As I stirred on a mid-November morning, our first morning back in our cozy bed in Connecticut in ten days, I was surprised to find that—even after days of looking forward to being back home with the snores of our fur kids—as usual, bittersweet emotions made their way through my head as I lay there in the still-dark. I hadn’t felt the kinship with Edinburgh I had heavily anticipated, that I knew would be there, and my brain was still trying to make sense of it. And yet, there was a deflating feeling to waking up with no exploratory plans for the day. No run to Milkman or Gordon Street Coffee to begin the morning, no seeking out quieter corners of the ancient city, and no walking in search of another cozy pub.

Andrew was awake, too, beside me, both of our bodies insisting it was 10:00 am instead of 5:00 am. I attempted to explain my contrasting feelings to him and was surprised to hear he felt the same, since we’d already had repeated conversations about Edinburgh being different from what we’d expected. These warring emotions are a reminder that even when one trip doesn’t feel as magical as another, pleasure travel is always an incredible privilege that pulls us from our day-to-day schedules and responsibilities and gives us peeks into life in another place. But, I’m getting far ahead of myself. I’d love to share with you the first bits of our time in that stone city rumored to have been named for the many hills dotting its landscape.

I hope I never forget the somewhat grating sound of our luggage wheels on Edinburgh cobblestones. It’s funny because at the time, while we made our way to our rented flat in Old Town for the first time, I think the sound was threatening to drive Andrew bonkers. We’d hopped off the tram in St. Andrew’s Square around 8:30 am after little sleep on the plane (I’m convinced those who sleep well on flights have really racked up the good karma), but feeling propelled forward into the day by our excitement to take in the scenes we’ve seen photos of most of our lives. The half-hour tram ride from EDI had actually been quite pleasant and made all the better by a wonderfully chipper attendant checking tickets.

Not only am I that person at the airport who can barely breathe until they’ve made it through security and made sure their gate is, in fact, actually there, but I am also that person who feels the need to haul ass to wherever I’m lodging and get checked in before doing absolutely anything else. As we were booking it from New Town to Old Town via Waverley Bridge, my face constantly angled toward the GPS directions, I fortuitously looked up halfway across the bridge to catch the famous view of those surprisingly tall buildings and their taupe-colored stones rising up the hill above meandering Cockburn Street. My suitcase smacked into one of my legs and I stopped to take it in. I may have been on a mission, but I remembered that your first view of something tends to be how it is solidified in your mind, and I really didn’t want to take that for granted.

Once I’d taken a moment, the rattling of wheels started in again and Andrew quickly made use of the luggage straps—just in time for the GPS to rather rudely tell us to take Warriston’s Close and its bajillion stairs up to Parliament Square. It wouldn’t take long for us to realize we did not, in fact, have to take the Mount Fuji of stairs, but we didn’t know this at the time, so up we went, Andrew bravely bearing the load of both of our suitcases. Honestly, someone could have punted me right back down the stairs and I would have just been happy to be there.

Once through the close, undoubtedly breathing a tad heavily, we had our first view of High Street aka The Royal Mile, and of the hoards of people navigating it. This is entirely my naïve fault, but I have to admit I was taken aback by the busyness of the wide cobblestone street before 9:00 am. Still desperately wanting to get checked in and freshen up, we bobbed and weaved between our fellow tourists and made our way under the stone archway of the famous Old Fishmarket Close, the location of our flat.

Not wanting to be rude, we awkwardly stood on the stoop of our 200-year-old stone building for about ten minutes until it was exactly 9:00, the agreed-upon check-in time. One of the owners, Derek, came to greet us and show us around the second-story flat. The door opened into a small entry space with lovely French doors that led into the living area. We literally gasped in delight at the beautiful space with its green velvet chesterfield, wingback sitting chairs, and art galore. The building is a skinny one, so the living area hosts sizeable windows looking out onto not only Old Fishmarket Close, but also the very slender Borthwick’s Close. The small kitchen was more modern, but also just the kind of upscale space that’s fun to enjoy on vacation. We quickly stuck our heads into the two bedrooms, both with fluffy beds and more fun art, and then into the two baths. When I saw the towel warmer in the main bath, I had to hold in a squeal so as not to frighten Derek. Soon after, Derek took his leave, reminding us about the fantastic list of local recommendations he’d sent us prior, which I couldn’t wait for us to start making our way through on foot.

Once I was unpacked—yet another thing I generally insist on doing before I can properly function—and no longer felt the airplane ick upon me, I had to take a few moments to gaze out the windows at our surrounds. I was trying to name the hue shared by most of Edinburgh’s stone buildings, a mixture of smoke and clay. There’s a gray coolness that often matches the quintessential overcast skies, but also a warmth to the color that beautifully reflects the sun when it decides to grace the city with its presence.

This analytical view out the window was my first sighting of one of the several tours we would see stopped outside our flat every day. Evidently, our close was once home to Edinburgh-infamous Maggie Dickson, who became known as “Half-hangit Maggie” after she was sentenced to death, hung in the Grassmarket, placed in a coffin, and then thankfully discovered as still alive when her friends heard noises coming from inside the coffin. These days, Maggie even has a pub named after her near her hanging spot in the Grassmarket.

In addition to hosting a local celebrity, Old Fishmarket Close is also said to be home to at least two ghosts (but, come on, it’s Edinburgh, so the close is probably actually home to at least 64 ghosts, right?). We were unable to get definitive stories agreed-upon by locals, but evidently one of the ghosts asks folks (and generally one of the drunken revelers walking by of night) for a cigarette, and then when the drunkard attempts to hand over a ciggie, it falls to the ground and the ghost is gone. I won’t lie, this sounds like a story one of my uncles would have told after his eleventh Busch Light.

The second ghost is not a human, but rather an amphibian, a remnant of the days when the close was home to fish markets. Legend says that if you see a floating light in Old Fishmarket Close, book it the hell away, because it belongs to none other than a spectral angler fish who lures people in, never to be seen again. I absolutely love this bit of Edinburgh lore and like to think it’s another classic tale of animals exacting revenge on the humans who harmed them. Morbid? Yes. But also interesting. One of my drunk uncles never could have thought that one up.

And now, our ghost tour of Old Fishmarket Close has come to an end. Please make sure to leave a 5-star Yelp review.

Back in the flat, I quickly scrolled through the local recommendations from Derek and spotted a breakfast option about 75 steps away, on the Royal Mile. We merrily made our way up the hill from our flat, rounded the corner, and popped into The Copper Still, a truly lovely restaurant with large front windows, warm lighting, and cozy booths. I took absolutely no time ordering a flat white, which I’d been looking forward to ordering in the UK again for months. I have to say, the UK does a flat white far better than anywhere I’ve ever had them in the US.

We had just seen the US election results, so I clung to the warmth of my mug while Andrew plunged into vacation mode in an effort to stay chipper and ordered a gin & tonic to accompany his breakfast. This was our first taste of Edinburgh Gin—their Cannonball variety—and we were glad to note it tasted delicious with some Mediterranean tonic, even at 10:00 am. Andrew happily made his way through his vegetarian Full Scottish with veggie haggis, veg blood sausage, the quintessential British-style beans he adores, a potato scone, mushrooms, eggs, and toast. I went for the avocado eggs benedict and was quite satisfied with my choice and the flawless poached eggs. We finished our coffees, commenting on our luck with the extended forecast, which had absolutely no rain on it. Then we promptly knocked on wood.

Our friends would be arriving the next day to join us for the remainder of the trip and we didn’t want to do anything too exciting without them, so our next order of business was to seek out every vintage and charity shop in the vicinity. I was thrilled that even though it was in the 50s out, I was strolling the city in a light jean jacket. Back in Connecticut, I undoubtedly would have had a thicker coat wrapped around me, but the humidity of Edinburgh had the day feeling downright balmy. We wove through various backstreets and closes between charity shops and noted the abundance of graffiti, and the garbage littering sidewalks and roads. The city has a grittiness that can be surprising to those of us who have only ever seen astonishingly picturesque photos of it, but once you recognize it, there’s something comforting about a modern society existing within the buildings and walls of an ancient city.

We didn’t have any wild luck in the charity shops we perused, but we did have our first encounter with our new love, W. Armstrong & Son (est. 1840). We stepped through the red door of their Cockburn Street location, literally gasping when we saw the rows upon rows of quality vintage clothing. Wool fisherman sweaters, tweed blazers, more Chelsea boots than I’ve seen in one place in my entire life… We didn’t leave with anything that visit, apprehensive to take up loads of luggage space on our very first day (or first hours, for that matter), but knew we would be excitedly coming back with our friends.

During a bit of a siesta in the flat, Andrew got in a much-needed snooze while I perused the recommendations and our itinerary to the sound of the jaunty accordion tune floating from the Royal Mile to our windows. After a nudge from me, Andrew awoke and we made our way to Calton Hill before daylight left us. The walk took only ten minutes and we were quickly realizing how amazingly connected and walkable Edinburgh truly is. I tip my hat to the city planners who had hands in the layout of the city’s streets. As we walked up North Bridge, taking in more of the seemingly unending Georgian and Victorian stone structures, strings of lights began to flicker on around columns, above doorways, and nestled inside of wreaths. The city was beginning its holiday decorating, which I hadn’t expected the first week of November, but was chuffed to see. We had initially considered visiting during December for the holiday markets and general festive atmosphere, but had chosen to come earlier instead, so this added a bit of a skip to my step.

We found the steps leading to the entrance of Calton Hill on Regent Road and spiraled our way gently up the hill, its various monuments starting to come into view. We stood at the North Viewpoint and gawked out at the stunning vista that took in the neighborhoods of Canonmills, Bonnington, & Leith, and the moody sea beyond. We could maybe have pointed out three modern buildings in the miles that stretched out before us. Such a level of preservation is no small feat for a capital city, or for any city, truly. To think, the view we were enjoying then was largely the same 150-200 years before.

The remainder of the hill, which is essentially one ample public park, had an abundance of people enjoying it, but it didn’t feel crowded. We walked the loop further, taking in the towering columns of the neoclassical National Monument of Scotland, constructed in the 1820s as a tribute to the fallen Scottish soldiers of the Napoleonic Wars. It was originally intended as a replica of the Parthenon, until only a portion of the replica was finished when the project ran out of money. Although at the time it was deemed a “national disgrace,” it is obviously now a beloved piece of Edinburgh’s cityscape, its image decorating postcards, coffee mugs, and tote bags.

We were disappointed to discover we’d just missed the window for climbing Nelson’s tower, a tall stone structure that was evidently designed to look like an upturned telescope, so we admired it from below and would often see it standing proudly above much of the city in the days to come. Spotting a cannon, Andrew did what he usually does and made a mad dash toward it, discovering it to be an early 15^th century cannon that has changed hands a few times, but has rested atop Calton Hill since 1887. After snapping a few photos of Andrew and his new friend, we looked around at the hill’s remaining structures, such as the Dugald Stewart and Playfair Monuments. We had to dodge countless fellow tourists taking influencer-style photos with the city spreading out in the background, but dusk was setting, so we leaned against the stone of the Playfair monument and enjoyed the view until growls of hunger had us exiting the hill toward bustling Leith Street and a pub.

I had spotted The Conan Doyle on Google Maps and, since it was only a short walk from Calton Hill, we decided to give it a look (Yes, both of us are big Holmes fans). The pub is situated on a busy corner near Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s birthplace, but the interior is a quiet respite with cozy window nooks, Victorian wallpaper, and an abundance of solid wood paneling & furniture. Wanting to try another of Edinburgh Gin’s offerings, I ordered a G&T with their classic gin and settled back into my comfy chair while Andrew chipperly asked for his first cask ale of the trip. Minutes later, I stuck my fork into a hearty pesto gnocchi while A savored a mushroom, red wine, & tarragon suet pie with roasted veg.

When we stepped back out onto the street, it was only 6:00 pm, so we took our time meandering back along Leith Street & North Bridge and took in our first glimpses of Edinburgh aglow with streetlights. Our hearty dinners and lack of sleep had us automatically gravitating toward our flat, and though it was still early in the evening, we settled into the chesterfield feeling quite satisfied with our first day. We could hear the revelry taking place in Old Fishmarket Close and hoped the angler fish and his phantom light would stay put for the night.

And that’s it for now (that was quite long enough, wasn’t it?). Thank you, truly, for coming along on our first day in Edinburgh and beginning to explore its streets with us. I’m looking so forward to sharing more of our time treading the cobblestones with you.

Until Part II,
Lara

P.S. As I walked downstairs that first morning back at home to make my peace with the responsibilities of the day, I was greeted with the most stunning, vibrant sunrise I’ve ever seen here in Connecticut. A reminder—that we find magic and awe at home too.