The view from my window in Aberdeen

It could be any other lazy, late summer afternoon today in Aberdeen. Sunlight is attempting to squeeze its way through the clouds, seagulls are circling in droves, and ship horns are belching at the city’s bulging harbour. Right on cue, the haar has begun to roll in off the North Sea, making the crowd of the oil industry’s supply ships anchored off the coast look spectacularly ghostly.

But there’s something peculiar in the air today. The view from my window looks out on to one of Aberdeen’s relics from the not-so-distant past – a magnificent 1950s council tower block, that’s today dotted with saltires and simple one-worded banners. I kid you not, I can also hear the sound of someone playing Flower of Scotland on the bagpipes somewhere down the street. Today the atmosphere in Aberdeen, and indeed all over Scotland, is a mash of anxious-electric-hope as we all sit on the very edge of history.

I’m roughly 17,800 kilometers from my hometown of Rotorua, New Zealand. Sitting here today in the North East of Scotland, I somehow have landed myself right at the crossroads of what is one of the most important moments in this country’s already exceptional history. And thanks to my London-born father I’m one of those lucky buggers with dual-citizenship, which alongside my Scottish address gives me the right to vote in Thursday’s Independence Referendum.

New Zealand’s path to independence from the UK is, I’m rather embarrassed to admit, one of national confusion. We don’t even have an Independence Day, because no one can agree on when it actually happened. However we’re still part of the Commonwealth – which to me means that a well-to-do woman from London graces us with her presence on our coins and banknotes.

The Signing of the Treaty of Waitangi by Marcus King

Our independence came about after well over 150 years worth of baby steps, beginning with the signing of the ‘Treaty of Waitangi’ in 1840. The Treaty is a hotly contested topic at home to this day, and depending on who you speak to, it’s either the official date that we became a Crown Colony of Britain, or, when Maori chiefs gained sovereignty over the Crown. See why we’re so confused?

Over the next century, following our own war, then two world wars, our relationship with Old Blighty eroded as we slowly found our own feet in the world. We established and gained more and more degrees of self-rule, until finally, one day in 1986 the last remaining shreds of apron strings that stretched to the other side of the globe were cut. We developed our own constitution, removing the residual power of the UK to legislate.

A few weeks before I moved to Scotland almost two years ago, I watched from the other corner of the globe as Mr Cameron and Mr Salmond signed the Edinburgh Agreement. I remember thinking that Cameron seemed a little too calm in his post-signatory interview, and wondered why the prospect of the break-up of perhaps the mightiest Union in history didn’t seem to bother him. I thought perhaps the campaign for independence was too small and wasn’t perceived as a serious matter by Downing Street.

It’s now two years later, and let me tell you that this matter is so very far from small. Never mind what the people in suits have said – whichever side of the campaign ordinary folk are on, the sheer engagement and engrossment by every man, woman and child in the future of this land has been unprecedented. It’s been a truly electrifying and galvanising experience that I will cherish with all my heart for the rest of my days.

And so here I sit in my adopted home, right in the thick of it, poised and ready with poll card in hand.

I look around me at the gigantic gap between the rich and the poor in this city and wonder how the outcome on Thursday will affect the people who are visibly struggling to make ends meet. I look at the single mother and her daughter who walk past my door on the way to school each morning and wonder if my vote will affect that girl’s education prospects. And the wee old man who gives me a wave from his window every afternoon on my way home from work, how will this affect his pension scraps?

On Thursday morning I will place a tick beside the box marked Yes. Because I believe that there is a real genuine hunger in this country for something better. And I believe that the alternative is something that we will all be better off without. How incredibly fortunate we all are, that we have the right to choose.

As we say in my home – Kia kaha, Scotland. It means stay strong. If little old New Zealand can do it, then you sure as hell can too. Grab your independence by the baws and aim for the stars.

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The Nidelva River, with Nidaros Cathedral in the background. Trondheim, Norway.

When asked to give the name of his nearest mainline rail station on a Parliamentary expenses questionnaire, former liberal MP for Orkney Jo Grimond gave his reply as Bergen, Norway. This facetious response turned out to be correct, as Bergen’s rail station is situated 340km from the Orkney constituency, compared with the Highland Main Line station at Inverness 420km away. This geographical closeness between Norway and Scotland has provided the grounds for a lasting relationship between the two countries, with Scandinavian culture and language leaving an indelible mark upon Scotland.

From about the 8th century onwards, the North Sea was awash with Vikings, setting sail by longship on their infamous plundering invasions. Initially attracted by gold and treasures held within monasteries in the north of Scotland, Vikings could reach the Islands of Shetland in less than 24 hours by longship under good seafaring conditions. Over the centuries, Hebrides and Caithness would come under Norse rule, with Orkney and the Shetlands remaining Norwegian earldoms until 1468. Nowhere is Norwegian influence more prevalent than in the northern isles, with almost half of all people on Shetland and 30% on Orkney claiming Viking ancestry.

These days the longships have been swapped for short-haul planes, as direct flights operate between Edinburgh and Oslo. I’m writing this blog entry from Trondheim, Norway’s ancient capital. It’s a beautiful little town about a third of the way up Norway; with continuous streets of wooden houses painted in an array of different colours, Gothic architecture intertwined with modernity and innovation, and of course, snow covering everything. The city was founded in 997 as a trading post by Viking King Olav Tryggvasson, and remained the capital throughout the Viking age until 1217. The magnificent Nidaros Cathedral is located in the middle of the city, and at over 1000 years old has an impressive history, changing religious hands from Catholic to Lutheran during the protestant reformation in 1537.

My Norwegian essentially consists of one word – ‘takk’, so while watching a film last night with Norwegian subtitles I was trying to match up the words as I saw them on screen with what I could hear. I came across the Norwegian word for toddler – ‘barn’, which I thought resembled the Scots word ‘bairn’. Turns out ‘bairn’ is a direct derivative of Old Norse, along with many other Scots words including midden (rubbish dump), muckle (large) and even kilt, from the verb ‘kjalta’ (to fold).

Scandinavian heritage is also evident amongst Clans, with some being able to trace their roots back to Norse Kings. Clan MacLeod and Clan MacLeod of Lewis claim their descent from Leòd, who lived in the 13th Century. It was thought that Leòd was a son of Olaf the Black, the Viking sea-king who ruled the Isle of Mann. However this genealogy has been contested, with articles recently published in the MacLeod Clan magazine suggesting that Leòd was in fact a distant cousin of Magnus, the Last King of Mann. The name Leod is the anglicised version of the Gaelic name Leòd, which is thought to have derived from the Old Norse name Ljótr, meaning ugly. Mac is the Gaelic word for son, therefore MacLeod stands for Son of Leod. Clan Gunn in the North and Clan MacDonald of the Isles can also trace their lineage to Norse descendents.

Cultural similarities also exist in modern times, with each country sharing an interest in gloomy, gritty crime drama. The success of Norwegian detective writers like Jo Nesbø and Karin Fossum echoes that of the ‘Tartan Noir’ writers including Ian Rankin, Val McDermid and William McIlvanney. In an interview with the BBC, Ian Rankin suggested that the similarities in each countries fiction hint at something deep rooted in the national characteristic. “In countries where it’s dark half the year, you do tend to have a great tradition of storytelling … Both sides tend to share quite a dark view of the human condition, and are certainly a long way from the Agatha Christie school of crime writing.”

One thing that isn’t so similar is the price of living, in particular alcohol. On my first night here I was mortified when I went to pay for one bottle of beer, at almost £14 a pop. Punitive taxes placed on alcohol by the Government, combined with the strength of the Krone make for very expensive nights out.

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You can read more about the return of Orkney and Shetland to Scotland here

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