Every now and then I'm overcome with the odd pang of homesickness - in times like these I dream of heather-purple moorland, crashing waves beneath cliffs clad in frith and coconut scented gorse, red kites circling over green forested valleys. Quiet. Fresh air. Growing things.
Don't get me wrong: I love London, I really do. But my heart aint half in the country, and every now and then I feel I need to top up my dwindling levels of fresh air, mud and salt sea-breezes or I'll keel over and never make it out of the city alive.
Oddly these pangs seem to coincide with the changing of the seasons. In spring I start to think of snowdrops pushing through the black soil, unseasonable warm days walking on the clifftops around Llangrannog, the garden at home starting to turn green. In summer I dream of warm nights watching the bats flit around the yard, crab-fishing and hillwalking and tick-searching annual holidays in Scotland as a child, clouds of midges and everything smelling like citronella. In autumn my thoughts turn to dull orange beach leaves, blustery walks with two smelly black labradors along the mountain tops and evenings in front the fire with my family, watching tv or chatting. In winter I think of rain-lashed windows, hot-water bottles, cold foggy days and woodsmoke.
(photo by Ian Cameron here)
Right now though, this pang for countryside and fresh air has coincided with an overwhelming need for a holiday, and all I can think about is a fantasy summer roadtrip across Scotland. I want to drive through Glencoe, feeling like the only people for miles and miles, the tripled-peaks of the Three Sisters that used to fascinate me as a child looming above us, passing tiny Eilean Munde (Isle of the Dead) in Loch Leven where the distant gravestones poke out amongst the tall pine trees, a lonely white crofter's cottage or bothy speckling the feet of the mountain every here and there. I want to take the Corran Ferry across Loch Linnhe and see the stormy sunlight break through the clouds above the solitary lighthouse, hear the roar of stags across the valley, search for ticks on bare legs through bracken, dip my toes in peaty-pebbled loch beaches. I want to smell the wild garlic down by the sea shoreline, carpeted in seaweed, otters and seals bobbing heads out from the waters and lazing on rocks around the pretty painted Tobermoray harbour.
It's a strange feeling, something that's hard to describe, when you feel like you belong to a place and a place belongs to you. I feel that way about my home in Wales but I think I've always that personal belonging to and from and for Scotland also, especially the west coast and the highlands. I know my parents would love to move there one day, and if Wales had to lose them to anywhere I think Scotland would be a fitting substitute - and I could visit them a lot I suppose! Some of my family have just moved to the Isle of Mull, another of my favourite childhood places, so I might just have to add them to the itinerary of my fantasy Scotland road trip too...
I hope I do get the opportunity to go some time this year - it's been a while since I've paid a visit and I feel my second home calling to me. For now I can only dream - and listen to my specially made Scottish Roadtrip Playlist on spotify (here)
(photo by Eamonn Shute here)
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(Ardtornish on the west coast of Scotland, where we went every year with friends when I was younger, photo by Nick Connor from here)
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