Everyone I know who has visited Edinburgh says it’s a great city. They’re right.

We visited Edinburgh in July 2016. I know, I’m way behind in my writing. Perhaps there will be a time when I have the time and the discipline to write more regularly. It is as much for me as for any audience. So here we go, a little glimpse of Edinburgh.

We made our way by bus from the airport to the city center, then walked to our airbnb apartment. As usual, google maps could not find the address, so when we got to the vicinity we mooched wifi from a cafe and looked up the details on Rebecca’s ipad. Key in the lockbox got us in and up the four flights of stairs to the apartment. View of Edinburgh Castle? Right out the window.

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William Wallace lives on in Edinburgh

The next day we explored the castle, an obvious destination. Afterward we made our way down the Royal Mile, stopping to spectate at various unimpressive street performers. We arrived at Holyrood Palace, but found that access was denied because her majesty was “in residence.” Oh well, we weren’t that interested anyway.

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At one point during the day, our second son commented on how funny it was to catch little snippets of conversation from the people we passed. “…the infection spread. They just put him on antibiotics…” “…this app is great. It shows you all the train schedules. I think that’s the castle. No wait…” “…you know the best part about Scotland is the scones. I really like the cream tea that comes with…”

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We made the hike up Arthur’s Seat, where the wind at the top was strong enough you could lean into it. The view was nice. My second son had commented that our hike in Albania made his legs feel like jelly. On the way down from Arthur’s Seat I asked if they felt like jelly again. “No, I didn’t put on my jelly legs today,” he said. We talked for a few minutes about the different types of legs he could put on. “What if someone heard just a little bit of our conversation as they walked by?” I asked. “What would they think if they heard us talking about you putting your goat legs on instead of your jelly legs?”

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Somebody left the I off this sign.

We made our way back into town and to our apartment by a different route. I did not shop at the Brotique, tempting though it was.

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That night after everyone was in bed I went out for a walk. I looked up tea houses and found one that was still open, the Elephant House, where J.K. Rowling supposedly wrote the Harry Potter books. The walk there took me through Old Town Edinburgh, which starts basically at the apartment. In those 40 minutes of walking I saw:

  • More pubs and restaurants than I could count
  • Thousands of young single people
  • A few dozen couples
  • A handful of people middle-aged and older
  • A group of women dressed like Ladybug Girl
  • A group of men dressed like bananas
  • A well-dressed man walking along the sidewalk angrily shouting obscenities
  • Three strip clubs on one corner
  • A large woman lying on the sidewalk, surrounded by a group of people. One woman among them seemed concerned. An ambulance made its way to her right after I passed
  • Several young men driving bicycle-taxis. They never seemed to have any riders, even on the strip club corner.
  • Groups of men and women dropping more f-bombs than American teens

I never made it to the tea house. I got to the spot on the map and realized the tea house was directly above me, on top of the bridge. I didn’t want to make the walk around to get on the bridge. So I just cruised back observing the scene. If this is what they call night life – something that has never interested me – Edinburgh has plenty of it. It is a lively place. And all of this takes place within view of the castle on the rocks.

 

On Sunday we chose a church to worship with. We chatted with a few people after the service and then walked back in the direction of the apartment, looking for a place to eat. We didn’t find a place agreeable to all until we were in front of the apartment, where we found a restaurant connected to a theater of some kind. My oldest son and I ordered the traditional Scottish breakfast: eggs, ham, sausage, beans, toast grilled tomatoes, grilled mushrooms, tattie scone, black pudding, and haggis.

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Yep, black pudding and haggis. I asked the waitress what exactly was in haggis, but she was evasive. “Are you saying you don’t know what’s in it?” I asked. “Well, I have an idea, but I don’t really want to say.” That’s the way to advertise your national dish! Haggis is sheep’s heart, liver, and lungs, held together with oatmeal, and flavored with onions and spices. Black pudding is made of pork blood, pork fat, and oatmeal. “You have to at least try a bite,” I told my son (and myself). A nibble was enough for each of us. Both taste and texture were problematic. Although I like the idea of letting nothing go to waste, the World Black Pudding Throwing Competition seems like a better use for these dishes.

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After lunch we walked some more – to the Royal Botanic Garden of Edinburgh. It was nice. We were tired.

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We found a hip, organic-y café for scones and tea on the way home. It was nice. We felt less tired.

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The next day I hiked to Avis to pick up our rental car. I walked around the Ford S-Max (a car that I had never heard of) to inspect it, then sat down in the driver’s seat. Wait, there’s no steering wheel on this side. Driving in the UK was going to be an experience. Why can’t the world agree on where to sit and which side of the road to use? Driving from the right side I felt like, “What is this great extension of car over on my left?” It felt strange, like how a fat lip feels huge. Most worrying was the knowledge that I would at some point drive by autopilot and pull out into the wrong lane of traffic. At least I had paid the extra to get an automatic rather than a stick shift. Shifting with the left hand – who can do that?

Roads in England are wide enough for approximately 1 and ½ cars, but nobody slows down when passing. I constantly feared the right side mirror getting torn off by a car flying by in the other direction. I nearly took the left side mirror off because the sides of the roads often had a stone wall or hedge starting exactly at the edge of the road instead of a shoulder. Being used to having my body line up with the left edge of the road, I consistently drifted to the left, which did not make for peaceful traveling for Rebecca on the passenger side. She could have pruned the hedges as we drove by.

Our first stop was Craigmillar Castle outside Edinburgh. Americans can’t get enough castles.

Driving from Edinburgh to Penrith in the Lake District, we stopped for lunch at the most charming little tea house that perfectly fit its village setting. We ate sandwiches and scones, then played on the playground and explored the open field and church out back. The grave stones in the church yard were ancient.

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We stopped at the very interesting Caerlaverock Castle on our way down to the Lake District in northern England. Like I said, Americans can’t get enough castles. Castles with moats, like this one, are even better. They emanate a sense of the rough and romantic medieval history that we just don’t have in the USA.

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In the afternoon we arrived in Penrith, England, the Nelson family’s home until around 1706, when “Scotch” Tom Nelson emigrated to America. The Nelsons in America became slave owners, revolutionary signers of the Declaration of Independence, ministers, and anti-segregationists.

 

 

Edinburgh

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