Thursday night, our train arrived in Edinburgh at 10:30 pm. Luckily, the pubs in Scotland stay open until 1:00 am, providing us ample opportunity to sample a little local flavor. We had a couple pints and listened to some live Scottish folk music, being play on instruments the likes of which I have never seen.
Dave and I stayed at the High Street Hostel, which we selected because it was both recommended by our guidebook and only cost £12 a night. That being said, we certainly traded affordability for some other desirable amenities- security, privacy, hygiene and personal space to name a few. We slept in a room the size of a dorm that housed a cozy six people. Our roommates were fairly elusive. They slept all day buried underneath sheets, leading me to believe they may have been vampires. When we finally met them, we discovered we had not been missing much. One was from South Africa. He had been residing in his bunk for roughly a month and planned to stay another month. The hostel offered a special where if you stay six consecutive nights, your seventh was free. He was taking full advantage of this special. The other guy, who slept in the bunk below Dave, hailed from CanadaHe had been residing in the hostel for six months. He was no deadbeat though. For a time, he worked as an employee of the hostel, earning free board. However, the job demanded too much time from his busy schedule so he was forced to quit. Now, he does some cleaning chores in exchange for a discounted rate.
We met another regular, an American, in the lobby who was describing how the World Trade Center bombing was a conspiracy by the United States government. He never mentioned why they would have done such a thing or how it benefited political interests, but he certainly was passionate in his beliefs. One girl asked him where he got his information and he told her that he did a lot of “research.” My estimation is that the bulk of his research included logging onto the websites of other crazy people and reading their deranged, psychotic ramblings. I will admit he did spit out a great of “facts” but I was forced to question his reservoir of knowledge when he could not recall the former mayor of New York. Judging from my experiences, I deducted that the name, HIGH Street Hostel, very appropriately described both the atmosphere and the long-term guests. Damn hippies.
Friday, Elizabeth (a girl in the program from SMSU), her cousin Lindsey, Dave, and I climbed Arthur’s Seat, a mountain overlooking Edinburgh. I admit the view was spectacular but I question whether it was worth the treacherous climb. Lindsey, who studies at the University of Edinburgh, proved to be somewhat directionally challenged. She apparently led us down the wrong trail because it stopped short of the mountain’s summit. At this crucial point, Dave forged ahead and began fearlessly and/or aimlessly, depending on your perspective, leading us through the brush. Anyone who knows Dave associates him with the outdoors and strenuous athletic activity. The man is a human compass, virtually a modern day Meriwether Lewis, which I guess would make me William Clark. You’ll have to excuse me, that is just a little good old-fashioned Lewis & Clark humor. The most daunting test of brute manhood and virility came when we rock climbed up a fifteen-foot cliff. This sounds easy enough but icy frost sporadically coated the rock making each step hazardous. Additionally below the cliff, the incline was steep enough to ensure any fall would certainly result in an incredible tumble.
So how did I fare in this death-denying act of masculine heroics? Did I raise my fist to the heavens and declare my immortality to God, all the angels, and whoever else was within earshot? Or did I succumb to fear, defeated, waiting at the base of the hill for the others to return victoriously. The answer depends again on perspective. I fully acknowledge that I was the last person to attempt climbing the cliff. This can be attributed to several reasons but in the name of protecting my pride and preserving the untainted image held by my adoring followers back in the states, I will filter out anything that may cast me in a negative light. Being an Eagle Scout, I had experience in this type of situation. This was my element so to speak. Instead of leading, I choose to assume the role of guardian. I followed everyone to ensure they safely reached the top. If someone had fallen, I would have reached out my right arm and snatched them out of midair. Fortunately, such an act was never necessary, but if it had been I assure you it would have been a true exhibition of physiological power and grace the likes of which this world has never seen. The descent was much less perilous than the ascent. Primarily, this was because we followed the correct trail down. Additionally, we encountered a stretch where the slope was smooth and clear of debris. At which point, Dave and I laid on our stomachs and rolled down the hill. This cut travel time in half but did create a great deal of dizziness.
After an afternoon of spelunking, Dave and I decided to relax with a tour of the Scotch Whiskey Heritage Center. The girls opted to go shopping instead. The tour included several videos, a hologram, a ride, and sampling some of the world-renowned Scotch Whiskey. Unfortunately, we were allowed only one sample each. It was like a Disney World with booze.
Friday night, we opted to nurture our soft, delicate, romantic sides in honor of Saint Valentine. We dined at Deacon Brodie’s Tavern. The legend of Deacon Brodie goes a little something like this. By day, he was a respect member of the Town Council, but by night, he was a gambler and a thief. Eventually he was caught and executed. But where the story gets truly interesting, the gallows from which he was hanged were the very ones he had recently designed and declared to be “the most efficient of its kind in existence.” Brodie’s story later inspired Robert Lewis Stevenson’s novel, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
Upon re-evaluation, I think we mistakenly celebrated Halloween instead of Valentine’s Day because after the tavern, we participated in the Edinburgh Ghost Tour. The guide led us around the city, telling stories of death and carnage. The tour finished in the infamous South Bridge vaults. On either side of the bridge, the city built tenements for the poor, and underneath the bridge, they constructed what amounted to concrete cells. This is where the absolute poorest of the city lived. It was infested with disease and death. Several major fires killed scores of people. It is rumored to be the most haunted site in Edinburgh, a city notorious for all sorts of paranormal activity. None of us experienced any spiritual phenomena, but the guide did warn of “attachment” where a ghost clings onto someone after they leave and brings them bouts of horrible luck. So if my life starts falling apart, I may need to stop into the local Catholic Church for an exorcism. Maybe, I’ll wait until I go to Rome and visit the Vatican and get it done by the professionals.
Saturday, we met up with two more girls from the program, extending our posse to six. Dave and I started the morning with a traditional Scottish breakfast. Those Scottish know how to eat. It was hearty. The girls estimated that I ate at least half an adult pig.
Later, we toured historic Edinburgh Castle. All these castles are beginning to look the same. They are losing their flare. I want to hear valiant stories of great battles and knights and archers and dragons and violence and, if possible, sex, but the guide neglected to include any mythology and lore in the tours. He only told historically sound accounts that quite frankly were boring. So what Mary Queen of Scots gave birth to James VI in this room? I absorbed all the Scottish history I needed from watching Braveheart.
Everybody's got to make a buck
That night, we went to a pub called the Blind Poet. Dave and I decided to make it Scotch Whiskey Night 2003 because as the saying goes, “When in Rome…” As usual, we drank to excess. The girls had to drag Dave home. I decided to stay after they left. Luckily, I navigated my way through the tough streets of Edinburgh back to the hostel. I slept quite soundly that night but awoke with a throbbing head. However, I regret nothing.
Dave bought a set of junior playable bagpipes. He plans to intensely practice several hours a day while I am away at my internship. He predicts he will have them mastered them in about five weeks time. As of yet, he can only manage a pathetic squeak that sounds more like a seal’s lustful moans of passion than it does music.
I must say the highlight of Edinburgh was the drunken Irish people. No, that was not a mistake. The Irish were everywhere. They crowded the pubs so full we were forced to eat at an Italian restaurant for Saturday dinner. They sang their drunken melodies on the streets at 5:00 pm. The entire city was a wave of green. The Irish were in town for the Six Nation’s Cup rugby match of Scotland vs. Ireland. The fans were unlike anything I have ever seen. They put American football fans to shame. Thank God, Ireland won because had the results been different, Edinburgh may have burned to the ground Sunday night.
