Taking the High Road

I leave a lot of places wanting to go back, but Scotland is the first I've felt I desperately need to return to. I'm so excited to head back and take a trip up through the Highlands, as I ended up not getting far out of Edinburgh. For good reason, of course, but there is much there to see, and I can't wait to see it.

I stayed with a couple of Brazilians, fantastic people. So fantastic, in fact, that I decided to stay with them in Edinburgh the last night instead of journeying on to Glasgow, though my plane left from there on Tuesday.

I arrived on Friday afternoon -- an hour late. Thanks a lot, EasyJet. Leo was there, though....had been waiting that whole hour, so I felt pretty bad, but he was in good spirits. He dropped me off at his house and went to work. I went back out on the town and ended up at a performance of Merchant of Venice that evening.

On Saturday Leo went with me up to the Artist's Sit, which is a hill providing the best view of any place I've ever been, and around town.





Lots and lots of walking. I'm estimating 8-10 miles. No joke.







Jony, his roommate, joined us later. We went to a bar around midnight and met another friend of theirs.



Sunday I was on my own, first to a comedy club for an afternoon of improv (it was okay) and then to the National Portrait Gallery, also okay. I had every intention of leaving on Monday morning to go Glasgow, but these people were too much fun. I had no plans to stay anywhere in Glasgow, and no real urge to see anything it had to offer. I was intending to journey out to Loch Lomond, but Jony suggested renting a car and taking a drive, so we planned on that.

Of course, the driver needs both a license and a credit card in his own name, and I was the only one among us with that particular combination. However, I was not about to attempt driving on the left side of the road. So, bust. I was really disappointed, thinking I should have gone on to Glasgow after all, as from there I would have simply taken a train to Loch Lomond.

We went back to the house. It was late morning by this time, and I was trying to determine the best way to get to Loch Lomond, thinking of maybe getting a hostel in Glasgow on Monday night after all, when Jony suggested St. Andrews. So, we took a 2.5-hour bus ride to St. Andrews. A charming little town. The cathedral is fascinating, the coastline beautiful. Worthwhile.









There was a party that night, a bunch of the Brazilians getting together, which I was very excited to go to. However, upon returning from St. Andrews, my evening looked something like this:

7:00 -- throwing up in bus station bathroom
7:56 -- throwing up in Leith Walk garbage bin
8:15 -- throwing up at home

I planted myself on the couch and didn't move until 7:30 the next morning. I still have no idea what caused that. I never felt sick to my stomach at any point. It was just suddenly, wow, I'm going to throw up, and I did. And then I felt fine, until I wanted to throw up again, and I did. Very strange. By morning I was totally fine. And terribly disappointed. Jony wasn't home. It must have been a fun one.

Tuesday was traveling, traveling. I took a bus to Glasgow (one hour) and a bus to the airport (another hour). My plane left at 4:30, I was home by 6:30, but then I had to wait for a train and worse, for a bus. I didn't actually get back to the house till after 10:00 pm -- totally missing Ed's birthday. The boys chastised me for that this morning.

Scotland. Lovely. Itching to get back and take a drive through the Highlands. Who's with me?