Edinburgh

I have never thought that much about Scotland. I have been an Anglophile since late-childhood (shuffling around with my Agatha Christie and E.F. Benson books and using words like ‘vulgar’) and I have obviously more recently became interested in the history and culture of Ireland. But if you had asked me about Scotland I would respond with a shrug: a rowdier bunch of British-decedents with a savage history and the unfortunate legacy of their greatest citizens emigrating, and all the back and forth about whether they are part of the United Kingdom or not is rather exhausting. Plus, family tartans are kind of made up.

Now, before Mel Gibson leads a pack of blue-faced rioters at me, I have to say that I did a serious disfavour to Scotland. Edinburgh is one of the prettiest cities I have been in, with beautiful buildings, more trees than you would believe, a vibrant culture and a people with a spring in their step (in great contrast to Dubliners these days). Megan, the friend that I was staying with, absolutely loves it, and that probably rubbed off on me as well.

On my first day, after a very sound wine-and-roast-chicken-induced sleep, Megan showed me around the Old Town. Edinburgh’s city centre is divided by a lovely valley-park, which I learned once at one time the river into which all the citizen’s waste was thrown in (and by thrown in I mean thrown into the slanted alleyways and then dripped down towards the river!), but now it’s a beautiful spot to sit in the afternoon. On the one side is the New Town, which is Georgian and reminds one of London or Dublin. It’s where the good shops are, but we didn’t spend much time there as they are tearing up Princes Street in order to put in a tram. Megan informed me that you have to hate both the tram and the new modern Scottish parliament building because all Edinburghers do. On the other side is the Old Town made up of towering 17th century grey facades with chateau-details and reminds one a bit of Quebec City. The main stretch is called the Royal Mile, and because all the museums seem to be on it we spend a lot of time walking up and down it, over and over again.

We also climbed up to the very top of the flamboyantly-gothic Sir Walter Scott memorial and looked out over the whole city. Edinburgh is a place made for views. When my old friend Alyssa, whose studying in Durham, arrived, whom we almost missed at the train station in one of those thank-goodness-found-you! travelling close calls, Megan said she’d show us the foot of the giant hill called Arthur’s Seat which is at the bottom of the Royal Mile. When we got there, even though it was late afternoon and the light was fading, someone decided we should attempt a climb up. And of course once you start going up a hill you just have to get to the very top, no matter how many times you need to stop to catch your breath, which you pretend is to take pictures, because the view will make it worth it. We got to the very top at twilight, with still enough light to see the view but also getting to witness the illumination of the city’s lights. A magical moment. We took our time walking down the hill in the dark, bonding by making fun of the accents of the various places we live.

My legs ached for the next three days.