Today I write from a wooden windowsill that looks out over Fife and the sea. The next few months, this old house on the edge of Edinburgh will be my home. I came here to do research at the University of Edinburgh; I’ll be studying the discourse on trans youth care in the UK. I’m thrilled to be back here, at the foot of the hills, and to get to combine it with work that I care about deeply.

On my blog I will try to post regular updates of my adventures and my impressions of life here. I cannot wait to get to know Edinburgh up close, like I did in Glasgow three years ago. But fear not, I’ll still be found in Glasgow often, not least to join my caving mates in some underground mischief.

I decided to travel to Edinburgh by train with my bike and backpack. Green, and extra bike luggage (which I all had to carry myself). Needless to say, this went phenomenally unsmooth. Starting in Breda, where my parents drop me off. The car park is four stories high, and the lift is out of order, so I have to carry my bike down the long staircase, with 15 minutes till the train departs. Thank god my dad is there. Later today those extra hands will be greatly missed – first when I have to dissect my bags at Brussels security, for they are full of suspicious camping gear: tripod, crampons, pocket knife. Thankfully they let me bring everything, except my gas canister – well this I can’t blame them. Later I miss my parents even more when I rush my bike through a busy London station and miss my train. And again in the local Edinburgh train, where I have to free myself from a tangle of drunken Scots. Only to finally crash on top of my bike on the platform, out of sheer exhaustion. Thankfully there’s Bryan, my new housemate, come to the rescue. Together we walk the muddy path to my new home. And I instantly forget the hellish journey, when I see the lights burn beyond the overgrown driveway. It’s as if I step into a fairytale.

The enormous house dates back to the 17th century, and in the following centuries was renovated by a number of famous Scottish architects, including Sir William Bruce (think Hopetoun and Holyrood). It’s a house that rustles and creaks, a tower and stone turnpike stair that have survived the Wars of the Three Kings. It gives it character, the grandfather clock, the peeling wallpapers, the creaking wooden floor.

My own room has ebony cupboards and a Persian rug. That’s for tomorrow. First I want sleep, and preferably a long one. My warm heavy blanket drowses me right away. But there’s no sleeping in for me; the early morning sun shines in brightly and a sea breeze blows. Oh yes, it's the Scottish late summer.

I have never been in this part of Edinburgh, but it doesn’t take long to settle here. Everything feels familiar: the shelves in the supermarket, the walkers with their dogs, the jolly blether. They’ll be there, wherever in Scotland you go.

Of course there’s also lots that’s new. I love discovering the novelties here – how the trails run around the house, which utensils I can find in the kitchen, how light falls through the window frames. I love the robins at sunset and the drying rack on the ceiling. And I keep looking out the window, to the wheat field behind my house that moves.

All day long, dog walkers swarm the tall blades, sometimes with five dogs at a time. And rightly so; it’s a great place to walk your dog: Arthur’s Seat on one hand, the sea on the other. From the city they seem far apart. Here they exist next to each other. The field constantly tries to catch my attention. A train rushes past, a rabbit jumps off, a full moon rises. Everything happens here all at once. And at the same time, nothing really happens.

If you cross the field to the sea, you’ll stumble upon the rocks of Joppa near Portobello. Horizontal deposits of rock, dating back to the Carboniferous. During this period, Scotland was a tropical swamp that sat on the equator. By tectonic forces the rocks are slowly being tilted east. On their edge there are seals, just lying about. And birds, so many birds…oystercatchers, herring gulls, redshanks, cormorants. They have flown southward to hibernate in the Firth.

On Tuesday I cycle into town for the first time. There’s a national cycle route from my house all the way to the city, past the basalt cliffs called Samson’s Ribs. Avoid the Royal Mile, but if you follow the well-marked routes, cycling around Edinburgh is a perfectly pleasant experience. I love being mobile in the city, racing the trails on my mountain bike. The university building where I’m doing research is outside the city center, near the academic hospital. When you cycle in over the wide avenue you can see all the way to the Pentlands. The Usher Institute is a beautiful modern building, with restrooms on every corner and windows so big it catches every little ray of sun. Not so bad a place to spend many hours behind a computer.

This week I also bike through Glasgow. Specially for Nick, whose biggest hobby (besides sauna) is cycling. Cycling through Glasgow is less pleasant. Criss-cross potholes and screeching cars. Not me though, that’s the Glaswegians. I wait patiently for green light, with the pedestrians.

It’s a busy first week, and yet I calm down completely. Maybe it was all I needed, the rustling house and the wheat field that moves.

I’ve often felt it the past years, the force that pulls me towards Scotland. Sometimes it seemed as though I was just biding my time at home. Whenever I got the chance, I left. Is it the escape of a life I love too little? Or is it just what it is, a love I can give in to.

Here, in this old house, there is room for solace. Salty water caresses my skin. Silken tears tickle my cheeks. And the branches of birches kiss.

In the words of GerJan my yoga teacher: here, for just a moment, I don’t need to do anything.

Photos shot on Cinestil 400D with my Minox 35 GT.