“I don’t think scones are even a breakfast food in the UK, but I don’t care. I would have them every single morning,” I told Andrew between happy bites of that light, golden bread, clotted cream, and strawberry jam. We were at Gordon Street Coffee, basically two highly-convenient stairways down from our flat. It being a busy Sunday in Edinburgh, we’d looked for something a bit off the beaten path and the fabulous reviews had led us to their shop on Market Street (no, in fact, not Gordon Street). Market Street isn’t even technically off the beaten path, intersecting with the ever-popular Cockburn Street, but it seems most tourists don’t bother with it, which is a real shame because this quiet coffee shop quickly became a favorite of ours with its gorgeous espresso, quality scones, friendly staff, and large windows perfect for people-watching.

It wasn’t until that morning people-watching session that we discovered we were accidentally in town for one of Scotland’s biggest events of the year—the Scotland v. South Africa rugby match, which was taking place in Edinburgh. We saw countless people walk by in team garb (and, surprisingly for being in Scotland, mostly South Africa garb), which had been our only tip-off that something was happening.

Back in the flat, I rather creepily stood by one of its large living room windows for another people-watching session, this time of the hordes of rugby devotees walking Old Fishmarket Close to get to either the train station or to begin their day at one of the many pubs on Cowgate. “This is fascinating,” I said to Andrew as he lounged on the chesterfield, “almost everyone is in green.” We wondered why, in the host country, there would be so much support for the opposing team, but a quick Google search told us that, basically, South Africa’s team is full of absolute ballers and they are highly-beloved. Can you tell we know next to nothing about Rugby?

Kelsey and Timothy had had a much more fun Saturday night than us, so they slept in a bit, but were ready for their own sustenance soon after we’d returned. Since we’d been so impressed with Gordon Street Coffee, we once again bebopped down Anchor Close and Craig’s Close, dodging an array of broken glass and—for some reason—popcorn. As soon as we left the door of our flat building, however, we heard bagpipes and saw a growing crowd at the end of Old Fishmarket. Joining the crowd to be nosy and see what the hell was going on, we soon discovered we were standing in the midst of a somber Armistice Day ceremony led by the Black Watch Pipes & Drums. We’d seen countless poppies adorning lapels, hats, and handbags in the days before, and had noticed the red beams of light upon many of Edinburgh’s buildings, but we had no idea we would have the privilege of being present for such a moving ceremony. The music stopped us in our tracks and we hovered for a bit, taking it all in.

I broke away from the crowd with K & T, leading them toward the coffee that would save them like the saint I am, while A remained under the spell of the music for a while. They, too, enjoyed the seemingly underrated coffee shop and I certainly enjoyed having another flat white before beginning our day’s long-ish jaunt along the Water of Leith Walkway.

The first leg of our trek took us along Princes Street and the aptly-named Princes Street Gardens in New Town. I would equate the Gardens to Edinburgh’s version of Central Park. Our heads swiveled back and forth as we took in the beautiful landscaping, sculptures, and Ross Fountain. Set-up for the popular Christmas markets was happening and we were highly disappointed to realize they would open the day after we returned to the US—especially after seeing so many signs advertising mulled wine.

After just a few blocks along Queensferry Street and Lynedoch Place, we found ourselves in the infamous Dean Village. We also found what appeared to be every other tourist in Edinburgh that day. It was, I’ll admit, busier than I had anticipated, but it truly didn’t detract from just how stunning the neighborhood is surrounded by greenery, with the Water of Leith running straight through it, and with the highly-photographed Well Court at its center. I was surprised to learn that Well Court, which looks to me like it could have been home to royalty, was actually constructed in 1880 as a block of tenement flats for those who worked at the local water mills. I’m pretty sure I would have become a mill worker just to live in that building. Even though Edinburgh obviously has an abundance of historic buildings, Well Court is a rare example of arts and crafts architecture within the city, which is only one of the reasons it is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

We slowly strolled along the water, seeing dozens of people get content for The Gram, and endeavoring to imagine how it would feel to live in such a picturesque little neighborhood. Local dogs adorably played in the river and I heard one of their humans state that this was part of their daily walk. Lucky bastards, all of them.

Once we had joined the park-lined Water of Leith Walkway, which would take us the few miles to the coast, we saw fewer fellow tourists. Folks walked at a slower pace and many relaxed on benches, one man trying to enjoy his lunch while a tiny dog attempted to steal it. A few days before, one of the sales associates in Swish had recommended we stop at St. Bernard’s Well, and it was easy to see why with its beautifully-constructed round, Greco-Roman temple with Doric columns and a domed top. From its center, the goddess Hygenia looks out as protector of the well’s healing mineral waters.

Soon after, we were in the cute town of Stockbridge and absolutely hauling ass to Lannan before they closed for the day. I had spotted Lannan, a new bakery, on Instagram and it was clear everyone else in the world knew about Lannan too when we spotted the line hugging the building. We jumped in, feeling good about making it inside before closing time, when eight more people suddenly flooded into the line in front of us, joining their family members. Kelsey and I hung our heads for a while before peering through a window to see what was still available. The croissants we had been hoping for, and that I had heard so much about, were nowhere to be seen and the counter was quite desolate. Admitting defeat, K & I, in desperate need of more coffee and a bathroom, walked the couple of blocks to Fortitude Coffee while the fellas decided to stick it out in the Lannan line like the heroes they are.

As lovely as the shop was, our flat whites from Fortitude were not the best we’d had, but I would have purchased just about anything for access to their bathroom at that point. Walking beside moving water for miles is not for the faint of heart—or at least not for those who had spent their morning chugging caffeine. And, of course, it totally made sense that we grabbed another round of caffeine before walking more miles along a somewhat secluded path.

Meeting up with our battle-weary line warriors on the sidewalk, we saw that they had managed to get a couple of remaining savory pastries and more caffeine for themselves. They waxed poetic as they chewed and sipped, all while Kelsey and I tried to down not-so-great coffee and merely had to imagine we had delicious pastries in our own hands. I’m just kidding (kinda), the boys let us take some bites. I have to say, Andrew’s butternut squash and red pepper pastry was divine and completely worth dealing with line-jumpers.

Just down the street was the bustling Stockbridge Market, one of the reasons we’d scheduled our jaunt for a Sunday. Snaking through the twenty-ish stalls, we noticed quite a few of the vendors we’d seen at the previous day’s market in Grassmarket, but also some new faces. After not obtaining a Lannan croissant, I was glad to spot some fruit tarts I’d eyeballed at the market the day before. I promptly paid for a pear tart and found a quiet spot of sidewalk to enjoy it on while watching the crowd flow through. There was a cheese vendor, lots of lovely handmade items, paella, dead pheasants hanging from iron railings, and more. Once K & T had purchased some soap and K & I talked about the virtues of larger handbags and their ability to hold one’s market items, we made our short way to a charity shop we’d passed earlier. None of us bought a thing, but our foursome shares the inability to pass a charity shop without going in.

Back on the Walkway, we noticed we were now truly in the realm of locals. We had the great privilege of seeing numerous dogs, and of peeking into charming back gardens, many with plants still in bloom (you have to love a temperate climate). Miraculously, after days of overcast skies, the sun was shining. After stopping to look at some majestic swans preening in the Water of Leith, we stumbled upon an old cemetery dedicated to maritime workers of Leith, such as captains and shipbuilders. We took in the truly fabulous headstones before popping just across the street to Lind & Lime Distillery, which I’d been looking forward to for weeks. Rolling up my sleeves, I asked about the four of us doing a tasting, to discover that tastings only came with a two-hour tour. Now, there would be many days when this would not be a problem, but we just weren’t feeling a two-hour tour at the time, so we instead procured some airplane bottles and perused Google Maps for dinner ideas.

Our search led us across the Bernard Street Bridge and into the center of downtown Leith. We had discovered by this point that Leith gets a bad rap among many Edinburgh locals due to its more industrial vibe, but we found the center to be rather charming and still quite historic. We passed the stunning old Custom House, numerous boats (including some serving as floating inns), and more beautiful stone buildings until we found the blue door to Fisher’s—a seafood restaurant with big maritime energy. We gaped up at the tall stone tower rising from the center of the restaurant building and, once inside, noticed that the interior of the tower now holds a demilune bar. To my astonishment (and probably not to the astonishment of any Europeans), the tower had originally been built in 1686 as part of a windmill and then fortified during the Napoleonic Wars to become a signal tower.

Anyone overhearing us as we perused our menus would have thought we’d never seen food before, we spent so much time oohing and aahing over the choices. Andrew leaned over at one point to whisper that those at the corner table had been on our plane over from Connecticut. Kelsey ordered a white wine and, her being a wine afficionado, I followed her lead. It was floral and light and paired very well with the bowls of mussels in white wine sauce that were sitting on our table shortly thereafter. After a day of pastries, as delicious as they were, we were all craving vegetables, so the table was also covered in an array of soups and salads. My salad with beets, grapes, and pistachio dukkha was fantastic and I would have never thought I could have chosen a salad as a Last Meal until that one. We voraciously made our ways through the mussels, applauding Timothy for ordering extra bread for the broth. By the end, we were extremely satisfied and may have unsettled the staff with just how vocal we were about it.

Waddling to the closet tram stop, we were soon back in New Town and then opening our flat door in Old Town. The four of us settled in for a cozy, communal tea & reading night, Timothy reading us the dramatic story of Mary King’s Close. I journaled a bit, noting within that the traffic cones had all been removed from the heads of their statues, likely in respect for Armistice Day. For a weekend night, the city around us was remarkably quiet and I had to wonder if it was due to the holiday, or the fact that Scotland had lost its match against South Africa. Regardless, I took advantage of the hush and proceeded to dream of salad and mussels.

Until Part VI,
Lara