Morgan Price: Stravaig

A house in the mountains of Glencoe

Stravaig, a word unfamiliar to most outside of the northern United Kingdom, is a term rooted in Gaelic, meaning to wander aimlessly or without purpose. Even to my foreign ear, the word stravaig clung to me. Stravaig into the city, or stravaig into the country. The mountains so high that I couldn’t see the peaks, encased that word around me so that it hung in the air wherever I went. Out of my small dormitory on the edge of the University of Stirling’s campus, I ventured into the unknown with no plan or destination ahead and questioned myself: Why am I here?

The University of Stirling sits just between the highlands and lowlands of Scotland, equidistant from Edinburgh to the east and Glasgow to the west. With various excursions built into Stirling’s course modules, I was able to freely explore the country. I enrolled in two such courses, a history module entitled Witchcraft in Early Modern Scotland and a landscape photography module, Lochs and Glens. The former took my fellow students and me to the Museum of Magic, Fortune-Telling, and Witchcraft in Edinburgh. The small basement-like hall could be found through a close branching off of the Royal Mile in Edinburgh’s Old Town. The museum’s one room was filled in every corner with artifacts and exhibits recalling the practices of witchcraft throughout Scotland’s history. Each unusual book, doll, or jar of herbs could easily be imagined on the shelf of a rustic, gabled cottage hundreds of years prior. As I gazed over them, I wondered, where had these objects been before arriving in Edinburgh? What historical events had these tattered artifacts witnessed and brought with them to modernity? They beckoned, stravaig into the dark history of Scottish culture. It is deep and complex. Such a rich culture comes only from the untamed expressions of human experiences. It was here I began to cultivate an understanding of that culture.

Furthermore, I devoted my studies to landscape photography as well as history to explore the earthborn elements of Scotland. This course not only invited my peers and me to wander the local region but also to roam the highlands in our excursion to Glencoe. The iconic mountains and glens stretching out in every direction seemed to pull us in at every turn. Our group of intrepid photographers flitting about the countryside were no match for the allure of the land. I snapped photos of everything in sight in my desperate attempt to capture the monument of natural scenery on a small digital screen. However, it is difficult to encompass that wonder without the eye, and the heart cannot truly behold the impact remotely. I put down the camera, closed my eyes, breathed in deeply, and looked back up to something new. Stravaig the land. What I saw was not a simple photograph; it was a landscape. It was ancient and jagged, smoothed and lush. This was the land that formed the culture. Everywhere I went, be it a museum or a mountain peak, I could picture the same scene hundreds of years in the past.

Stirling kirkyard on a rainy evening

Scotland cannot be done in a day, or even a month. Even though I spent the entire month of July exploring the country, I still felt as though I wasn’t doing enough at times. For instance, I never got to tour any of the famous castles that dotted the land. I went to Edinburgh three times and never even made it up the hill to the castle. Similarly, there were so many sights that I wanted to see, but I didn’t. Instead, I spent way too much time in my dorm room at Stirling. It was frustrating because I felt that I needed to take advantage of my time abroad. This isn’t just a vacation. I needed to come away from my travels with some knowledge or experience to drive my career. I needed to make progress in my education. In those times, I constantly questioned myself. Why was I just sitting there? Why was I here? My major is nursing. I cannot expect to heal patients with a photograph from Glencoe or a tale of witch-hunting in North Berwick. There were times I felt guilty and selfish for taking this time just to gain nothing for my career. But I had to have gathered something. I had learned and experienced so much since landing at the Edinburgh airport. Stravaig, stravaig.

Thistles growing at Etive Mor

On a street corner in Stirling perched a small pub. The stone exterior gave way to the warmth of the inside, paneled with dark wood and plastered walls. I found my place in a small booth. Carved oak chairs creaked as patrons shifted and reached for their whisky glasses. The bartender busied herself setting out coasters and filling beer steins at the request of her customers. A local band recited melodies from generations back. The sound of the fiddles and guitars filled the quaint corner building, reverberating off the molded wooden ceiling and mixing with the booming laughter from the table across the room. The low lights flickered over paintings of historical figures and posters announcing the local market in the next town over. Stravaig the moment. I closed my eyes and pictured what that night would have looked like long ago. People regaling each other with faery tales and stories of the clans. It felt real. I felt the history of the tavern and the people who now sat inside. I could understand how different we were, and how alike we were. They enjoyed the music as much as I did. They appreciated the past as much as I did. How many nights had the musicians spent here, bringing their culture to anyone willing to listen? That night was infinite.

Stravaig had been foreign, a concept unfamiliar and all too unwelcome back home, where it was known that everything must have a purpose. Otherwise, you are wasting time. But that cannot be true. It was not, is not true. Why then would such a word exist? I realized inimitable experiences come from wandering and losing oneself. Cultural experiences, for instance, can only be gathered by immersing yourself in a culture. The full impact of the history, the landscape, and the society cannot be felt from afar. Why am I here? I am here to feel, to learn, to grow. This is something that cannot be taught but must be discovered. Leaving Scotland at the end of the month was like losing a piece of myself. I left behind the part of me that did not know. That uncertainty vanished as the wheels of the plane peeled away from the pavement. In its place was something far more embracing, hiraeth--a longing for a home that cannot be. I found another home across the sea in Scotland. Stravaig. I let that word float over me and linger like mist on the peat bogs. A shiubhal dhachaigh: journey home.

Morgan at the top of the Wallace Monument

Olivia Morgan Price is a nursing major from Gilbert, South Carolina. She attended the University of Stirling in Scotland during July 2023. A collection of photographs from her trip can be found in her portfolio. She plans to graduate in May 2025, and work as a travel nurse before pursuing her Doctorate of Nursing Practice.