Monday, July 10, 2023 

I know there’s something to be said for getting an early start, but if all the things you want to go to don’t open until 10 anyway, what’s the point? That’s my thought, anyway, as I languidly sip several coffees and get lost on Instagram for a while. The apartment is way less creepy during the day, and I intend to enjoy it.

For a while, anyway. Chilling has its limits. We have things to see today. The list starts with another meander down Victoria Street and the Royal Mile. Yesterday I spotted a version of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone “translated” into Scots, and Hermione and I cracked up while reading it. My best friend Monica collects versions of Harry Potter books in different languages, so naturally I buy a copy for her. (Hopefully she’s gotten it by now and these aren’t spoilers. But Monica, if you’re reading this, what are you doing? Shouldn’t you be studying for the bar?)

After that, we take a spin through a couple of Christmas shops. Our tradition is to get a nativity from countries we visit during the year. We saw one in Belfast but didn’t buy it, and haven’t found one since. Shoot. Then there’s another shop that I saw yesterday that I’m dying to go in. It’s called Ragamuffin, and everything in the window encapsulates my style to a T: comfy pants, dresses, mismatched colors, sweaters, and cozy hats. We go in and, my god, I want everything, and then I look at the price tags. I resign myself to the fact that I will never possess anything in this store. I take a photo of one of the sweaters, though, for good measure. It looks dang good on me. Not $200 good. 

We navigate to lunch after that, both because we’re hungry and because I need a bathroom. There’s our comfort blanket, Pret, right around the corner, and we go there. I know, I know, it’s silly to go there so often when there are so many other restaurants, but it’s so good, and it’s what we know, and we don’t have to think about it.

Just as I’ve picked out my little sandwich and am about to order a coffee, I see a sign saying that their bathrooms are temporarily closed. Great. I hand mom my armful of things and say I’ll be right back. It’s raining, so instead of following the street back up to the Royal Mile, I duck into a covered walkway where there are restaurants and shops because it looks like it comes out on the other side. I’m right! See? Edinburgh has all these little corners, and it shows you the way. I make a mental note to come back to this street after lunch. It winds steeply down towards New Town and it looks like it has some seriously cute shops. Put a pin in that.

Can’t stop now though. There are more pressing matters at hand. I don’t see a public bathroom anywhere, but I do recognize the information building we went to yesterday. I walk in and ask if they have a bathroom, and they say they don’t, and that the nearest one is at the National Library. Shit. That’s still a good ways away. I thank them and then hightail it out of there, kicking into a gear I didn’t know I had, fighting aimless crowds, turning left, and finally entering the doors.

I think the toilets will be right there in the entryway, but I have to go up a flight of stairs. At the top, there is a very nice looking employee. “Welcome,” he says, bowing. “We hope you enjoy your visit.” Sir, thank you for that very nice bow, and I am certain that I will enjoy my very brief time here. I do, and then I have to come out the same way again. Same dude is there. He bows again. “Thank you for coming, have a lovely day.” I wave and do a sort of awkward shuffle down the stairs and then I am free, empty, and ready to take on the world again. Or at least just my now-cold sandwich.

Remember that cute street? We can take the pin out of that now. I take mom there after lunch and let myself fully off the chains. We stumble upon a store called Pie in the Sky, which attracts my attention because the rack out front has a shirt covered in a colorful mushroom design, and the tag indicates that the brand is Run and Fly and it’s made in England and I think that is very cool, and then I step further into the shop and realize that one entire wall is comprised of racks of multicolored dungarees. “Overalls” in American. There are bunny dungarees, paisley dungarees, dungarees covered in cats and dogs, and—and here I audibly gasp—dungarees with that same mushroom pattern. I clutch them, take them to the fitting room, already knowing I’m buying them. I come out and show them to mom. “I’m never wearing anything else ever again.” 

There are two or three more shops that we pop into, and it starts pouring while we’re in one of them, but I hardly notice; I’m in mushroom dungaree afterglow. Soon, though, we realize that we should probably go Do Some Culture™ while we’re in this very cultural city, so we head to the Museum of Edinburgh. 

It’s deceptive; from the outside it looks tiny, but once you enter through the adjoining close (I love the closes and wynds in this city) and see how many floors this building has, it is really quite breathtaking. As the name of the museum suggests, it’s all about Edinburgh’s history and what has made it the place it is today. One of my favorite sections is the one with the scale model of Old Town and Canongate as they would have been during the reign of Mary, Queen of Scots. There’s also a ceiling that was discovered in a local building that dates back to 1631. No big deal. There’s also an exhibit on Greyfriars Bobby, which we have already established firmly as my favorite landmark in Edinburgh. 

We’re at the museum long enough for them to ask us to leave. Then we take a spin around a few last shops and go to Byron for dinner. It’s a burger chain; I know it from London. It’s good, a standby, nothing to write home about though, really.

After dinner we go on a wild goose chase for Tunnock’s Tea Cakes. These are specifically Scottish and we want to make sure we have some to take home. They’re sort of like a cookie covered in a gooey marshmallow, and then the whole thing is covered in chocolate. We go to M&S, sort of forgetting that it’s a little bougie and only stocks its own brand, and then we try the Sainsbury’s across the street. Success! They have them. But how to transport them without them getting smashed? Mom’s been trying to find an empty tin today to no avail. I have the brain blast to get a Tupperware container to put them in. It’ll do. It also keeps many things dry in the stupid pouring rain that’s suddenly started coming down. We trudge to the bus stop, get on it, and wind up at our creepy apartment. 

I don’t stay for long though, just long enough to put my stuff down and confirm that there’s been no apparent ghostly activity today. Then I head back out to Cloisters Bar to meet up with another PCT friend.

Sierra, trail name Lucky Charm, happened to see on my Instagram that I was in Edinburgh and let me know that she lived here and was free if I wanted to meet up. Of course I took her up on it! I remember her from about two days on the PCT, but as we know by now, trail people are a special breed, and it feels very natural to meet up—especially since she lives so close.

Lucky Charm and her girlfriend Ness are waiting in the bar for me when I arrive (because of course I’m late). Both smile widely as they hug me, like we’re old friends—trail magic, I’m telling you. What then transpires is two hours that absolutely fly, getting to know each other, talking about our lives, comparing the trail experience and how we’ve adjusted after. They’re planning to hike the West Highland Way soon, and it will be Ness’s first long hike, so I gush about my recent experience and, I hope, get them hyped for the trail.

It’s really fun to hear about Sierra and Ness’s life. Sierra grew up in Scotland with an American mother and and English father, and Ness is from New Zealand. The two of them met when they were both living in Australia, and they’ve been together for several years. Theirs is a wandering life: they travel frequently, obtaining working holiday visas so they can spend a few months at a time in a place, then quit their jobs when they want to move on, and repeat. They just moved here to Edinburgh recently, and they’re moving again this fall to Canada. 

It is a joy to be with them and to hear their stories. We drink, and laugh, and talk trail, and we close down the bar. I’m in awe every time the trail gives me another person, and another window into a potential for how life can be. We part at the turn for my apartment, and I say that they’re welcome anytime in Cincinnati, or wherever I end up, and they say to come visit them in Canada. Then we walk into the night. Hello again, and goodbye again. 

Mom gives me the ghostie report when I return: nothing amiss. Still, I uneasily lock the door, turn off the lights, and crawl into bed as fast as I can, thinking about Edinburgh, and this old island, and all the millions of stories, people, and places in this world, gone and yet to come, in sight and beyond it. It’s overwhelming. You could meet people constantly for the rest of your life and not scratch the surface of the stories this world contains. Isn’t that amazing? I’m grateful for the stories I get to read, and for the ones I never will.