In my mind, Scotland is the land of cruel misconceptions and nasty national clichés. I’d spent my life being told that Scots were stingy, unfriendly, ugly and hard to understand. So, one day I decided to pack my bags and go find out for myself, and hopefully meet William Wallace, bagpipes, kilts, haggis, whisky and all things Scottish along the way.
The next day I somehow find myself even higher still, simultaneously clutching my seat for dear life while whooping in excitement. Pascal (paragliding pilot extraordinaire) and I are flying high above the snow, circling and turning and spinning and generally acting like excitable puppies let off the leash.
Our expectations of an ancient city with cobbled street, crumbling monuments, elaborate fountains and crazy vespa-filled traffic circles would soon come to pass. Once we had collected our luggage, we hastily exited the terminal to find any road that, as the popular idiom promises, would lead us to Rome.