After waking up at ungodly hours and traversing the Atlantic via two separate flights, we are finally in Scotland. Katelyn certainly seemed happy to see Jen and Greg when we got into Waverly station this morning. While we waited for the mishap-delayed Nick to arrive, we took the opportunity to walk around town.
We hiked up Calton Hill, whose greek-style temple replica was fun to climb on and provided awesome views of the surrounding city. Afterwards, we mis-judged a small one-way street that clearly was not meant for pedestrians. Luckily, there were no casualties. We made our way down to the Scottish Parliament building, which we toured briefly (it looks like a modern-ish treehouse inside, and just plain weird outside). The Palace of Holyroodhouse was closed for official state business, which we hoped meant that the queen was in town. Sadly, no. Just the Lord High Commissioner (anybody know what the heck that is?).
Then we walked up the Royal Mile to Edinburgh Castle. They were setting up grandstands for this fall’s fringe festival which is apparently a really big deal (Katie said something about hundreds of bagpipers annually). We didn’t want to pony up the big bucks to go inside, especially since Greg and Katie had seen the castle already, so we walked down the cliff face through the West Princes Street Gardens. Jen was a bit wary of the inadequate railing along the path, but we managed to make it down alive, again. We tried to scale the 300 foot wall up to the castle, but like the English in the sixteenth century, we were also unsuccessful. Thankfully, we artfully avoided arrest by barely making it 3 feet up the vertical rock face.
Greg had to go fetch Nick from the airport, so Katie and Jen spent some time under a shady tree discussing urgent affairs of state (e.g. Katelyn’s rampant overpacking and the international status of the “Siesta Movement”). Reunited in force, we took on Arthur’s seat with a less-than-respectable show of physical prowess. Let’s just say we saw one guy run up and down thrice before we summited the mighty craig. The blood, sweat, and in Jen’s case, tears paid off big time with an impossible-to-understate view of the city and the Firth of Forth and Fife (alliteration is one stylistic tool amicably appreciated always). Katie’s camera appeared to malfunction at such a high altitude, and we perfected the Totally Tubular Tuttle Technique to the Tenth Power, which seemed to help.
On our way back to Base Camp, we decided to head to the pub. The Mitre—with it’s famous steak and ale pie—was closed, so we settled for Clever Dick’s for some comfort food and drink. Jen claimed that the Guinness was markedly better than the typical stateside version.
Finally, we walked Katelyn back to Waverly station; she’s got another exam tomorrow back at St. Andrews. If you’re reading this, then we successfully found an internet connection somewhere and are definitely sound asleep after such a long two days that rolled into one—leaving us wondering where Monday went.
