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Certainly one of my best trip to date.

Having lodged with a French couple settled in Edinburgh for a few years and personally not knowing where I was going, leaving me carried by my instinct, without plans or special wishes, I then occulted part of England, for me return quickly to Scotland.

Without hesitation, this charming couple, in love with the same German gin as me, the “Monkey 47”, a sign, told me then, the road to follow to discover the paradise of fairies, fogs and beauty.

Lovingly strolling through the beautiful Edinburgh, making every step of my way, I was already thinking about my plastic car wheel that will take me there.

The pub street will seduce me that night, testing my liver great Scottish Gins, quality will be preferred to the quantity, do not doubt it.

We are in November 2014, the light traffic one of my senses the most solicited these days, the holiday approaches and nothing scares me more than not to know where I go, but it is also very exciting. Some modern pilgrims would be horrified to see me swallowing the miles in my monster polluting metal, agree on certain points, the progress of my journey brings me a certain serenity mixed with a certain anxiety, that’s never to return to the A point.

In this interminable labyrinth, I see only the joy and the desire to go further, the trip has taken control over my judgments and I can only then appreciate the present moment as a gift.

But what beautiful pictures are in front of me on this road trip in Britain?

Leave London and friends to meditate on this lonely road.

In the rear view mirror the beautiful countryside of Northern England, lush and exquisite, offering a gentle pasture to local herds.

I am alone; Not really alone; My eyes accompany me and transmit to my emotions all the beauty that surrounds me. Why not burst into tears in front of her, which allows you in this world, to be as indiscreet in every detail? I glance and embrace my senses, they are all in action, nailing my feet to the ground, preventing me from going away.

But something is waiting for me, an important thing that I must accomplish. I cannot stay with you, ma’am beauty, your landscapes enchant me and I would regret your voice so silent, but I must leave for the north of Scotland, do not blame me, I will never forget you.

Was not this north of England enough for me, that I had to drag myself in steel to the north of it? I had to perform to calibrating of my internal compass and for that I had to visit the north, the touch before any departure towards the south, but would I be able to stop at this end of the earth?

But where am I going? Where am I in my journey, my journey, my pilgrimage?

Edinburgh the beautiful!

Here I am;

Smiling at the remaining mute elements, I open my soul to the reddest part of the city, letting introduce into me, a piece of Scottish pride. Not wanting to turn me into a charlatan, I did not talk about me, leaving this redness get drunk with its peaty accent.

What should I do to the sound of the violin crying, will drink another Gin tonic or go dreaming of those unknown tomorrow? The Scot faces me, dancing his country behind the bar had no answer to offer me, but only this question: another one?

“The other” died in my decision to join my dreams of tomorrow, to contemplate what the world had decided to offer me this morning. I accepted this gift of a thousand wonders, letting me wake up between light coffee and the rising sun.

My route continued through Scotland, which brought me her finest skillful, mesmerizing colors and unique atmosphere. She took me out to the big game and I could only thank her for continuing my journey.

But was it really possible to offer me more beauty?

A small morning fog, taking hold of my spirits, waking my eyes ignobly ajar, appealing to my heart, to miss no crumbs of happiness.


“Go on!” He shouted to me, through a daring raven, “do not let your footsteps be held back by all this beauty, it’s only a passing one and your path will be flooded with it. Traveler, remember me and let my beauty rest, goodbye(farewell) or good-bye, who knows? ”

Finding these two parts tired of my presence, I listened to them, steering me feverishly towards my iron monster. Should sharing all this be done or should I keep for myself the secrets of such a landscape?

Here is my weather vane, my compass, my north, my stopping point.

Should the south face me or should I still turn my back on him? I do not feel anything confirming immobility in response to my question. I must then continue my road, the north may be just indicated, this castle does not invite me to enter and surely there to indicate the road.

I am leaving!

What is there then on this island? The source of my life, good seafood, a freshly caught salmon or just the trip?

The trip! Is this not a satisfactory and sufficient answer, a predictor of the future? From my future?

I cannot express what I really feel, I admire and remain humble in the face so many offerings made by life. I begin by thanking and continue my journey without really understanding where I was and why I was there.

On the road again, again…

Miss Moon Fog

Miss Moon Fog lying on my road, standing proudly in the Scottish, facing me, did not beg me to bow before her.

She wanted that day to have a carnal conversation with me.

Leaving me to admire her beauty and being jealous of her patronymic, she then ordered the night to come to annihilate her, so that only she could shine, Miss Moon Fog then was alone in front of me, our erotic conversation ends soon enough, freeing me from his pulpit, letting me fulfill my mission.

“Wait,” she yelled at me, “The north will not let you go south again, I know him very well, I visit him from all over, he lets me go back to the west on one condition and I’ll tell you Book now the secret Plant a pebble surrounded by a dead leaf in the earth facing him, cover the good of your shadow and turn his back without ever turning around. ”

Do not take drugs, I wonder if this dialogue had existed.

And if Scotland was magic?

Would not there be something in the atmosphere that then changes your senses into poetry, this landscape will confirm it to me throughout my trip.

Will I find the right pebbles? Would I plant it, or would I accept being imprisoned by this sought-after north?

Miss Moon Fog then leaves me in the dark.

Black Paint

This road trip is in two parts, you’ve just read the part 1, thank you, click here to read, part 2…


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