ENGLAND TO SCOTLAND

PART 1

Certainly one of my most beautiful journeys to date.

Having stayed with a French couple who had been living in Edinburgh for a few years, and not knowing where I was going myself, I let instinct carry me along, without plans or particular wishes. I then passed over part of England to head quickly to Scotland.

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

Strolling languidly through beautiful Edinburgh, finding a place for each of my steps, I was already thinking of the plastic steering wheel that would take me there.

The street of pubs would seduce me that evening, letting my liver test some wonderful Scottish gins. Quality would take precedence over quantity, make no mistake.

It is November 2014. The lights play tricks on one of my senses most called upon these last few days. The holidays are approaching, and nothing frightens me more than not knowing where I am going, but it is also very exciting. Some modern pilgrims would be horrified to see me swallowing the kilometres in my polluting metal monster. Though I agree on some points, the progress of my journey brings me a certain serenity mixed with a certain anxiety: that of never returning to point A.

In this endless maze, I see only joy and the desire to go further. Travel has taken control of my judgements, and I can only appreciate the present moment as a gift.

But what beautiful images lie before me on this road trip through Great Britain?

Leaving London and friends behind to meditate on this solitary road.

In the rear-view mirror, the beautiful countryside of northern England, green and exquisite, offering soft pasture to the local herds.

I am alone; not really alone. My eyes accompany me and convey to my emotions all the beauty that surrounds me. Why not burst into tears before her? Who allows you, in this world, to be so indiscreet in the smallest details? I eye her and embrace her through my senses. They are all in action, nailing my feet to the ground, preventing me from leaving.

But something awaits me, something important that I must accomplish. I cannot stay with you, Madame Beauty. Your landscapes enchant me, and I will miss your silent voice, but I must leave for northern Scotland. Do not hold it against me; I will never forget you.

Was this north of England not enough for me, that I had to drag myself in steel to its northern end? I needed to recalibrate my internal compass, and for that I had to visit the north, touch it before any departure south. But would I be able to stop at this end of the earth?

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

Edinburgh the beautiful!

Here I am;

Smiling at the elements that remain mute, I open my soul to the reddest part of the city, letting a little Scottish pride enter me. Not wishing to turn into a charlatan, I did not speak of it around me, letting that redness intoxicate me with its peaty accent.

What should I do to the sound of the crying violin: drink another gin and tonic, or go and dream of those unknown tomorrows? The Scottish woman facing me, dancing her country behind the counter, had no answer to offer, only this question: another?

“Another” fell silent in my decision to rejoin my dreams of tomorrow, to contemplate what the world had decided to offer me that morning. I accepted this gift of a thousand wonders, letting myself wake between light coffee and the rising sun.

My road continued through this Scotland that brought out her finest clothes for me, bewitching colours and a unique atmosphere. She was pulling out all the stops, and I could only thank her by continuing on my way.

But was it really possible to offer me more beauty?

A little morning mist, taking hold of my spirits, waking my ignobly half-open eyes, calling upon my heart not to miss a single crumb of this happiness.

 

“Go on!” he cried to me through a daring raven. “Do not let your steps be held back by all this beauty. It is only passing, and your path will be flooded with it. Continue on your way, traveller, remember me and let my beauty rest. Farewell or see you again, who knows?”

Finding these two parts weary of my presence, I listened to them, heading feverishly towards my iron monster. Should all this be shared, or should I keep the secrets of such a landscape to myself?

There she is, my weather vane, my compass, my north, my stopping point.

Should the south face me, or must I still turn my back on it? I feel nothing that confirms standing still as an answer to my question. I must continue on my way. Perhaps the north is merely being pointed out to me; this castle, not inviting me in, is surely there to show me the road.

I am leaving!

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

Travel! Is that not a satisfying and sufficient answer, a sign foretelling the future? My future?

I cannot yet express what I truly feel. I admire and remain humble before so many offerings from life. I begin by giving thanks and continue on my way, without quite understanding where I was or why I was there.

On the road again, again…

Miss Moon Haze, standing on my road, proudly facing me in Scottish fashion, did not ask me to bow before her.

That day, she wanted to have a carnal conversation with me.

Letting me admire her beauty, and jealous of her landscape namesake, she ordered night to come and annihilate it, so that she alone could shine. Miss Moon Haze then stood alone before me. Our erotic conversation ended soon enough, freeing me from her flesh and letting me fulfil my mission.

“Wait!” she shouted. “The north will not let you leave, friend of the south. I know him very well; I visit him from time to time. He lets me return west on one condition, and I now give you the secret. Plant a pebble wrapped in a dead leaf in the earth facing him, cover it well with your shadow and turn your back on him without ever looking back.”

Not taking drugs, I do wonder whether this conversation ever happened.

What if Scotland were magical?

Could there be something in the atmosphere that turns your senses into poetry? This landscape will confirm it to me throughout my journey.

Will I find the right pebble? Will I plant it, or will I accept becoming a prisoner of this sought-after north?

Miss Moon Haze then leaves me in the dark.

This road trip is in two parts. You have just read part 1. Thank you, click here to read part 2…