It was, without a doubt, one of the most pleasant travel surprises I’ve ever had. There are places are not on your “must-visit before you die” list, or that you’ve never dreamed of visiting, but somehow they end up in your travel plans—and you find yourself falling head over heels. That’s exactly what happened with my love affair with Scotland.
In 2019, I was living in Ireland, doing my master’s degree. For the winter holidays, I planned a trip through the United Kingdom and Eastern Europe. The truth is, Scotland only made it onto my itinerary because of my friend Marcelo, who was studying with me in Ireland and had friends in Glasgow. We planned to start the trip together, and then each of the five travel partners would go their separate ways. Marcelo, Mari, Raquel, Cabrini, and I would meet up in Glasgow.
At that time, I didn’t know much about Scotland or the Highlands, although I had always been interested in learning more about Scottish culture. I was just that little girl who had watched Mel Gibson as William Wallace in Braveheart back in the late 90s; the same girl who knew about Loch Ness thanks to the stickers that came with bubble gum—yes, I was a kid hungry for information, the kind who would read and try to learn even from gum wrappers. More recently, I had become curious about Scottish clans and the Jacobite Rising because of a book I was reading. By then, I was already nursing a crush on a redhead I had met in a pub in Ireland just days before the trip—a man who would later become my husband, who has Scottish ancestry, a Scottish last name, wears a kilt for special occasions (yes, including our wedding), and lives in a part of Canada where Scottish culture is cherished and celebrated, home to the largest Highland Games outside of Scotland—the Glengarry Highland Games. At that time, though, he could have been just another of my fleeting crushes.
The first stop in Scotland was Glasgow—a famous city, but one that didn’t exactly sweep me off my feet. We stayed at a nice hostel, and I shared a room with Raquel. We had three days in the city, and our itinerary included: Glasgow Cathedral—consecrated in 1197—a Victorian cemetery behind the cathedral, George Square with its Christmas market, Buchanan Street with its elegant shops, the Kelvingrove Museum, Kelvingrove Park, and the Shilling Brewing and Bavaria Brauhaus breweries.
Christmas markets are incredibly popular in Europe, and Glasgow’s is among the most visited in Scotland. They are large fairs selling all kinds of Christmas goods, crafts, food, and drinks, with rides for children and carols playing to “force” you into the holiday spirit. I love these markets, and it was a treat to visit both during the day and at night. On our first day, we strolled through the city without a strict plan—just enjoying local beers and the delicious food at the market, which enchanted with both aroma and flavor.
The next day, our group was complete, and Marcelo’s friends, our local hosts, took us to the spots they felt were essential for any visitor. James is Scottish, and he and Rafa met when Rafa, also Brazilian, came to Glasgow for his PhD.
We visited the church and cemetery, walked through parks, toured the university (founded in 1451), and heard countless men playing their bagpipes. We wandered down a pub-lined street and, later that night, went dancing at a club. It was a lot of fun, and, as with much of the UK, the dance floor had a wonderfully eclectic crowd.
The next day, we caught a train to Edinburgh—and that’s when my love story with Scotland truly began. If I had liked Glasgow’s Christmas market, it felt almost unfair to compare it with Edinburgh’s. That market was huge, beautiful, well-organized—simply spectacular. We spent hours exploring it, made even easier by our hostel’s location just a few steps away.
Edinburgh is a medieval city, the capital of Scotland, and now my favorite city in Europe. Its grey stone buildings rise among dramatic cliffs and tree-lined avenues, crowned by a castle perched impossibly high, visible from anywhere you stand. It’s the kind of city I know I must return to—again and again.
Being there felt like stepping back in time, into another life. I felt the same kind of connection I had the first time I set foot in Limerick. How many lives has my soul lived?
It was as if I could remember the sound of the cannon fired from the castle at noon, the sight of certain street corners, the scents, even the taste of pure malt whisky.
We also took a trip to Inverness, and although the bus ride was long, I didn’t want to close my eyes—closing them meant missing the breathtaking scenery rolling past the window. The Highlands are an explosion of color, shape, and beauty. With every bend in the road, a new, heart-stopping view appeared, framed perfectly in the bus window. Snow-dusted mountain peaks, sheep grazing in fields of countless shades of green, and a grey sky that lent the scene the drama of an epic film.
The trip’s official destination was Inverness, but we soon realized that the true beauty lay along the way, as we would only arrive after dark. Before reaching the city, we stopped to visit Loch Ness. Before that, we toured a museum and the ruins of Urquhart Castle, built in the 13th century on the shore of the loch. It had witnessed clan wars and later conflicts between the Jacobites and the English army. From the ruins, you have a beautiful view of the lake—and, if you want, you can even look for the monster. Sure, it’s just a centuries-old legend, but of course I couldn’t resist. Imagine the headline: “Tourist from Alfredo Wagner Swears She Spotted the Loch Ness Monster.”
I didn’t find the monster—neither from the castle nor later on the “JacoBoat,” the vessel that takes tourists out on the loch. Still, I felt incredibly lucky to be there, especially remembering the little girl with glasses, chewing gum, and wondering where on earth Scotland even was.
We reached Inverness at night and saw little of the city. I didn’t even have time to look for Craigh na Dun, the fictional stone circle from the Outlander books. (The real circle doesn’t exist—but it would be like a smaller Stonehenge, and in the series, it transports people through time, another Highland legend.)
That same night we returned to Edinburgh, wishing we had booked a tour that allowed more time there.
The days that followed in Edinburgh were magical. We spent Christmas there—with a proper feast, festive dancing, market strolls, and a deep sense of gratitude. Even though I wasn’t with my family, I felt completely at home among friends I had met only a few months earlier, but who now felt like family.
I had Scotch for the first time in years. I finally let go of a lingering heartache. And I even joined a tour of the places that inspired the author of Harry Potter—yes, let’s leave all the “cancel culture” aside for a moment and just acknowledge that, as a fellow writer, I’d be thrilled to have even a tenth of her readership.
Scotland changed me in so many ways. And my year-end trip was only just beginning—from there, I would continue on my own!
And now, when I sign my name, it carries “McLeod”—one of the most traditional surnames of the Highlands.
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