This is a continuation of my last post, about our first day in Edinburgh last November.

On Thursday, our second day in Edinburgh, I slowly rose from bed groggy, and not due to jet lag. “I am so mad at that guy,” I said to an equally groggy Andrew beside me. “I might even hope the angler fish got him.”

Both of us had been kept awake much of the night by The World’s Longest and Most Drunken Rendition of “Skip to my Lou.” This was when we discovered that Old Fishmarket Close, which our bedroom looked out on, is a popular thoroughfare between the pubs & bars on the Royal Mile and Cowgate. We likely could have slept through other various sounds of revelry, but not through a bloke absolutely screaming “SKIP TO MY LOU MY DARLIN’.” How does one choose that particular song, an old square dance tune, as their party anthem? Is it also his karaoke song? Was he dancing whilst belting it out? Was the entire close one large fabulous square dance while we merely laid in bed and we had no idea? These questions will likely haunt me more than the various ghosts of Old Fishmarket Close for the remainder of my days.

The second we were ready and bundled up for the cold and cloudy Auld Leekie morning, our need for caffeine had us booking it the two blocks to the Milkman’s upper Cockburn Street location. We wove through more of our fellow tourists, my fingers crossed in my warm pockets that there wouldn’t be a line for the highly popular and influencer-beloved coffee shop. My magic must be quite powerful, as not only was there not a line, but there wasn’t a soul ordering at the counter when we walked in the cozy space with its wooden furniture, brick walls laden with plants, and bow window seat already claimed by some lucky folks (must make my magic more specific). I happily scanned their baked offerings, ordering a blueberry bun to accompany my oat flat white, while Andrew chose a cheese scone and dirty chai latte. I popped outside to assess the seating situation and found an open bench nestled up against the bow window. So, in a way, we still got a window seat.

I’m often curious whether popular spots are going to live up to the hype, and I had worried that the Milkman might leave us wanting, but my worries had been entirely unnecessary. The blueberry bun dusted with a thin layer of sugar was one of the best pastries I’ve ever had—no exaggeration. Just ask Andrew, he had to listen to me wax poetic about it on that bench for a solid ten minutes. My flat white was also delicious and I may have been The World’s Most Content Person as I double-fisted my breakfast while watching folks walk up and down the curve of Cockburn. Andrew confirmed that he too enjoyed his breakfast choice while we took in the fashion show before us. All were out in their winter wear and I don’t know if I’ve seen more stunning long wool coats in one place in my entire life. I was tempted to take photos for future inspiration, but held back—mostly because I was still double-fisting at this point.

One thing we would absolutely love about our time in Edinburgh is that even when it’s technically cold, it’s generally still comfortable enough—thanks to the high humidity—to spend any length of time outside. In Connecticut, I would never have my breakfast outside in 40 degree Fahrenheit weather, but in Edinburgh it felt like an early spring day.

The Milkman’s espresso had saved us from the woes of our night, so we happily perused more of Cockburn Street, this time stepping into some popular shops like Museum Context and Swish. Swish was fun to look through on a cold day with all of its many scarves, gloves, jackets, and hats. The staff, one a fellow American and one a Scot, were incredibly friendly and took the time to chat and give us some local recommendations. Before leaving the street, we popped into Boots and successfully procured much-needed earplugs for the remainder of our nights.

We still had time before our friends would arrive in the afternoon, so we walked Cowgate, passing its several gorgeous old churches and graffiti-adorned night clubs, to the Grassmarket. I knew this area was popular for its pubs, shops, and farmers market, but it was even more charming than I’d expected with its wide cobblestone sidewalks, abundance of window boxes, and breathtaking view of Edinburgh Castle looming above.

Our first stop was another W. Armstrong location and Andrew almost had to prop me up on a vintage-bedecked mannequin when I realized this shop was at least twice the size of the one we’d already fallen in love with on Cockburn Street. We took our time fawning over more tweeds, Aran sweaters, and Chelsea boots, tried on fun hats, gawked up at the vintage pieces hanging from the ceilings, and discovered a treasure trove of old leather bags. I was quite chuffed with the leather crossbody bag and wool scarf I left with.

After walking more of the street and leaving an upscale vintage shop that didn’t allow us to feel like crackerjack treasure seekers, we took our first jaunt up the infamous and aptly-named Bow Street. I shook my fist at the proactive folks who had decided to plan repair work on some of the colorfully-painted buildings during our trip because much of the quintessential curved street was covered with scaffolding. Why must people take care of things and do their jobs when perfect views and photos are at stake? But truly, the scaffolding didn’t take away from the beauty of the street and its wildly charming shop windows.

Our pastry breakfast hadn’t held us over terribly well, so we set more shopping aside for another day and excitedly stepped into the popular Bertie’s for vegan fish and chips. While we waited for our takeout order, a friendly local heard our accents and asked what part of the US we’re from. We always say Connecticut, since it’s where we live now, but I always imagine that the answer confuses some folks who wonder why New Englanders would have the southern twang that forces itself from our mouths. We were rather delighted when this local said, “Oh, do you live near Hartford then?”

Our friends’ train would be at Waverley soon, so we said a jolly goodbye to our new pal and carried our potent box up the hill of Bow Street, which becomes Victoria Street about halfway up (I must get someone to explain this to me sometime), and back to our flat. Our “fish” was made of breaded eggplant and we honestly had no idea what to expect, but those pieces of deep-fried nightshade and their accompanying chips (yes, I mean fries) were rather delicious.

Having very successfully made the entire flat smell of fried food for our friends, we happily skipped down the stairs to the stoop to await their arrival. I’d wanted to take an international trip with friends for ages and there was something very bizarre and exciting about seeing them carrying their suitcases up an ancient cobblestoned alley in not only a different country, but a different continent. Kelsey and Timothy are two of our closest friends and I can still recall how thrilled I was to see them, especially since it had been seven months since our last visit. After alleyway hugs, we let them get settled into the flat, which they loved just as much as us. We were glad their bedroom looked out onto Borthwick’s Close, instead of Old Fishmarket, and hoped this meant they would be spared any late-night renditions of folk dance tunes or nursery rhymes.

From the comfy chesterfield, we laughed about the interesting time they’d just had in London. By the time the were settled in, we were all ready for an early dinner. Thankfully, we were all agreed that we’d already had too much heavy food and really wanted some vegetables (and not deep-fried ones), so we perused the recommendations list from our hosts and made our way across Waverley Bridge to New Town for Mexican food. I would never have thought of going for Mexican in Scotland, but I’m glad Wahaca had been in the recommendations. Not only is it just a beautiful space, but the food is seriously fantastic and all made fresh to order. We didn’t realize until we were inside that Wahaca is actually a UK chain, but everything was so delicious and fresh that we couldn’t fault it that. Kelsey and I both started with an Acapulco Spritz, which is basically an Aperol Spritz with a splash of tequila, which was fabulous with my ancho mushroom tacos. My second drink was the Marmalade Mezcalita, which made for a perfect dessert. By the time all was said and done, our table was covered in empty plates & glasses and I was in a haze of happiness and tequila.

After chatting with our server about how lovely it is to not be rushed in UK restaurants, as we often are in the US (I say this as a former restaurant manager), she gave us some recommendations for post-dinner drinks, most of them being conveniently located just one street over. We walked down Rose Street under the glow of crisscrossing string lights, pleasantly surprised that much of the street is for pedestrians only. We passed such a high number of inviting pubs that we decided to walk to the end, see them all, and name the ones that appealed to us most. There was a consensus among us that The Black Cat looked particularly intriguing with its moody, candlelit interior. Two small tables in the back were waiting for us and greeted us with flickering taper candles jutting out of old liquor bottles. As would become common, the fellas ordered cask ales while Kelsey and I sipped G&Ts. This was my first taste of Lind & Lime gin, made just three miles away in Leith, and I was in love.

Most of our conversation there consisted of simply how thrilled we were that our long-awaited trip had arrived, and how it felt like a dream being in Scotland with friends. Once we’d finished our round, we meandered New Town and chuckled at the high number of American chain restaurants placed inside of stunning nineteenth-century buildings. I didn’t realize a TGI Fridays could actually look beautiful. Strolling W. Register Street, our eyes alit upon the grandeur of the Guildford Arms with its red stone, ample arched windows, and sounds of revelry. We peeked through a window, taking in the Victorian décor, and knew we had to go in.

Kelsey led the way, and I have to admit I’m glad she did. A conversation we’d already had several times at this point was that we were getting used to walking/entering on the left side in the UK, instead of the right, like we do in the US. Aiming to abide these cultural rules, Kelsey entered the pub’s old-fashioned turnstile to the left, only realizing when the contraption began to screech that clockwise was not its preferred direction. The remaining three of us stood outside, gazing on in horror as everyone inside turned and gazed right back. I have to give it to Kelsey, she kept going and nonchalantly exited the turnstile with salvaged grace and class.

Why did I say I was glad she went first? Because I too would have assaulted that historic turnstile, but would not have exited with grace and class. I likely would have abandoned mission and ran back to Old Fishmarket Close, begging the angler fish to put me out of my misery.

Once the pub folks had resumed their revelry and forgotten about the Americans, we took in the positively gorgeous interior of the beloved local haunt, which is evidently one of the few in Edinburgh to have retained its original opulent Victorian décor and has been operated by the same family since 1896. I was so busy gawking that I didn’t take a single photo, so I have to include a couple taken by folks not overwhelmed by a haze of happiness because this luxurious pub is too beautiful to miss.

It was obvious that most of the other customers were regulars, which is always a good way of knowing you’re in the right place. Our round there was the perfect way to cap off the night and we cheerily found our way back to Old Town and our cozy flat. After so little sleep the night before, I was all too happy to settle into our fluffy bed with my new earplugs and fall asleep with my fingers crossed that our jovial friend (enemy?) would not return.  

Until Part III,

Lara