Gillian stirred from her sleep as the plane began its descent into Heathrow. She peered out the window at the London cityscape below and couldn’t help but smile.
The plane touched down without much ado, and Gillian felt a flutter of butterflies in her stomach. She took a deep, calming breath.
She joined the stream of passengers through customs, and with a playful wink from the handsome customs agent wishing her a pleasant trip, she went to collect her luggage.
A friendly police officer pointed her towards the taxi line, and she only had to wait a few minutes before it was her turn.
The ride to King’s Cross Station was enjoyable, and she took a few pictures on her phone along the way.
Feeling a bit like Harry Potter, she snapped a picture of the area dedicated to the famous boy wizard.
She grabbed a quick bite at a small shop near her track, checked her ticket, and with the help of a porter, secured her luggage and found a comfortable seat on the train.
The train ride to Newcastle was only a few hours, and Gillian loved watching the English countryside whizz by. It was a surreal experience, one she would have enjoyed more if she wasn’t so eager to start her adventure in Scotland.
She bought a banana and an apple from a passing vendor and texted Harold, Carrie, and Kurt on a group thread, letting them know she was safely on her way to Newcastle where she would pick up her rental car.
She immediately regretted sending the text, realizing she was seven hours ahead and it was only a little past seven in the morning back home.
She hoped she hadn’t disturbed anyone’s sleep.
She received three texts back, all expressing relief that she was safe and well on her way. She put her phone away and allowed herself to relax.
Once in Newcastle, she hailed a taxi to take her to the rental car company and completed the necessary paperwork.
The kind woman at the office helped her get sorted, handed her the keys to a sleek silver Audi Q5, and loaded her luggage in the back. She set up the Google Maps app and followed the directions onto the main road.
She said a silent prayer, asking God and her parents and Uncle Mike to watch over her as she navigated the unfamiliar left-side driving.
She gripped the steering wheel tightly as she drove, whispering prayers and making the sign of the cross for extra protection.
When she managed to drive for almost thirty minutes without causing any accidents, she relaxed a bit and let out a slightly hysterical giggle.
Anticipating this moment, she pulled over to take a picture of the sign welcoming her to Scotland from the driver’s seat.
She drove a bit further and pulled over again.
She stepped out of the car, setting foot on her ancestral soil for the first time. Making sure she had the keys, she closed the car door and walked a little way down the dirt road, just standing there, taking it all in.
The lush green fields, the clear blue sky dotted with fluffy white clouds, and the distant buildings.
She didn’t realize it at first, but she was crying, overwhelmed by the emotions and the thoughts of what might have been.
Could she have played in this field with her dad? Could they have visited the city of Dumfries on their way to London? She wiped her eyes and rummaged in her bag for a tissue to blow her nose.
“Okay, Gillian, you can’t do this at every town or field you come across! You can’t keep wondering what life would have been like if they had never moved to America! Just take in the beauty around you and commit it to memory!”
She went back to her carry-on bag and found the Ziplock bag she’d packed for this very moment. She scooped up some dirt from the side of the road, filled the bag, and wrote the date and location on the front.
She had decided to take a piece of Scotland home with her. She planned to put the soil samples in jars when she got home, a tangible reminder of this moment.
There were several places she wanted to collect samples from, and she hoped this plan would work. She packed the bag back in the car and continued on to Dumfries.
She stopped at a gas station—or petrol station—and asked for a recommendation for a hotel or B and B. The elderly man was very helpful, suggested a charming rustic motel he knew, and even called to check if they had a vacancy.
After securing the last available room, she thanked him, and then took a selfie with him in his plaid wool ascot cap. He winked at her and wished her a good day.
As she got back into the car with the directions he had written down for her, she realized how much she missed the Scottish accent and the enchanting quality of their voices.
She knew she would have a hard time focusing whenever anyone spoke to her; she loved the accent so much.
She knew if she did find a man to have a fling with, all he would have to do is speak and she would be putty in his hands!
Fifteen minutes later, she pulled up to a beautiful old building and went into the office. The owner, a sweet lady in her fifties, made her feel incredibly welcome.
She showed her to a room decorated with floral patterns on the walls and the bedspread. There was a simple wooden-framed double bed, a cozy overstuffed chair, and a fireplace that actually burned peat.
Gillian was in awe. Mrs. Brown explained how to light the fireplace and left her to settle in.
She sat and took in the room, then took out her good camera and snapped a few pictures.
Unable to contain her excitement, she grabbed her purse, slung it across her body, hung her camera around her neck, slipped on her aviators, and went out to explore.
She discreetly snapped a picture of Mrs. Brown at the desk on the phone and stepped out the front door.
Three hours and 250 pictures later, Gillian found a quaint pub for dinner. She ate heartily and even had a local ale to wash it down.
She wasn’t usually a fan of beer, but she wanted to experience the local fare. It was surprisingly good, and she made a mental note to remember the name for the rest of her trip.
She made her way back to the little hotel, took a quick shower in the tiny bathroom, and changed into some pajama pants and a matching long-sleeve shirt.
She came out, lit the peat in the fireplace, sat in front of it with her laptop, and uploaded her pictures, deleting the ones that were blurry or didn’t make sense.
She opened the folder she had saved and wrote a little about her journey, from the breathtaking views to the friendly people to the delicious food and everything in between.
Gillian found herself filling nearly three pages, pleased with her work but slightly worried she might be on her way to penning a book instead of a journal!
She tucked everything away to recharge, switched on the room’s radio, and let the local tunes fill her space, stirring up images of fairies, ancient Druid ruins, and enchantment.
She observed the fire as it dwindled, then slipped into the bed, taken aback by its unexpected softness. She nestled under the blankets, her eyes fixed on the dying embers of the fire, their glow gradually fading as she drifted into sleep.
