We arrived home late last night after a few days in Edinburgh, Scotland. Whenever I’m travelling, my goal is to never look like I don’t know what I’m doing. Walk with purpose, I say, even if you’re going in the wrong direction. However, if you only have three days to be a tourist, lean in, be a tourist.
Ben and I have voted and it’s unanimous, trains are the best way to travel. I read a book and a half travelling to and from Manchester. Although I did spend a lot of time looking out the window. The countryside is coated with the most vibrant, soothing shade of green I’ve ever seen. I’ve tried to describe it about thirty different ways but I just can’t find the words for it, you’ll have to see it to believe it.
We wandered up and down the Royal Mile, we meandered around Deans Village, and we explored Edinburgh Castle. We went to the National War Museum, the National Museum of Scotland, and the National Gallery of Scotland (when I fall asleep at night, I just see clay pots and broken arrow heads. History… you get it).
We bought the yummiest hot chocolates and window shopped on Victoria Street. We visited the café where J.K Rowling wrote Harry Potter, and the merchandise store next door (see image of very patient, very poised young lady, waiting in line for merch). We had drinks in pubs and then more drinks in more pubs.
We walked through New Town in the rain, and I dragged Ben into a nearby shop to take refuge from the deluge and by a lovely moment of complete happenstance, it was a four-story Waterstones bookshop. I happily and innocently set to browsing while expertly avoiding all the suspicious raised eyebrow glances from Ben. By the time I was done, the rain had stopped, and the sun was shining… coincidence?
We caught the bus out to Portobello Beach and drank coffee in coats and scarfs while we watched other people brave the North Sea.
In our final hour before we caught the train home, we sat on a bench at the Scott Monument with great views of Old Town and the castle.
‘Great city,’ Ben said.
‘Great city,’ I echoed.
Author note: If you find yourself heading to Scotland in March and think to yourself ‘It’s been a barmy 13 degrees in Manchester, I won’t need gloves,’ don’t worry you’re not alone but you are wrong. Take your gloves. And maybe an umbrella.
GREAT city