Searching for Scotland

“The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page.” - Saint Augustine

Every episode of Eugene Levy’s new show The Reluctant Traveler on AppleTV+ opens up with Saint Augustine’s quote, followed by Levy quipping, “Well, I’ve got to say I’ve read a few pages and I’m not crazy about the book.” What follows is 30 minutes of the comedian visiting exotic places and discovering in the process that contrary to the show’s title, he is not, in fact, reluctant at all. Each new destination finds Levy embracing new cultures, foods, and peoples and, seemingly, enjoying himself immensely.

Travel can be uncomfortable and stressful. It can cause arguments and familial drama. Moving outside our comfort zone is a scary and daunting experience.

But travel is also one of the most rewarding things life can offer us, even when it goes wrong, as it inevitably does.

Braveheart was released in 1995, around the same time my mother became obsessed with our family’s genealogy. Mel Gibson’s film featured a romanticized version of William Wallace’s story, coupled with an engaging soundtrack of original music by James Horner. Though grossly historically inaccurate, the movie and my family’s Scottish origins instilled in me a desire to go to Scotland.

Twenty-three years later I found myself traveling to Inverness with my husband and my daughter. My father-in-law, brother-in-law, and sister-in-law met us there. We saw (and touched) Loch Ness; we visited the Highlands. We stood on Hadrian’s Wall (illegally). We saw the oldest of the Crown Jewels in Edinburgh Castle. It was truly a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

But no amount of planning and preparation would have ever resulted in the “perfect” trip. My brother-in-law, Ron, grazed the side of a car in a train station parking lot and had to pay out of his pocket to avoid a huge insurance increase. And on a second occasion, his tire clipped the edge of a narrow bridge and resulted in a blowout. He, my sister-in-law, and father-in-law ended up taking a 200 mile journey in a tow truck to get to their next destination.

While my in-laws’ tire was blowing out, we found ourselves completely and hopelessly lost. We had just left Castle Urquhart. GPS was set and we were off to the Isle of Skye. We were playing the soundtrack to Outlander and Izzy was snoozing comfortably in the back seat. Then, all of a sudden, we lost cell service. Our GPS map went blank and we were somewhere on a country road about 20 miles outside of Inverness with no idea where to go next.

David and I learned a lot about each other at that moment. In that situation of high tension, it would have been easy for tempers to flare. But nobody got mad or threw around blame. We both wondered aloud, How bad could this actually be? We’re in bloody Scotland, for God’s sake!

We went old school. We drove around for about an hour until we found a gas (petrol) station. We filled up and bought . . . *gasp* . . . a map.

We were quickly back on track and about 30 minutes later, David saw a turn off for Loch Ness and pulled over. He said an undefinable “something” was urging him toward this particular spot. We woke up Izzy, and we all walked down the hillside to the water. Along the way we saw hundreds upon hundreds of cairns, stacked stones constructed as a memorial or marker of some sort. Closer to the water’s edge, there were driftwood structures that looked almost animalistic. The whole scene felt beautifully apocalyptic, and we all felt as though we were in the presence of something mighty and spiritual.

Had we confined ourselves to a strict timeline or itinerary, we might have missed out on one of the most sublime experiences of the trip; instead, we were all humbled and chastened as we realized how small we are in the face of the vast universe.

Hours later, we approached our hotel on the Isle of Skye via a very primitive gravel road with flocks of sheep all around. The mud was thick, and nettles surrounded us on all sides. I was the one who had booked the hotel, and I had been promoting it since we arrived in Scotland. A true country manor representative of the old style of vacationing, Greshornish House looked majestically from the website promising a luxurious but traditional experience.

The underwhelming lead up to the hotel led my traveling companions to bemoan the fate of their upcoming stay.

“Mom. This is terrible. There’s nothing out here, and we’re literally driving in mud.”

“Honey, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but this does not look good.”

We turned the last corner, and a clearing appeared with the majestic Greshornish House sitting in all its glory. Our room was on the top floor with a skylight and exquisite view of the surrounding countryside. My daughter’s response? “Mom, I never doubted you for one minute.”

We struck out on our own the next day with no particular destination in mind. We stumbled upon a wonderful roadside cafe and then Neist Point lighthouse where we saw a pod of orcas. But then there were no restrooms for miles around. Miraculously, we saw a handwritten sign that read “Cokes and Toilet.” I told David to step on it.

The owner of the sign was an artist and shepherdess. She sold us a couple of Cokes and let us tour her rental cottage. We bought some of her artwork, and she let us bottle-feed two of the abandoned lambs she had taken in. She let us in on a local secret and pointed us in the direction of the seals, and we left happy and eager. We followed her directions to the letter, and we were rewarded with the sight of seals in the bay, popping up out of the water and regarding us with as much curiosity as we paid to them.

We had searched for Scotland for years, waiting to unlock her mysteries. We didn’t enter reluctantly; rather, we welcomed the challenges, uncertainties, and delights she threw our way.

The world is most certainly a book, a suspenseful and addictive page turner that keeps us engrossed from cradle to grave. Our one hope is to read as many pages as we can before our time is up.

France, 1994