Solo in Scotland

It’s Monday afternoon and I am on a train bound for London. My solo-weekend in Scotland didn’t go exactly as planned, but it was wonderful nonetheless. Let’s start at the beginning…

Something you should know about the UK in wintertime: it gets dark early. We’re talking between three and four in the afternoon and the sun is not setting, it has already bid this side of world farewell for the night. I got into Edinburgh just after two, but by the time I made it to my hotel and back out again in search of lunch it was already after three and getting dark. I left my map in my room and stubbornly refused to believe that I would be unable to find my way around the city without it. Two sets of directions and an hour and a half later and I managed to arrive back at my hotel. I had found lunch despite the fact that many places close down between lunchtime (1 or 2) and dinnertime (6 or 7). I had gotten close to tears several times, frustrated with myself that I didn’t plan my trip better (or at all).

My friend Will was in Edinburgh for the night with his friend Paula, and after an acceptable spell of self-pity I ventured out again to join them for a ghost tour of the city (I remembered my map this time). I found them without trouble, luckily. Granted I met them on the Royal Mile, one of Edinburgh’s biggest attractions; it would have been particularly shameful if I had gotten lost attempting to find it. The tour was entertaining and informative, though not particularly scary or creepy (a fact I was more than fine with, seeing as I am a huge chicken). I’ll spare you the details of the rest of the night, but let’s leave it at this: we hit up two different pubs and the mulled mead stall at the Christmas Fair.

After a day/night spent mostly outside in the wind and occasional rain, it’s really no surprise that I woke up the next morning with my throat feeling like it had been scrubbed with sandpaper. By the time I got ready I knew it was a full-blown cold, and I would have to save some of my grander plans for a different visit. I gathered my strength, however, and went to explore the city by day, bundled up with camera in tow. I quickly grew frustrated again with my lack of planning. Don’t get me wrong; I think spontaneity is an integral part of travel. Planning every minute of every day of your trip is the one sure-fire way to ensure you won’t truly experience the place you’re visiting. But I don’t mind general outlines, a list of things to see and do (and knowledge of how to get to them), as well as a few places to eat or grab coffee.

Just as I was berating myself for choosing the first time I travelled alone to also be the first time I decided to not research the place I was visiting, I passed by the tourist information center. Now, I usually avoid any place with the word ‘tourist’ in its name, but I was desperate. It turned out to be the best decision I made whilst in Edinburgh, because I found a fantastic little book called “The Locals’ Guide To Edinburgh”. It followed through on the promise implied in its name, as every place I went to at its recommendation was free of the drippings of corporate monotony and touristy gimmicks. My only regret was that I hadn’t found the guide before I arrived in Edinburgh, because there were so many wonderful things it recommended that I no longer had the time to do.

I picked the café Patisserie Florentin out of the ranks of recommended places for coffee and a bite to eat. It was further north than I’d yet been, so the walk allowed me to see a new part of the city. I adored the walk as well as the small, bright-yellow café it led me to. Patisserie Florentin is shamelessly French in a Scottish city, and while their coffee wasn’t the best, the food was exactly what I needed. Delicious pasta in a tomato-based sauce with a bit of a kick, melt-in-your-mouth garlic bread, and a small salad with only the good stuff and a light dressing were all perfectly portioned and lovingly prepared. My soul was revived and I spent the meal lavishing attention on my wonderful travel companion that had led me there (that would be the guidebook, not some ruggedly handsome Scotsman I met along the way. Wish I could tell you differently, though).

Afterwards I decided I should go find some medicine for my cold and spend some time hanging out with the radiator in my hotel room. On the way, though, I passed by an adorable teashop with a chalkboard sign out front that read “Christmas Chai Latte”. Like I was gonna pass that up. This is what I mean by spontaneity folks, letting your heart (or your addiction to all things Christmas related) guide you to the hidden treasures of a city. This was the second best decision I made whilst in Edinburgh. I’ll tell you more about the shop a little later (hint: I went back) but let me tell you, that Christmas Chai Latte was one of the best dang things I’ve ever had. I wished, and still do, that the shop, Eteaket, had a branch in London, because that drink assuaged my longing for Starbucks’ pumpkin spice latte like no other drink has been able to.

A little later, back in my hotel room, I curled up with my freshly brewed magic feel-better potion (a.k.a. cold medicine they make you think will taste something like lemon tea, but is actually like drinking liquid menthol) and a trashy romance novel I’d borrowed off one of my hotel’s communal bookshelves. The Jasmine Veil is quite possibly the most laughably bad and blatantly risqué book I’ve ever read, which meant is was perfect for a weekend alone while feeling sick. Seriously, all you women out there, this is one of my favorite ways to chill out while alone. Curl up by the fire with the trashiest romance you can find, drink a hot drink, and laugh. That night I ate dinner at another restaurant from the guidebook called ‘Bar Roma’. They deserve a paragraph of their own…

I chose Bar Roma because the guidebook said they had over 30 different pasta dishes, all of them delicious, and because it was close by. I walked into a restaurant so Italian I almost laughed. The waiters walked around with the tops of their shirts unbuttoned, thick gold chains around their necks shining, and talked with their hands like their lives depended on it. Frescos of Italy were painted on the wall and a synthetic tree sprouted from the middle of one section of the dining room. I’m not kidding. At the same time, I knew I’d found good food. My pasta was delicious, as was the garlic bread my waiter insisted I have (you know you’re in a real Italian restaurant when the waiters do all they can to stuff you with as much food as possible. It isn’t because they want you to spend more money, although that’s a plus, but because they want you to be full of wonderful food). The cheesecake that followed was good as well, though the coffee was not. The staff was friendly and affectionate to the blonde girl from the States eating by herself, a fact I was most appreciative of.

This morning I woke up early in spite of all my body’s objections and packed to leave. I went back to Eteaket to try their food and coffee, and grab a few other things. Allow me to paint you a picture of this place: their turquoise and fuchsia color scheme was bold and funky, but was offset by the delicate patterns of the wallpaper and vintage chinaware. Their specialty is obviously tea, and the two page menu devoted exclusively to their different varieties affirms it. My granola, fruit and yogurt tasted fresh and had a flair of presentation. And here’s the kicker: my coffee was actually quite good. It was smooth without being too creamy, and though the espresso shone through well there was no lingering aftertaste. It wasn’t the most extraordinary cappuccino I’ve had, but it was good.

Having been well fed I grabbed some of their chai tea (it smelled so good) and another coffee mug (don’t judge me). I grabbed my luggage from my hotel, caught a taxi to the train station, and am now rushing past the beautiful Scottish countryside. My cold is still mercilessly present, but at least I’m going ‘home’ where I can lie in bed without feeling guilty that I’m missing out on something. I’ll be going back to Scotland one day, and Edinburgh too. There’s something about it that captured my heart. It wasn’t immediate (see above) but more of a ‘Pride and Prejudice’ kind of thing; I didn’t realize how I felt until I was already knee-deep in it. But fall in love I did with a country that has its feet firmly planted in the present while at the same time refusing to let go of its rich past. You feel the pride and love that so famously infuse the country and its countrymen, even as you walk down a street crowded with tourists. There’s a ruggedness that even an abundance of Starbucks and kitschy souvenir shops can’t dispel.

Farewell, Scotland…I’ll see you again.