There I was, sun-tanned and sleepy-eyed. I was sat on my suitcase at gate G40 of Barcelona airport, after a frantic journey that involved my overnight bus from France leaving me on the kerbside (don’t ask). Here was where I rediscovered the unmistakeable Scottish twang and colourful vocabulary that only comes from a group of Scots after a lads’ holiday: I’d never been so happy to see a group of reversible emoji-print bucket hats in my life. Home time! Blasting The Proclaimers: Greatest Hits on shuffle as the plane took off (yes, I’m dramatic: it’s my Aries moon), I was ready to reconnect with my Scottish roots and leave the ooh la la’s and baguettes behind.

Returning to the motherland (well, Glasgow city centre) was like going back to a parallel universe where everything’s the same but slightly off. It was like everything was as it had been, but three inches to the left (and 30% more expensive). Refamiliarising myself with Glasgow street-etiquette (aka being NICE) was a brain-zap and a half. The thing I love about Glasgow is that everyone is friendly to such a degree that it can be perceived as threatening. So, if someone says ‘hiya’ to you on the street, you’d better respond. Now, stereotypes are wrong, and no hate to my fave Frenchies (ça va, vous?), but being generally friendly out in public is pretty much unheard of over the Channel.
A ritualistic walk around the drizzly and dreich wonderland of Glasgow saw my next dose of reverse culture shock. Three words. Meal Deals £4: catastrophic. Equally disheartening, my favourite falafel place (Falafel2Go on Sauchiehall Street) had put their wraps up from £3 to a fiver. And don’t get me started on the rent increase. As tough as times are, however, let’s not forget that our SAAS payments have gone up. So, you know, it’s all relative, I guess. Kind of.
A plant-based diet in the land of meat and cheese was not the easiest element of my time away. But Glasgow has an inexhaustible supply of vegan restaurants and cafés. Coming back was like the end of I’m A Celeb when they leave the smelly jungle and go to the five-star hotel. You mean I can eat something other than plain chips and carrot salad? Unheard of. I’ve developed a new appreciation for Mono, Suissi Vegan Café and Lotus Vegetarian Restaurant, my favourite plant-based dinner spots in the city.

Keen to catch my old friend the 900 bus to my hometown of Edinburgh, I encountered perhaps my most painful realisation in this post-year-abroad parallel universe. No more free buses. Coming back from a place where a three-hour journey on the bus cost a euro, to an expired Young Scot card (I turned 22 while I was away), was a tough fact to face. Freshers, please utilise your free buses for those of us who cannot. 
In France, as soon as you tell someone you’re from Scotland they are guaranteed to say two things: ‘Il pleut’ and ‘c’est vert.’ ‘It rains’ and ‘it’s green.’ Both of these things are true. I didn’t realise how much I’d missed the verdant shades of Kelvingrove Park and Glasgow Green until I got back. As much as I enjoyed frying in the sunny south of France for a while, the dry heat and lack of public parks where I lived in Perpignan, grew wearying. I don’t mind the rain and the tasty crisp air so much anymore, and sitting on a bit of luscious grass with a wee tinnie is fully underrated to me now. Going abroad for a year is an amazing experience of self-discovery (blah blah blah). But coming home can be pretty amazing too.