Day 1: May 26
Our story begins in Edinburgh, where all good stories (or at least seven of them*) do.
The plan: Fly from Cork to Edinburgh solo, meet up with the lovely Emma Gershun-Half, and spend a few days tooling around this gorgeous old Scottish city, of which I'd heard only good things (which all turned out to be true).
The reality: Amazingly, despite my nervousness about traveling by myself, I made it to Edinburgh without a hitch. (I was actually quite alarmed at the complete lack of anything resembling a customs experience. Because I was flying within the EU, nobody cared. For all they knew I could've left my passport on the plane. Which, fortunately, I hadn't.) Emma was not so lucky; her train got stuck in York due to mechanical issues, so she didn't arrive until 10:30 pm. While I was waiting for her, I occupied myself thus:
--Strolled/sat in the Prince's Street Gardens and another adjacent park, which had a great view of Edinburgh Castle (though honestly, most places in the city have a great view of Edinburgh Castle. It's on top of a cliff that's fairly centrally located, so it's hard to miss). Watched children playing soccer/football/games with no discernible rules. Saw a man sitting on a bench with his dog--as in the dog was sitting up there next to him, and he had his arm around it: cutest couple award, hands-down. Saw the monument of Sir Walter Scott, the first of what turned out to be manymanymany indications of the special place he holds in his countrymen's hearts. The man is essentially a Scottish superhero, for reasons that may or may not become clear later. Left my purse on a bench for three minutes (officially the stupidest thing I did during the whole trip, and it happened within half an hour of getting to Edinburgh), realized my mistake, dashed back, and found it still there, with nothing missing. Decided that anything else that might go wrong, short of gruesome death, would be a fair exchange for this abundance of good karma.
--Stopped by the train station long enough to be overwhelmed by its size, echoey announcers, and convoluted state of under-construction-ness. Saw that Emma's train was delayed, texted her for confirmation, and snagged a free map, the salvation of all under-prepared tourists.
--Ducked into the (free) art gallery for a visual history lesson in the form of portraits, landscapes, and even a family tree to rival Sirius Black's.*
--Found the hostel, which was right off of the Grassmarket, originally an actual market, and now just a nice square with, you guessed it, a great view of the castle. On the way there (cough, when I was wandering around in search of it, cough), discovered what would become my favorite street in Edinburgh, a winding, sloped avenue of beautiful buildings day-jobbing as shops and restaurants.
--Got pounds (Scottish pounds, by the way, look a bit different than English pounds; they feature their own cast of obscurely famous people) and then used them to buy groceries at Sainsbury's, the UK's favorite supermarket.
Eventually, Emma's train showed up, six hours behind schedule. I met her at the station, brought her back to the hostel, and made sure she got a late dinner before we called it a night. I was amazed at how quiet Edinburgh was even on a Saturday night, in an area that was pretty well-stocked with pubs. (Also, the women's outfits didn't even come close to the specimens I've seen in Ireland.) It felt very peaceful and safe and quietly welcoming. Emma declared, "I like this city," mere minutes after she stepped off the train, and I agreed with her wholeheartedly.
*Harry Potter references will abound throughout Edinburgh posts. Just go with it.
**So that was day one. More to come, but for now, mischief managed.
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