The evening sun cast long shadows over the moors and glens, sheep chased after the farmer’s tractor for dinner, mother cows called their infants back. The road was long and winding, the light hypnotic. Two hours out of Aberdeen, at least seven to go. Miles of British countryside between us and home, places I’d vaguely heard of but knew almost nothing about. Still just places, passed by but not through. The final journey, an adventure, after a year that was both.
I was going to turn back. In fact, I had. I was waiting to pass some people on the narrow clifftop path when they asked me if I’d seen puffins. No, I’d replied slightly disappointed that I hadn’t. But they had just seen some flying past. That was all I needed to hear, I turned and hurried back to where I’d been waiting and watching for the little birds with the orange beaks.
Perhaps not where someone who adores walking barefoot and bronzing in the sun should be this time of year. Truth be told, in the last two years I have found myself in Thailand or Miami in February. But this year, Aberdeen. Up in the frozen North. I remember mum told me before I moved here that Aberdeen is inline with Russia. It is a cheery thought that is hard to forget. But being here has shown me that the Scots are made of stronger stuff, and during the last couple of weeks in between school placements and with a bit more free time, I’ve learned a lot from them and their hardy spirits.
It snowed. And snowed and snowed some more. I hadn’t seen so much since skiing three years ago. I woke up one Thursday morning a week ago to a world of white. The kids in school watched it fall all day, wishing they could be outside throwing snowballs at each other, stuck inside making snowmen out of socks and rice instead. Personally, I was happy where I was, watching the fat flakes fall as the winter skies darkened and the street lights reflected their amber glow into the classroom. Later, ‘Sleigh-bells ring, are you listening?’ rang out as I hurried past the High Street’s shops on the way home, bundled up in two scarves. Never had that line been more accurate.
Life can feel like an action movie sometimes, but suppose it was more like a fairytale, one with an ending that is still unwritten. This part of Scotland would certainly make the cut scenery-wise and I really did feel like some kind of new-age princess as I followed the area’s Castle Trail (albeit a princess wearing a large A&F fleece and Nike AF1s).
So I managed to lock myself out of my apartment this morning. Smooth, I know. It was bound to happen; self-locking doors and my forgetfulness are a bad combination. Long story short, I was let in a while later but it kind of wasn’t how I had hoped to start my weekend. I was feeling gloomy over breakfast then gave myself a metaphorical head-slap and got in the car.
A cold spray stung my face as I scanned the waves, searching the grey expanse for those famous fins. Suddenly I spotted them (before anyone else on the boat, even the captain, might I add). Bottlenose dolphins swimming fast, we could barely keep pace. They were toying with us, willing us to wait for them to come back up for air. Saturday morning. In Aberdeen. I guess dolphin spotting isn’t the first thing you think of as a way to spend your weekend around here.
