My Scotland Odyssey: Returning to Anam Cara

I did tell those who needed to know that I was going to be away. I even told them I would be in Scotland. I emphasized that this wasn't a vacation. Everyone nodded, and a few looked like they understood.

Of course, what I couldn't have told anyone, including myself, was the full Odyssey the trip would become.

Getting myself ready was surprisingly easy. A big case. A little case. A backpack. For me, this was a win.

I was dropped off at Bangor International. If you've ever flown out of Bangor, you understand the blessing this little airport offers. No lines. No waiting. Sometimes ridiculous security screenings—admittedly, that happens everywhere. I sat. I waited. I boarded without incident.

Then I arrived in Philadelphia.

The plane was a little late. There was a shuttle bus. A new terminal. I checked the monitor. I found the gate. Okay, I thought I found the gate. I found a gate with a plane heading to London Heathrow. I wasn't boarding yet. All good.

My phone rang.

If you've been following along in my adventures, you may have noted my mention of hearing aids. No, this is not age-related. No one actually knows what caused the hearing loss. However, yes, I wear hearing aids and retain mostly normal hearing.

The operative word there being mostly.

My phone rang, my hearing aids funneled the sound into my ears, and I was told I needed to get to my gate. Yes, I was at the wrong one. They were closing boarding.

Had I been in a different terminal, this would have put me into panic. But I was only two gates away. Imagine. An international airport with two flights leaving for London only two gates apart. Me being the only one confused seemed unlikely.

I stumbled toward the gate as quickly as I could.

“The gate's closed.”

I looked outside. The plane was still there. The bridge was still connected.

I opened my mouth for clarification, but between my hearing and the commotion, I'm honestly not sure what was said. I wasn't getting on that plane.

Eventually, I was rebooked on a flight to London that would continue to Glasgow, rather than Inverness. At least it was the proper country. I arrived in Glasgow exhausted, jet-lagged, and ready to find a taxi and crawl into bed. Instead, I stood with a dozen other passengers watching our luggage go around.

And around.

And around.

Then a line began to form.

Oh. Not a good sign.

An older woman behind me asked if I'd been on the flight and whether I was returning home. Imagine me, returning home to Scotland. She then told me about the airline's policy.

“They have ten days.”

My brain didn't know what to do with that information. I handed over my baggage claim sticker—please keep yours!—and was told my case was still in London and probably wasn't getting to Glasgow anytime soon.

Oh, my.

I hadn't anticipated spending a night in Glasgow without a toothbrush, let alone without clean underwear, sweatpants, or a change of clothes.

So I went stress shopping.

If you think all shopping is stressful, try doing it tired, hungry, bleary-eyed, unsure how long you'll need provisions, in a foreign country where your credit card is routinely rejected “to protect you.” Eventually, I found what I needed at T.K. Maxx—which left me wondering who the K is in the UK when we have a J.

I ate. I slept. I decided to spend a second night in Glasgow. The hotel was cheap. There was a cathedral to see.

Sunday morning, my suitcase was still nowhere to be found. I booked the bus instead. It was considerably cheaper and, I was told, took about the same amount of time as the train. I packed myself up and walked a mile and a half through Glasgow with a rolly suitcase and a backpack. I learned why dragging a rolly bag through a European city was a bad idea. Cobblestones. And the propensity for your rolly bag to roll away from you. Yup, more than once.

I made it to the bus station early, boarded, and settled in with my notepad. I figured the journey would at least give me time to finish some homework. Then I looked out the window. We were driving on very small roads. Yes, it's Scotland. There are lots of little one-track roads. But given that there was a perfectly good highway, I wasn't sure why we weren't on it.

Then we started stopping.

And stopping.

Our arrival time in Inverness kept getting later. After hours in traffic and what seemed to be a very scenic tour around the highway, the bus driver pulled off the road.

He calmly announced that his driving time was up and another driver would be provided.

I laughed.

What else was I supposed to do?

I would later learn that this isn't an unheard-of experience in the UK. There are limits to how many hours drivers can work.

But sitting there, already hours behind schedule, I couldn't help but wonder:

What about the passengers?

Eventually, another driver arrived. Ten hours after leaving Glasgow, we finally arrived in Inverness. We were told we could expect a refund. By then, I had become strangely resolved to letting the universe unfold in front of me. Clearly, I had no control. Nor was there any illusion that I did.

And here's the irony: I could have taken the train from Glasgow to Inverness and been there in a fraction of the time. Instead, after ten hours on a bus, where did I find myself? At the train station. Of course.

I was there to meet two of my clan mates, who had left London around the same time I had left Glasgow.

I had been traveling for three days. I'd spent two nights in Glasgow. My suitcase was still somewhere between London and Glasgow.

I would be arriving at Anam Cara with little more than the clothes on my back, my backpack, and my handmade rattles—because, apparently, those were the things I instinctively knew not to put in my checked luggage.

And this was only the beginning of my third training week in Scotland.

But, maybe I was being asked to let go of more than a suitcase.

Maybe I was beginning to loosen my grip on an identity I had spent a lifetime building. To let some of the armor fall away. To stop trying so hard to arrive as the person I thought I needed to be.

Just show up.

As I am.

I thought I was going to Scotland to continue my training.

I didn't realize the training had already begun.

And I hadn't even arrived at Anam Cara yet.

I didn't realize the training had already begun.

And this was merely the journey to Anam Cara in Inverness, Scotland. What happened once I actually arrived is another story. Stay tuned…

I am back home in Maine now.

The store is closed until Tuesday. Rob is not quite as superhuman as he'd like to believe, and I am incredibly grateful to him for holding it all together while I was away.

He even baked.

Wow.

Do I wish I could have been the proverbial fly on the wall for that!

Our Monthly Moon Gathering will still be held Monday, August 31st at 4 pm.

I hope to see you soon.