I find myself sitting in a quaint cafe at the Scottish ski resort of Aviemore, sipping on a latte and quietly watching the tourist traffic as it literally blows through the door, along with an icy breeze. A family of four rub together their woollen hands and advance gratefully towards the service counter where the warmth of coffee, tea or soup awaits them. They look like something straight out of an Ikea catalogue- beautiful, toothy and blonde, conversing exotically and giggling at the empire biscuits behind the glass. I am amused too, as I know they are laughing at the glace cherry on the empire biscuit for obvious reasons. I remember laughing naughtily when I first saw one. Once the novelty wears off the father proudly asks, in charming broken English, for a bridie (pronouncing it 'bree-dy') and three ham and cheese toasties. The happy unit then shuffle their designer ski boots over to a table in the corner and settle themselves, making all the self-satisfied noises people make when they are on holiday and don't have a single care in the world. I smile vaguely as I watch them, realising how ironic it is to be jealous of a family who are on holiday when I have in fact been on my own 'holiday' in Scotland for about 8 years.
Having finished my latte I make my way to the gift shop, which sits in pine-lined glory across a hallway- a small area which in itself serves as a mini wildlife museum. I do some perfunctory browsing of leaflets before succumbing to the child within, opening small doors in the wall which reveal lightbox images of red squirrels and reindeer. Cool.
Finally entering the giftshop, I wonder to myself how business is doing. During these credit-crunching times do people feel they really need to shell out for that blackfaced-sheep-shaped pencil eraser, or that pair of snazzy-yet-ridiculously-overpriced pair of St. Andrews flag cufflinks? I finger these precious things nonetheless, as if I just might pluck one from its display and march up to the counter to buy it. Funny how a shopkeeper's watchful glazed gaze can do these things to your behaviour.
My other half doesn't quite feel my wry amusement: Being the better person than me that he is, he carefully selects a pretty postcard and buys some stamps so that he can post it to his mum. As he usually does. For a moment I'm ashamed that I didn't think to do the same thing, after all this is the house of I saw this and thought of you.
We make our way to the village and slip the postcard into the ancient red post-box. Scott pauses for a second then grins at me like a seven year-old who has just done something worthy of a reward. We take our time on the homeward journey, driving through snow-covered hills and taking in a gorgeous pink and gold sunset which make the mountains in the distance look just like Mount Fuji. I munch on Haribo and sing along to the stereo; we get caught behind slow moving tractors and horse floats; we catch glimpses of hairy highland cows as they stand in the middle of fields, quietly munching their way into the evening, just as I am.
Circumstance has made us weekend tourists. We can't go far together, lest there be an emergency with his mother. And sometimes there is. I crave Greek islands, New York, Australia. For both of us.
But not yet... So until then I will continue to sit in every cafe and browse every giftshop in almost every town in Scotland. If there's somewhere I can recommend, just let me know :)
*Actual picture taken at Lecht. Nice gift shop- you would like it.
