Dear Asma,
I’m on my way back home to Dubai from Scotland. Just as I typed that, I realised once again that Dubai has truly become home. Emirates flight on the A380 is always comfortable and slightly softens the melancholy of a finished holiday, just because the flight itself feels like a certain extension of the holiday, up in the sky, in no man’s land.
Do you remember the impulsiveness of Venice? Scotland happened pretty much the same way. Rolled out of bed, showed up at the airport, landed in Glasgow, and started exploring.
My Scottish extravagance started humbly. As soon as the plane landed, I rushed to be the first at customs, as my Montenegrin passport (unfortunately) doesn’t allow me to use the EU line. I expected crowds at the “All Other Nationalities” line, yet surprisingly, the crowd was in the other line! Well, that’s a nice way to start this short and sweet trip.
Now let me tell you about Skelmorlie and its people, as I don’t believe it gets enough attention. Imagine the coastal nature of Como, understated green landscapes, cows and horses going up and down gorgeous hills, people who care about each other and build meaningful communities full of beautiful connections, and all that, just minutes from the city centre, yet it feels as secluded as a fairytale. I was charmed – high on love, warmth, goodness, and pure oxygen, which I’d missed dearly.
Edinburgh was another lovely surprise. If I were to associate one word with this place, I think it would most probably be peace. An architecturally breathtaking city that hosts the most diverse range of individuals I’ve seen so far. All under grey skies with occasional moments of sun. And when those rays do show up, you’ll see all these demographics simultaneously shedding layers of clothing and exposing their pale skin to soak up the Vitamin D.
I wanted the Old Town, lots of fish and chips, which I’ve learned is called a “fish supper”, regardless of the time of day it’s consumed. Though I come from the seaside and a family where my mother was a seafood chef, I was never really into seafood. Yet here, I could subscribe to this fish supper for life. I just loved it.
I must also tell you about the two sides of Glasgow I experienced. The first begins at Mar Hall Resort, in an area called Bishopton. Mar Hall is a castle, built for the purpose of a private home, but it became a social hub for the Scottish aristocracy. The open-minded ones would gather here, exchange ideas, and enjoy life’s finest pleasures. Later, during wartime, it became a hospital. Once peace returned, it was transformed into a resort and just recently reopened after a £20 million renovation. You know how much I adore historical buildings and heritage hotels, and this one simply couldn’t disappoint. The abundance of colours, textures, shapes, and patterns cleverly put together was a feast for the eyes! I’m so tired of today’s beige-and-grey contemporary aesthetics and their lack of character everywhere we look. Mar Hall is the opposite. It proudly embraces the “more is more” philosophy and is unapologetically Scottish. Aye!
The second part of Glasgow is the chaotic one. And don’t get me wrong, as there’s nothing wrong with that. I appreciate that there’s a plethora of choices for every palette. That big, diverse family, without judgment, ready to open their world with the purest hearts and open arms, is something that deeply resonated with me. A place where happiness, love, and support are core values.
Again, I kinda expected the upbeat, cheerful traditional sound to be the undertone of my Scottish experience, but this time, it was a young British singer-songwriter, Ewan J. Phillips, who sang:
“How does the moon look tonight
From the other side of town
God, I wish I knew.
Is it bold, is it bright?
Is it hanging in the sky
Looking down on you?
Oh, I wish I was the moon,
So that I might be with you
One more time.
I wish I could disappear
‘Cause I know I can’t stay here
With or without you.”
There was one extremely clever four-year-old girl I met during this trip, whom we called “Pretty Lady.” She said that was totally fine, but she calls herself “Gi”. She was talking about a colourful hoover, she couldn’t remember whether she had, or if she had just dreamt of it. Yet her sensation of happiness was exactly the same, regardless of whether it was real or imagined, whether she essentially had it or not. That got me thinking, so I wanted to share it with you.
Until next time, my dear Asma.
Sincerely yours,
Milo
