This is a continuation of my last post, about our time in Scotland last November.

As four plates alit upon our table at Scran on Cockburn Street, I immediately regretted ordering the veg full Scottish breakfast. It was like a four-course meal piled onto one plate with eggs, sourdough, veg haggis, beans, mushrooms, a potato scone, veg sausage, and tomatoes. I’d wanted something hearty for our morning at Edinburgh Castle, but such a meal threatened to make sure I didn’t reach the castle whatsoever. To my surprise, even Andrew, who ordered the same dish, was overwhelmed by the feast before him. Kelsey and Timothy, the obviously smarter two of our group, chose much more manageable meals. One thing I was thrilled to see was the strong flat white sitting before me, especially since I knew we had hours of reading and absorbing fabulous castle-y things ahead of us.

In between my many outspoken regrets over my order, we voiced our surprise at very little noise coming from Old Fishmarket Close the night before (did we have the angler fish to thank?). We looked out the giant window next to us at another overcast November day, but couldn’t fault it, since (1) we still hadn’t had any rain with it and (2) a gloomy day seemed all too perfect for the likes of a medieval stone castle looming over the city from its place atop an extinct volcano. Really fits the aesthetic.

We soon found ourselves walking west along the Royal Mile and its gradual incline, which ends right at the castle gates. From Cockburn Street, it’s a half mile of tweed shops, busking bagpipers, pubs, mysterious closes, and throngs of tourists. We had thought this infamous cobblestoned street was busy before, but on a Friday it was akin to weaving through crowds in Times Square—and that’s no joke. I repeatedly tripped in my inability refrain from gawking at the sheer amount of people trying to fit on the sidewalks. In many cases we all simply couldn’t fit and people found themselves walking in the road, car horns blaring. By the time we reached the castle, I realized I’d barely taken in any of the picturesque street with all the bobbing and weaving.

Even if we hadn’t been able to see inside the castle walls for some extremely sad and terrible reason, I would have been thrilled to have just experienced the feeling of seeing the stunning castle gates and the unbelievable views from them. Miles of the city and its neighborhoods spread out below us—a rather romantic-looking labyrinth of ancient stone with bits of modernity tossed in—and the sea beyond.

I was grateful for the map handed to me as I was immediately overwhelmed by the amount of buildings and other things to see inside the castle walls. I quickly understood how the castle could have been largely self-sustaining as it truly holds a village inside of it. Kelsey and I stuck together, but the fellas often went on their own little adventures, which is incredibly easy to do there. The allure of the several different museums, the monuments, the viewpoints, the cannons, and so on, truly pulls you in many various directions.

Reading that a fortification had been on that site for at least 2,000 years had my brain threatening to malfunction. I love the opportunity to look out over a city and imagine what it may have looked like at a particular point in time—which generally isn’t terribly hard to do in an ancient city that remains largely unchanged for a couple of centuries—but I simply couldn’t imagine what Edinburgh would have looked like long before it was ever given its modern name.

Within the castle walls, one can see Edinburgh’s oldest surviving structure—St. Margaret’s Chapel, built around 1130. A relatively small stone (no surprise there, I’m sure) structure, it sits on a little mound at the very top of Castle Rock. Even with many of us crowding into the simple space, there was a quiet peacefulness to it, as if its original purpose automatically preserved that. Stepping back out of the chapel, we saw the Dog Cemetery, dedicated to the regimental mascots & dogs of officers who have served at the castle since Queen Victoria’s reign. It is one of the most beautiful tiny cemeteries I’ve ever laid eyes on, and may have the best views as well.

I found myself hiding my tears inside the War Memorial building after reading a dedication to the efforts of Scottish women at home during the wars. There were no other wet eyes there that I could see, except for those of my sweet husband, who I found holding back tears in front of a dedication to those lost at sea.

Soon after, Kelsey and I found ourselves squished into the famously long line to see the crown jewels. I still chuckle when I think of us waiting for at least twenty minutes to look at a few objects for about thirty seconds.

We didn’t want to miss the 1:00 cannon firing, which happens at the castle every day. Our foursome scrambled to find a decent vantage point among the hundreds of other people attempting to do the same. Thankfully, a very kind castle employee told us of the best viewpoint and we hauled ass there, finding there was still enough room for us. I have to admit, the cannon firing itself is a tad lackluster, as it’s a modern military cannon and doesn’t have the aesthetic or volume of a more historic cannon, but I’m glad we didn’t miss it nonetheless. I’m also glad we could see over the throng of cellphones aimed at the cannon because that was intense.

After a gift shop stop, where I got into a bit of a tug-of-war contest with a fellow tourist who wanted to peruse the same postcard rack as me (You’re welcome, Mom), we made our way just outside the castle gates to The Witchery, one of the city’s most popular restaurants. The skinny alleyway to the “Secret Garden Room,” Boswell’s Court, was filled with stacked pumpkins, candles, and even some stately pigeons perching on a gothic window. I quite happy with our lunch choice before ever stepping my Chelsea-clad foot inside. At our table, the natural light from the large greenhouse-esque windows and the glow from the abundance of candles had us looking like extras in a Nancy Meyers film—if Nancy ever set one of her scenes in a medieval building. I’d be here for it.

Absorbing the menu was a challenge at first because there were simply too many beautiful things to look at in the cozy-but-regal room around us. The staff quickly and expertly wove around the space in a dance that had me gawking in admiration. When I was finally able to tear my eyes away, Andrew and I both ordered exactly the same things (I guess we’re now in that stage of our marriage): Royal G&Ts (with vanilla, orange, and champagne), pumpkin bisque, and mushroom risotto. I honestly can’t remember what Kelsey & Timothy ordered whatsoever because I was deep, deep in my own happy little world. I’m sure this will come as no surprise, but everything placed on our table was mesmerizingly delicious. With one bite, it was clear that The Witchery is not only popular due to its location and aesthetic, but also because its food is incredible.

I was thanking myself for ordering the smaller lunch portions when dessert menus were placed in front of us. Choosing only one was a real challenge, but A and I decided to share a pear cake, which sounds simple, but was actually a stunning and unique combination of pear cake encased in something akin to mousse, accompanied by a spiced sauce, and topped with a lovely, crunchy, leaf-shaped creation. Okay, I’ll stop with the overly-detailed descriptions, but that was how much I loved this meal. We had also made sure to order more coffee drinks to get us through the afternoon and my flat white was perfection. Andrew ordered a mocha, which came in a fancy glass mug, and he looked quite adorable drinking from it. Our drinks came with petit-fours and we swore we had no room left, but happily gobbled them up regardless. Even then, all four of our heads still swiveled when we saw a high tea tower float by, stacked with sandwiches and what looked like ten various desserts. The lucky recipients most definitely noticed us ogling and I felt absolutely no shame.

In desperate need of a post-lunch walk, we winded through busy Lawnmarket once again south to Victoria/W Bow St. and their colorful shop fronts. I always enjoy observing others laying eyes on beautiful things for the first time and K & T did not disappoint with their appreciation of the famous and much-photographed Edinburgh street. We stepped into the classy Walker Slater Ladieswear with all of its fabulous tweed trousers, skirts, blouses, and all else needed for dapperness. I was feeling like a cheapskate, so I lived vicariously through Kelsey while she purchased a lovely button-up. While she was finishing up, A and I stepped into the close-by Red Door Gallery. Even when feeling like a cheapskate, I can rarely visit an art shop without leaving with something and that was certainly the case with that well-curated little shop. In addition to a stunning watercolor piece for my study, I was able to find postcards designed by local artists, and without even having to play tug-of-war with someone.

When we walked back through the door of Armstrong’s Vintage’s Grassmarket location, I had another moment of enjoying watching K’s & T’s jaws drop as they looked around. Even though A & I had been in only a day before, the shop is so jam-packed that it was like we were seeing most of it for the first time. One of the best parts of shopping with friends? They often enable the purchases you wouldn’t make otherwise. It didn’t take long for me to shed my cheapskatedness when I picked up a pair of French Chelsea-style shoes I’d been eyeballing the day before and received oohs and aahs from our pals. Andrew was quite tempted by a faux fur jacket, but even mass encouragement couldn’t bypass the knowledge he would never find a place to wear it in our day-to-day life, which prompted a conversation about how easy it is to be drawn to fun and sometimes outlandish clothing while traveling because you’re somewhat separated from real life. Oh, but how fun it is to imagine a life where we spend our days in funky tweed suits and faux fur.

Cheerily carrying our bags of vintage goods, we made our ways through the slender aisles of Armchair Books, a now-infamous vintage bookshop that has been around for years and years. By the time A was paying for a vintage Diderot, the shops were closing around us and we made our way back to the flat for a pre-dinner wine break. On our way, we noticed numerous phones raised to take photos of various statues along the streets and looked up to see bright yellow traffic cones topping the sculpted heads. In the US, the cones would likely immediately be taken down and there would be hopes of catching the perpetrator, but the traffic cones would amusingly remain crowning the heads for days to come.

Even though it was a Friday evening, the busy day had all of us craving a cozy evening in with some takeout (what is youth?), so after settling on Indian, I lazily lounged in my pjs with my glass of wine while the more useful of our foursome went to pick up our several boxes of delicious food and cart them back to Old Fishmarket. My house chaat with potatoes and chickpeas, which paired surprisingly well with my red wine, had me sleepily and contentedly settling into our fluffy bed with a book early in the night, looking forward to the next day’s market day. Greyfriar’s Kirkyard was also on the books for the following day, and nerdy (and weird) me felt like a child attempting to sleep the night before their first trip to Disneyworld.

Until Part IV,
Lara