Why Do You Keep Going to Scotland?

I live in a really beautiful spot in Central Oregon that I love. I moved to Bend in 2001 attracted by the mountains, the high desert climate, the unending opportunity for outdoor recreation and the smell of juniper and sage. Also the number of spectacularly cool people who live here is way out of proportion to reality. Since then way too many people (still incredibly cool ones, luckily) have moved here and the tourist situation (sometimes not very cool people and for sure they CANNOT DRIVE) is untenable. Thanks to the brilliant and forward-thinking vision of (failed) anti-growth city planners back in the day we simply don’t have the infrastructure to adequately support the influx. Previously mellow parking lots next to trailheads are now stuffed to overflowing, it’s hard to get restaurant reservations, traffic gets backed up on our two-lane roads, especially up to the ski area in winter, basically all the things that come from being a popular destination. Also like much of the West we now have a “smoke season” which interferes with the aforementioned outdoor activities and is probably giving everyone cancer.

But before my oft-repeated rant gains too much momentum, my point in saying this is because Central Oregon is the opposite of Scotland. And yet I can’t wait for the wind, the driving rain, the mist, the mud, the bogs. These qualities of climate have historically not been a situation that I’m stoked about but for some reason it’s okay there. Maybe because it doesn’t feel humid or smell musty or make you feel like you’re drowning in soggy decay and you can almost always wear a sweater. Maybe it’s because sometimes you see a kilted 18th century Scotsman with a broadsword heading toward you out of the mist while unseen deer trumpet across the glen you are walking through (more on that later).

So people often ask me, “Why do you keep going back to Scotland?” And the answer is I can’t explain it other than to honestly wonder where else I would go. The follow-up question, usually in the same breath, is whether I am Scottish, as if that might explain my boring travel patterns. While I’d love to answer yes totally (or at least mostly) I am given to understand that this aggravates the crap out of actual Scots when people like me (born in Seattle) say this.

And that’s not it anyway. I mean, I’ve been places, I’ve seen stuff, much of it really beautiful and spiritually moving and over one ocean or another. And yet. Also yes I’m very English Scotch Irish and like everyone with that mix I’m probably descended from William the Conquerer. And obviously, yes, I’ve enthusiastically watched Outlander and visited some filming locations. Still not it.

Maybe one way I can describe it is this. A friend of mine recently told me about the first time she went to Scotland, I think with her parents. When she got out of the car at their Airbnb in the NW Highlands and walked out into the air and into the landscape, she was overcome with emotion and fell to her knees. And she doesn’t walk around falling to her knees over things. As for me, I get weepy – over the incredible landscapes, the whisky, the history, the first time I hear a Scottish accent when I’m traveling there, and when I watch people gathered in pubs laughing, talking and playing music. And I am not generally a weepy person. And so. My boring travel pattern will continue.

It’s a vibe I guess. And it’s vibing at my frequency. That’s it.