European Travels-Scotland

Scotland has always held a piece of my heart—even before I set foot on its ancient soil. My grandmother was born and raised in Scotland, and at 19, she left her homeland for the United States, carrying with her stories, traditions, and a quiet strength I’ve always admired. This trip wasn’t just travel—it was a homecoming.I began in Edinburgh, where history breathes through every stone. Standing on the esplanade of Edinburgh Castle, I felt a mix of awe and pride. The view over the city was breathtaking, but it was the thought of generations—perhaps even my own ancestors—walking these same grounds that truly moved me.In Glasgow, the energy was different: bold, artistic, real. I explored hidden corners and vibrant galleries, and spent an afternoon at Kelvingrove Art Gallery, soaking in Scotland’s creative spirit.Aberdeen brought a quiet, coastal elegance. The “Granite City” shimmered under soft northern light, and nearby, I visited Craigievar Castle, its pink fairytale towers straight out of a dream. Knowing that it once inspired Walt Disney made the experience even more magical.In Oban, life slowed down. I took time to breathe in the sea air, sample fresh seafood at the harbor, and take a ferry to Duart Castle on the Isle of Mull—home of Clan Maclean. The rugged views and ancient stone walls echoed stories of clans, courage, and identity.One of the most emotional parts of my journey was visiting Balmoral Castle—a place deeply tied to the Royal Family, whom I’ve always admired. Walking the grounds they loved so dearly, surrounded by heather-covered hills and Highland quiet, was surreal. It made me feel closer to both history and home.I also wandered through Dunnottar Castle, perched dramatically on the cliffs near Stonehaven, and Stirling Castle, where so much of Scotland’s royal history unfolded. Each castle carried its own weight, its own voice.In Gardenstown, where cliffs meet the sea in a kind of windswept poetry, I found stillness. It felt like the kind of place my grandmother would have known—the kind of village that remembers.And throughout it all, I found comfort in Scotland’s cozy tea houses—warm places where I could write, think, or simply sit with a cup of tea and let the rain tap against the windows.Scotland didn’t just welcome me. It remembered me. I left feeling not like a visitor, but like someone who had found a piece of herself she didn’t realize was missing.