In all my life I've never hesitated to refer to myself as Scottish. There must be some ancestry there, beyond the clan name. But until this week I'd never actually been to Scotland. As we crossed the border on our way to Glasgow the thought did occur to me, will I feel like I belong here? (As well as, is it seriously this foggy in summer?)
In Glasgow and Edinburgh the answer was, no (and yes). I didn't really like deep fried pizza. I didn't strike up any friendly conversations with the locals. I had no real issues with the British. Understanding what some residents were saying required more active listening and guesswork than my German conversations!
In between the two cities there was a day spent in the Scottish Highlands. This territory did appeal to me more than the urban places, and I wondered if it would be there, among the lochs and glens, that I would find a place that felt like home.
Sadly I didn't get any sense of belonging, or any photos of highland cows! But the sweeping mountain ranges, refreshing drizzle, and reminders of historic courage and barbarity did make me feel kind of at home. Although that could have been due to their similarities with the Adelaide Hills.