In the dead of winter, 1995 that was, I found myself beck to Largs due to circumstances not of my own doing but rather a necessity to be with my children's Scottish family connections, can we call it "ancestry" which was appropriate in those times, given the prevailing conditions of that certain stage in my almost "British Existence".

Nardini's!  That's one.And my dependence on Pampers, as I waded my through my first hands-on experience on motherhood. The Pram. It was not the Ferrari version, but probably was the Volvo of the Pram Edition of that time that had me zooming in and out of grocery stores and warehouses, as there were no shopping malls and fancy bistros, I became a robot-mum. Shaking bottles and losing my beauty sleep everytime this hungry monster of a baby wails unscheduled. First wake up call, I had that I was definitely in Largs, Ayrshire, Scotland, UK, where Robert Burns was renowned somewhere over there in the distance, snaking through the coastal roads of Ayshire and eventually takes you to another place which is also very similar to Largs. I swear if you blind-fold yourself, then take it off after an hour of silly break-neck speed, you would feel as if you haven't left off from where you were an hour ago because the houses all look the same. It is like a warp zone. It makes your heart skip a few beats. Then, the accent. Scottish. I sung Auld Lange Syne ebersince I could remember but not in the real twang. I felt so lost.

The first time I went to a vegestable store and ordered a kilo of potatoes, they could not understand me. I say potatoe , they say tatties! I thought it was somethign else, so Ikept on looking at the one standing next to me and she was beaming..pointing to the potatoes. I winked and she winked in return. that is how I got my first bag of potatoes, plus the wink.

No one ever told me anythign about Largs. I had to find the answers myself. From the locals. They hated the tourists then. And anyone who looks strange is a tourist. That was also the time when Gourock became a ghost town, when the Americans left. At least that is a significant fact that I can vouch for. 

Largs. I never knew there was a convent in Largs back then. Othewise, thinmgs would have been different. I could have decided to stay, instead of rejecting my British Citizenship. No one told me how beautiful Larghs is or was as the case maybe. No one told me that there were other things apart from crazy drivers and ice cream. Still, even if these fine gentlemen hated tourists they loved chatting me up. I like the chivalry of these fine English gents in Largs in those days. And a lot of Scottish War Veterans who sort of introduce the place to me, over endless ice creams that was heaped on me, for free and a good lecture on the history of Largs. (More next time, when I feel like it.)