“A Lewis man would be homesick in heaven.”
I’m not sure where I first heard it, but this phrase – about the island in the Outer Hebrides where I’m from – has stuck with me ever since. It felt particularly relevant in the two-plus years of a global pandemic that halted international travel and confined us to our homes, more or less, for months and years at a time.
This level of “homesickness,” or cianalas as we call it in Gaelic, seems to be a particular affliction for islanders – or maybe English just doesn’t have the language to convey its emotion. Welsh has hiraeth (a “deep longing for something, especially one’s home”) and Portuguese has saudade (“a feeling of longing, melancholy, or nostalgia”). The Gaels have cianalas, which although usually translated in English as “sadness,” “homesickness,” or “nostalgia,” has a much deeper connection to place, and for a group of people who have seen generations emigrate near and far, willingly and otherwise, perhaps it’s not surprising.
For a long time, leaving the islands meant leaving for good: to Glasgow and London, to Canada and the USA and Australia.
But in the space of a few generations, islanders have gone from leaving for good – with limited options for ever returning – to knowing we can hop on a plane home whenever we feel like it (or whenever we need to).
And I made the most of that. I lived in St. Andrews, Philadelphia, NYC, and Tianjin before moving back home to Lewis again, with jaunts here, there, and everywhere. I moved to the USA in the final weeks of 2014, but the Outer Hebrides were never far away, a “quick” six-hour flight across the Atlantic to Edinburgh or Glasgow, a little longer if I went via London.
I knew I was lucky to be able to return whenever I wanted to, but the pandemic brought that luck into stark relief, and ushered in a new world for those of us who live in countries other than our own. For all my travels, I had never gone so long without returning to the Isle of Lewis. By the time I walked off the plane at Stornoway Airport in August 2021, it had been more than two years since I had last set foot on island soil. It wasn’t always homesickness – I wasn’t always sad – but at the height of the pandemic, I thought of Lewis every day, in one way or another. It was the cianalas.
The places I thought of most often were not any of the famous sights that so often populate magazine articles and TV shows, or even this blog. The places I thought of were Bayble Beach and Bayble Island in Point, or the view of the Minch and the mainland mountains from my parents’ kitchen window. There was a while during lockdown when my mind’s eye kept wandering to the almost aerial view of the Isle of Lewis from the top of Bayble hill, the beinn, a view I haven’t seen in person since I was maybe 10 years old, when we were still cutting peats.
“A Lewis man would be homesick in heaven.” I’d venture that a Leodhasach (a person from Lewis) would be homesick no matter where they end up, because – as I’ve written before – for so many of us it is always home, no matter where you go, or how long you’ve been “away.”
But why do we call it home, no matter how much time has passed since we left?
What made islanders from around the world tune in every Friday night to the online “Covid ceilidhs” hosted by the local Western Isles council during the long lockdown days, where I watched people reconnect in the comments and request favourite Gaelic songs? What makes fellow islanders abroad bond over a good traditional tune, or a longing for a slice of Stag bread or a marag, a Stornoway Black Pudding? What causes that sense of connection and belonging that stays strong over time and distance?
Although I don’t necessarily have the answers, I’m fascinated by it. I’m fascinated by the effect place has on people, and the pull of the locations we come from. Judging by those Facebook comments during the “Covid Ceilidhs,” or the stories of island emigrants older than myself, that connection to the Outer Hebrides never quite disappears. The cianalas never really leaves you, and I know that for me, there is nothing like returning to the view of the island in the bay, no matter how long it has been since I saw it last.
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Have you ever heard of cianalas, or experienced a similar feeling? Let me know in the comments – I’d love to hear from you!
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This post was first written a year into the COVID-19 pandemic, in the spring of 2021, before being edited and published in December 2023.
Beautifully written Katie, you’ve hit the nail on the head on many of the points you’ve raised and I relate very much to it all right now. I’m year into living in Australia and although I’m loving it, I still have Cianalas. Think I always will. My heart and my head are pulling my two directions! There is a feeling of relief that you feel when coming in to land in Stornoway, or as you see Stornoway for the first time from the ferry. ❤️
Aw thanks Fiona 🙂 It looks like you’re having an amazing time in Australia, but I know what you mean – the cianalas is always there in the background, I think. We’re lucky to come from such a special place!
Loved reading this.
I’m not an Islander, so perhaps don’t have the same, almost ‘thin place’-type longing for home that cianalas conjures up.
However, I am a Scot living in South East England and can understand at least the spirit of the word.
When I first moved down South, I’d go back home to visit my parents, and then find I was miserable for weeks afterwards. Initially, it was simple homesickness that got the blame, and I assumed that this would dissipate with time. However that didn’t prove to be the case.
Both my parents are long gone now, and the ties that bound me to my home town have frayed to breaking point, and yet…
Like yourself, I spent lockdown with my thoughts drifting not to the world outside the window of the bedroom that became my work-from-home office, but to the hills, glens and places that my dad would take me hiking to when young.
Finally, I acknowledged what I knew to be true, and we sold our house in Margate and bought one in the Highlands.
This has also coincided with my attempts to learn Gaelic, and it’s been worth it alone for things like this – a word that encapsulates a feeling in a way that English would struggle to ever match.
Incidentally, if you’re looking for ideas to expand on the theme of this particular blog post, could I request one on the relationship between Gaelic and the physical landscape? One of the greatest pleasures of learning the language is the fact that maps now leap off the page at you!
Hi Stuart, thanks so much for sharing your experience! I hope you’re enjoying your new home in the Highlands, and getting on okay with Gaelic too. I’ve written a bit about Gaelic and the islands on here (I’ve copied the link below), and I completely agree – Gaelic really does capture the place in a particular way. (If you’re interested, I can recommend the first chapter of Robert Macfarlane’s book Landmarks; it’s about the Lewis moorland and the Gaelic words that describe it. Fascinating, and one I’ve re-read often!)
Here’s the Gaelic blog post, if you’d like to read it: https://storiesmysuitcasecouldtell.com/2021/09/20/gaelic-language-outer-hebrides/
Breasclete for me. Or the stillness and quiet wonder of Dail Beag beach. That is where I want my ashes spread if unable to make the journey back. Your article made me pine for the days when my Mum and sisters’ laughter brightened the darkest winter’s night and the wonderful aromas of their combined prowess in the kitchen. Almost brought a tear…
Thanks so much for your comment Garth, I’m glad to hear the post resonated with you.
Cianalas, does it make a difference if its a longing to return to a place you’ve never been?
Right! Because I heard the word and immediately identified with it. I too experience something that’s nearly constant but very quiet – a feeling of disconnect or mild grief about being detached or un-belonging, like I’m homesick for a place that I don’t know where it is. Or maybe I’m just romantically sad as I’m drawn to things such as melancholy and limerence ..
Cianalas is specifically about a longing for home/the islands – but there may be another Gaelic word for what you’re describing that I’m not familiar with!
I have always felt attracted to the notion of “Cianalas” ever since I left the Outer Hebrides at the age of 16.
At the time there was no doubt in my mind that I was leaving never to return, but what has captured me over time is that I have deep sense of belonging to where I grew up. A place that is so ingrained in my psyche that it influenced all the important decisions I made.
As I walk through life, my abandonment, my unshackledness. I shall still always remain a humble crofter.
This was my journey – Russia, Mongolia, China, Tibet, Laos, Cambodia, Thailand, Myanmar, India, Kyrgyzstan, and Uzbekistan. 10 years in Afghanistan and many more wonderful escapes…
I’ve never settled down and find myself in Athens now! One day, I need to get off the bus…
I am going to so enjoy reading your blog. Your story fascinates me!
Thanks so much for your comment, Calum. I think a lot of us islanders can relate to that sense of belonging to the Hebrides – and a lot travelled the world too (almost another tradition of islanders, in a way). It sounds like you’ve had some great adventures over the years!
Is Cianalas the same as Caenalas?
Hi, I stumbled across your article by accident just now and it resonates with me very much. Can I feel cianalas for the Outer Hebrides even though I wasn’t born there and I’m not even Scottish?
I first visited islands of the Inner and Outer Hebrides last year (Mull, Iona, Skye, Raasay, Harris, Lewis and Scalpay) and I fell in love with them. So much so that I was longing to return this year. I have just come back to home from Harris and Lewis to the outskirts of Berlin where I grew up and where I live and I don’t really feel much joy at being here right now.
Instead there is a sense of longing for the smell of the fresh sea air of the Outer Hebrides, the sounds of the water and the wind at the coast, the friendliness and openness of the people on the islands – I miss everything really.
Hi Melanie, thanks so much for your lovely comment! I have heard people say similar things to you, that they feel that same connection after visiting the islands, so maybe cianalas can relate to that 🙂 I’m so glad to hear you enjoyed your visit this summer!
Oh my God – someone sent me an article here in the USA asking me if this was a real word. I had never heard of this word before despite growing up in Scotland and being born in Edinburgh.
It absolutely 100% describes how I feel. I have always felt it, but did not realize what it was until Covid hit and I could not travel. And now I have an illness and still can’t travel, but I’m determined to get back to Scotland one last time… Cianalas….
Scotland, the land of my birth, and where I grew up – always always in my heart and soul
I am not Gaelic or an Islander, but have felt a kinship for cianalas in the last couple of years since I discovered the word/emotion/feeling. I am a Lowlander living abroad in New Zealand and each time I return to NZ from Scotland I am melancholic and morose for a number of weeks after. Beyond that immediate feeling that comes once I’m far away, few days go by when I don’t think of Scotland, of the cities I’ve lived in, the hills I’ve explored, the wilds I’ve roamed.
Scotland is a special place that grips tightly to the heart.
Ah, I am a Scot living in South of England for past 40 years and the threads that connected are thinning but my Cianalis is increasing and this article and your post is calling me home. How did you manage to just pack up and go as it’s a big call? Love this article. Thanks. X
Hello. When I see videos of Scotland and experience the soul moving sounds and music, I cry…. ues there’s a name for how I feel. Cianalas..Cumha.. it’s spot on. I’ve watch many videos of different places but still I’m moved at Scotland images and music. Great reading Thank you for sharing that
Janice from California.