That One Time I Was Abandoned in Europe at Christmas

Once upon a time I met a boy at summer camp in Spain. I had to leave early because my grandpa passed away, but the boy stayed in constant contact with me, and soon made plans to visit me for my birthday. We spent a lovely week together in Kansas, before he was on his way back to Amsterdam. He told me since he visited me all the way in Kansas, I should visit him in Amsterdam. He mentioned he had never spent Christmas away from his family (he was Australian), so I should come make it less lonely. I had never spent Christmas away from my family either, so I figured it’d be a fun first for us both.

I confirmed with him multiple times before buying my ticket that he really wanted me to come, and he assured me he did, so I found it as quite a shock when just a couple weeks before my departure he called me up and explained that he forgot he had a cousin in England, and she invited him for Christmas and he thought it would be nice to spend it with family, so “Would that be ok? And what will you do?” Needless to say, I was pissed. Instead of spending 2 weeks in Amsterdam at this boy’s apartment, I was now out on the street - at Christmas - and would have to scrounge up the money to figure out a plan B.

After musing on Facebook if I should “hop a train to Austria in the hopes of meeting Ethan Hawke, or rent a house in Surrey in the hopes of Jude Law knocking on my door in the middle of the night” I got an invite from an acquaintance in Barcelona. (I could have easily just gone and spent the holiday with my family in Barcelona, but for some reason at the time I felt like I needed to do something different.) This acquaintance - and I specifically use that word instead of friend, because we had literally hung out 1 time when we both lived in Barcelona - now lived in Manchester, England with her husband. She said I was welcome to spend Christmas with her, her husband, and his parents on the outskirts of Liverpool, so I gladly accepted.

I didn’t want to imposition them too much though, so at the suggestion of another friend, I decided to rent a car and do a little road trip through Scotland. It ended up being perfect!

Christmas with my new little British family was straight out of a movie. Their house was gorgeous; we sipped on mulled wine the whole time I was there; we went to Christmas eve service at their church in the cutest little neighborhood; we ate a goose for Christmas dinner; and we even did the whole British “cracker” tradition. I felt so loved by that sweet family, and enjoyed every minute with them. I still dream about the delicious porridge Dave’s mom made for us each morning! And I now happily call them friends instead of acquaintances.

From there I hopped in a car and drove 9 hours - on the wrong side of the road! - to the tiny town of Uig, on the Isle of Skye in Scotland. Y’all it was the most gorgeous drive of my life - in spite of the many times I thought I would die because all the roads were two-way but one lane, and windy and mountainous, oh and it was pouring rain with wind advisories everywhere.

I found a hostel on Airbnb, and though I elected a shared room, had the whole room to myself. There were a few other people staying, but most of them were in their own little cabins dotted throughout the property. Since it was the middle of winter and I was so far north, it would start to get dark around 3pm. Everyday I would wake up, eat a free breakfast at the hostel, go exploring, get back around 3, and sit in front of the fire with a book, or my journal. It was so refreshing and perfect for my soul. Generally I try to make friends on my travels, and I did talk to people in my hostel, but for the most part I stayed to myself, and loved every minute of it.

Scotland is now one of my favorite places because everywhere I went I was just completely overwhelmed by the natural beauty of it. In the end, I discovered what a tool the guy was, gained a new British family, and saw some pretty cool shit; I guess someone was looking out for me after all.