The castle could have been better, I guess, if it had been free, but that's about it. We spent several hours there, and went through every room we could, several museums, saw the Scottish Crown Jewels, touched a lot of history, took a tour from a very Scottish-style-friendly guide named Colin whom we could scarce understand, and visited the Scottish War Memorial, which was touching at the very least and heartbreaking at its worst. The memorials all listed the dead like this: "566 officers and 9459 others," and I wonder if the others wish they could be listed the same as their officers. An Edinburgh Castle employee told me I'd get stuck if I climbed into Mons Meg, the giant cannon. "I've seen it happen," he said.
The view from the castle
Having worn ourselves out, we ate scones in the Redcoat Cafe in the castle. I kind of felt like I was betraying my homeland, but the jam and cream made it so worth it. After eating we went back to the hostel to regroup, and established that if we didn't go out any more that night, we wouldn't have to eat again. Now that's what I call frugal. So we stayed in our room and met a doctoral student from New Zealand and a fancy New York chic girl who was taking a tour of Europe for a few months. She asked where everyone was from and what we were doing, but we never exchanged names. We went to bed early, wiped and needing to be rested for the next morning.
On Saturday, after a croissants-and-nutella breakfast (classic Scottish fare, I'm sure) at the hostel, we set out to meet Mary, Stephanie, Elenya, and Erynn to climb Arthur's Seat, the 800-some-foot extinct volcano in Edinburgh where King Arthur is said to have had his throne. On the way to the seat I noticed how much Scotland looks like the Industrial Revolution—everything was lovely, no mistake, but all the buildings seemed to be covered in soot a century or two old.
Arthur's Seat is actually the second of two sort of mountains in Edinburgh right next to each other. We did not know this and, ambitious, set to climbing the first one we saw. A sign said "Please do not climb the steep slope" but, of course, that is more of a challenge than a warning, and we climbed straight up to the path instead of going around the side and taking the way where you could actually walk.
The vertical stripe just left of center is the non-path we took.
The real path goes along the side at the bottom of the rock face.
Having demolished that, and emerged as Mountain Women for sure, we trekked along until we found ourselves going back down hill and realized we had gone the long way. But we were not to be swayed! We found the long rock stair and rambled on. Another group took one picture of all of us about halfway up, but naturally it was on the camera of the only member of our expedition who doesn't have Facebook. As for the rest of the climb, well, we made it to the top somehow, and I can't even tell you. I could see all the way to America, I think. Bernard and I took a picture of ourselves at the summit marker. You can't see much, but you'll just have to trust me.
Not even from the top
"If I had a Top 10 Experiences Ever list, I would probably just scratch it out and start over."
The rest of the day was slow because, really, what do you do after climbing a mountain? We sat at the bottom of the seat for an hour or so, then Bernard and I separated because I didn't want to go to the Palace of Holyrood House and she did. I went to the Our Dynamic Earth museum, which is really ridiculous I know, because they have natural science in America too, but I love it. Too bad it was £7.50 so I just sat outside and wrote for two hours, then wandered along the Royal Mile, where there are lots of pubs and shops selling plaid stuff. Bernard and I got back together for some more solid Scottish food at Pizza Express because all the pubs were expensive and we didn't want to be the tools who go to Subway in Edinburgh. I sucked it up and spent some money on a cashmere scarf because when am I ever going to be able to afford cashmere again in my life? Never, that's when. I love it though. Bernard said of hers, "I feel like God is hugging me." That's pretty accurate.
We turned in early again, though not as early as Friday night, met a woman from Northern Ontario who was so very nice, and on Sunday (after everyone in our room woke up at the same time) we made reservations at Mary King's Close and went to the National Portrait Gallery while we waited. We passed the (Sir Walter) Scott Monument on the way, and it really does look like a Gothic space ship. So bizarre. The National Gallery was splendid and full of lots of really big paintings. The one of Achilles mourning Patroclus (by Gavin Hamilton) was particularly spectacular, as well as the statue of "The Campbell Sisters," which reminded me of a few people. We snuck up to the famous works before being good visitors and looking through the section of Scottish artists. John Duncan's "St. Bride" was my favourite.
Soon it was time for Mary King's Close, a sort-of-underground (but actually just underbuilding) tour of the 17th-century "closes" between blocks of poor, dirty, diseased people whose lives generally sucked. I wonder how a fire drill would have gone down there. Good thing it's all stone.
A little shortbread and some lunch at Chocolate Soup (one of the more bizarre restaurants/cafes I have yet encountered) left us pretty much done with everything we had planned, and we went back to our hostel and drank free tea to kill time before our train. The train station experience was much more stressful than it had been going out, but we made it back home in time to do pretty much nothing before going to sleep, which is what I'm going to do very soon.
In short, I loved that place.
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