In 1991, After a much-too-brief visit to England, we caught a train to Scotland for another adventure. Scotland turned the volume up again, but toward something even more memorable. Edinburgh was ancient and beautiful, dripping with history. The Highlands were shrouded in a mist that never fully lifted, mountains the color of old bruises, and the kind of peaceful silence that blooms after the din of battle axes and swords has ceased, like the land remembered things it wasn’t telling us.

Thirty-five years on, we’ve lost the details, the names of the little towns, the exact order of days. What’s left is more feeling than photograph: the sense of two people barely into their travels together, discovering that the world kept being larger and stranger than either of us expected. These few images are what survived. We’re glad they did.