“Auld Reikie, wale o' ilka Town
That Scotland kens beneath the Moon;
Where couthy Chiels at E'ening meet
Their bizzing Craigs and Mous to weet;
And blythly gar auld Care gae bye
Wi' blinkit and wi' bleering Eye:”
- R. Fergusson
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Our week long stay in Scotland took place about three years ago, a lifetime ago, it seems. I still remember the short train ride into Auld Reekie (Edinburgh) from the airport and meeting Kingsley, our friend’s relative, for the first time. Our days in the city were blurred together with the tastes of stews, soups, beer, and always a daily meal of fish and chips. We toured narrow, close-quartered streets among the crowds of tartan and flannel, not caring if we were lost or not. We walked through the creeks and cottages of Deanhaugh Path, hiked the mythic and windy trek to Arthur’s Seat, toured the haunts of J.K. Rowling, and attended afternoon tea at the castle with trays of tiny cakes and tea sandwiches. The dark stone, the gritty corridors, the deep green moss, the history…everything held my gaze.
I wrote down random scribbles of what I wanted to keep with me that week: Kingsley’s flat with his English sitting room and clinking radiators and small warm kitchen, the icy cold wind that stung our faces high atop of Holyrood Park, hearing the words “rubbish” for trash and “jumper” for sweater, and listening to the strong sound of bagpipes on street corners. I’ll always remember the local pub that Kingsley took us to, pointing out a regular who always sat at the bar with a book. I’ll forever know that long, long walk to the seaside docks, where we got lost in a mall, stumbled into the best dive bar, and shivered as we watched the sun sink below the waves. The rest is lost in thought or tucked away in the sands of memory, my time in Edinburgh treasured.
