Highland Soul Finding 2004

Nicole Deufel

My diary, meticulously kept since I read Anne Frank's at the age of 12 and decided that definitely, my life should be recorded, too, strangely does not mention the day that for me has changed everything. Perhaps those days that grab you by the soul and rattle and shake your life about until everything falls into place, perhaps those days are too big to be pinned onto a page by words. On the other hand, nothing much describable happened that day. So here's a challenge to write about.

I had booked myself onto a three day coach tour of the Highlands of Scotland. Not as bad as Europe in a week, but still the kind of tourist shifting that nowadays, I scornfully frown at. We had already whizzed through the Cairngorms, stopped in Inverness, nipped over the sea to Skye and back again to Oban, all in just two days. This was the final day of the trip, and the following morning I was to fly to my native Germany, kiss my family good-bye on the cheek and return to the United States where, I had declared, I would live for the rest of my life with my American husband! I was thinking of him as the bus set off from the student hostel. The rain was charging at us in horizontal lines, just as it should do in the Highlands, we were told. I had enjoyed the trip so far, great scenery, nice people, reasonably good food for a vegetarian. A shame that my husband hadn't come along, I thought, but then, he never did, he always said no, preferred his own hobbies, his own friends, his own music, his own - well. We just didn't share much, I realised, as more of the Highlands sped past us. It made me sad. I knew that somewhere there was a dream I had lost, but I never allowed myself to think about it.

Until these hills began to reach up on either side of the road. The clouds began to drip down, everything was so insanely alive and green, and yet at the same time so potentially devastating, and lonely.

But I didn't feel lonely. I looked out the front of the bus, to see a tiny, tiny road wind through a valley so narrow I had never seen the likes of it in my life. Beautiful and dramatic. Life arresting.

Lest you think I had come to the Highlands with a purpose: I hadn't. I knew nothing about their history, knew nothing about Scotland either, and had no romantic notions of William Wallace nor Bonnie Prince Charlie to pursue - in fact, I had never even heard of them.

But here we were, and the bus stopped at Glencoe, chucking us out to ponder the rugged mountains.

I couldn't walk. I couldn't move, I was glued to the spot, looking up along the sparkling light of a stream to where it disappeared into the mist.

See, this is maybe why I didn't write about this day in my diary. How can I describe that the hills reached deep into my heart and they said, NICOLE. They knew me, they greeted me as who I wanted to be, who I'd thought I was until Life had taken over as Life sometimes does, and buried me under the fight to survive the losses. Here I stood and these hills weren't taking any excuses nor did they ask for them, they just spoke to ME and they promised to be there, like a demanding mother that isn't going to give you something just because you smile at her sweetly, but who will stand by you, no matter what.

Well, I cried. You don't believe me? I understand, just like I understood that this doesn't happen very often in one's life. I felt truly blessed and stripped of all pretences at the same time. I knew that my life and my marriage wasn't what I had hoped they would be, and that it was time to allow both my husband and me to move on. I remember little of the trip after we left Glencoe, except for the stop that the driver announced as the last stop in the Highlands. I couldn't tell you now where that spot was, but I stood by the shore of a loch and I - don't laugh - pulled some hair out to leave behind as an offering . 'Make this bring me back to the Highlands,' I prayed. I did fly back to Germany and kissed my family good-bye, and I did return to the United States. Two months later, and with pictures of the Highlands plastering our bedroom walls, my husband and I decided to split up.

It is now three years since I moved into my little cottage across the Cromarty Firth, and I can tell you, I still feel blessed every single moment.