Do you need something from Scotland?

Click: I send my reservation to Ryanair: I will fly to on Scotland Wednesday 31 January. Seems like holiday, 12 days in that beautiful, strange, magic land, as you know: whisky, Braveheart, kilt, the Lock Ness monster and put together everything you have heard about it. But, after some travel there, dad and Jean and the other parents, for me is nothing at all, is just to fly to home. Another kind of home. Far away from mine. I don't know why, but all seem to be so familiar, starting from the wheather. You arrive, and just watch if is raining, put your caps on, it's sunny, put your cap down. You take the luggage, take the key at the Hertz, look at the car somewhere outside Prestwick, some problem to put the speed, and start to riding outside the airport, with the car and the traffic lane that becomes usually at the first roundabout. I like to landing at Prestwick. The airport is nearby the sea, and you can smell and hear it, strongly like the ocean. Then the road to Glasgow, a road to cross about 4 million people, but not so difficult like arrive to Milan. Until I have buy my Tom Tom. And then the green and the brown of the country. That's is the more familiar landscape. Deep brown and deep green under the deep grey of the raining days, or the clouds, or the blades of light of the sun, when it's coming outside. Everything disappear. You stay in your lane, just watch the speed limits (the most difficult thing to do for an italian driver) and the country. A stop at the Little chef after Glasgow, for starting a different way to eat: there is no piadina or tagliatelle, but is still like at home, just with some difference and not home maded. But, what is home maded at Rimini, anyway? Goin'on the rock and the Stirling castle, the escape to Braco and the Strathearn landscape, until Crieff, the visitor centre, the main street, turn left in Ferntower road. And then, Springhill. Home. Just for 12 days, quiet, ancient home. Deep in the green.