, I’ve spent more time in other countries, but still this feels special. There is a comfortable and safe feeling connected to this place, a country of which I’ve still only seen very little. There is no logical explanation, still I must admit, it feels like home.