Monster Hunter.

I'm going to leave you with the journey up to Loch Ness. Why end here? Because regalling you with stories of a cancelled train journey to London, lunch at Paddington, and catching an evening flight home are simply boring. So I will leave you with Loch Ness. This fabled body of water is in the highlands of Scotland, quite the drive from Edinburgh by local standards. Thus it was broken up with stops along the way.

The first stop of the Highlands we make is basically in the middle of nowhere. This stop is designed to allow us to meet a very handsome ginger with scruffy hair and gorgeous giant brown eyes. Well, him, his wife, and their child. So off we trot to meet Hamish, Hannah, and little Hanni. These three hairy coos are tame beasts that love to greet tourists. Apparently their wild counterparts, the Highland Cows, are just as tame and just as ginger.

Driving through the Highlands, it feels as though the landscape is fluid, as though it changes within the blink of an eye. It's hard to get bored with that sort of scenery. It feels as though it is always changing, and with every change, it still manages to be the most beautiful landscape you have ever seen.

Our next stop is at Glen Coe, the sight of one of the many tragic Highland slaughters. Thus the atmosphere is sullen and damp as we step off the bus. There is a bagpiper in his full tartan garb, the sound of his music lifting in the air gives the sight an eerie, haunted feeling. The beauty of the place is exaggerated by the tragedy of the history that surrounds it.

Finally, by midday, we reach Loch Ness to do some monster hunting. Which leaves me to wonder, how exactly would one be able to see a dark serpentine shadow swimming just below the surface of a water that is jet black? A curiosity, to be sure, but one that doesn't stop me from watching the surface of the water as a cruise boat takes us on an hour long journey around the loch. Sadly, I don't get to see even a faint hint of the famous, ancient monster.

That is all the time we get for Loch Ness, especially if we are expected back by 8 tonight.  The journey back to Edinburgh is largely uneventful with a couple of photo stops and a quick break in a sleepy little village that offers us ice cream and chips to tide us over until we return to the Royal Mile.

And thus ends our story. As you can see, there was no drama, no running from danger, no running to love. There was no betrayal, no shock, no tragedy. There was a lot of awe. Awe at how familiar, how much like home, everything felt. Awe at how, despite this familiarity, everything could feel so sensational, so beautiful, so new. Awe at the rolling hills and cascading farms, the white horse painted into the hillside headed toward Plymouth. Awe at streets and parks I never knew existed in that city I still so easily call home. There was awe as I stood in a capsule of the London Eye, sipping at champagne and watching as I slowly crept over a cityscape so old, so new, so iconic. There was so much awe in Scotland as my mouth gaped at the beauty, at the ancient home of my ancestors. And now that I am sitting in the airport, waiting for a gate number, for the ability to fly home, I find the emotions swelling, my heart overcome with awe, with happiness, with regret. A week is too short. Too short a time to come home and have to leave again. But it is a week that I wouldn't trade for anything in the world. A week I will cherish, a week that will always remind me that there is indeed a place where I belong.