Saturday morning I woke up suddenly at 8, and suddenly decided I wanted to go to Edinburgh. So I did some quick laps around wikipedia to see what was notable and what was free, charged my camera, and I was off. From the bus depot I made it to Leuchars, the nearby train station that's as close as Scotland comes to the Old West. I'm not making this up. There are fields of wheat, and the wind
whistles through them, ya'll. It's like a weird cross between Oklahoma! and Deliverance. Plenty of other students leaving for break were on the platform, though, so it was cool. I got the 11:30 train to Edinburgh, and I was in the city an hour later. So...that happened.
Let me say that ScotsRail is lovely. There was cheerful purple carpet and space in the cabin and a snack trolley, without any chocolate frogs but still. The trains in Britain happily lack that washed-out 70s vibe and tinge of despair that you get from using American public transport. Getting off the train, I was taken aback by the sheer volume of people rushing off the platform.
This was a city, and St. Andrews is a town. Waverly station looks sort of like Grand Central's red-headed step-cousin. Well, really, it's probably more closely related architecturally to Ellis Island. Lots of rusting iron beams, rivets, Beaux Arts columns and cartouches. But everything was clearly marked, and I found my way out onto Market Street. I was again hit by waves of people, and the sound of a bagpiper playing for tourists.
Edinburgh is really nice. New York is the only thing I can compare it to in my mind, because I don't really remember San Fransisco and Houston is too sprawling to impose any real sense of grandeur or immensity. And they're both too young, come to that. Whenever the Scots want to tease me, they ask how I like taking in classes in buildings that are older than my country. I like it very much, in point of fact. Edinburgh isn't New York, but it is a metropolis, and it was exciting to be in a proper crowd, listening to the aforesaid bagpipes. I got a little lost looking for the castle, ended up on Princess street, and saw an arrow advertising the Walter Scot Memorial; so I decided to head that way and I could figure out how to get to the castle later. The huge crowds and lines of tour buses suggested I wasn't anyplace sketchy.
I paid three quid to tramp the 287 steps up the medieval-style spiral staircase, very narrow with no rails or landings, get my bearings and figure out what direction the castle was in. It was crazy windy, but very beautiful, and I really was able to get a lay of the city. There's a central atrium type thing with beautiful stained glass and facts about Walter Scot inside where I could get out of the wind. I got a little distracted on account of a bunch of little blond American girls in North Face jackets screaming up and down the stairwell. One of them shouted, "Think of it as a bounding experience!" which made me burst out laughing and I almost dropped my camera. I tried getting a shot of the monument itself, it's a very pointy and gothic and looks like it was carved from charcoal, but a tree got in the way.
From the Monument I was able to head up a street called The Mound, with good reason because it involves walking up a hill. From there I turned onto the Royal Mile, the most touristy street I've been on maybe ever - it was sort of like the French Quarter, actually. I saw an Invisible Man and two Bravehearts, there was a whiskey tour, a house of mirrors, an armory (?!) and so many, many shops selling Scotish flags, rugby balls, and kilt boxers. The majority of the tourists along the drag seemed to be French, although I heard some German and there were a few, mostly old, Japanese couples. And at the end of the Mile was the castle itself.
This? This is the Castle.
Saturday morning I woke up suddenly at 8, and suddenly decided I wanted to go to Edinburgh. So I did some quick laps around wikipedia to see what was notable and what was free, charged my camera, and I was off. From the bus depot I made it to Leuchars, the nearby train station that's as close as Scotland comes to the Old West. I'm not making this up. There are fields of wheat, and the wind whistles through them, ya'll. It's like a weird cross between Oklahoma! and Deliverance. Plenty of other students leaving for break were on the platform, though, so it was cool. I got the 11:30 train to Edinburgh, and I was in the city an hour later. So...that happened. 
Let me say that ScotsRail is lovely. There was cheerful purple carpet and space in the cabin and a snack trolley, without any chocolate frogs but still. The trains in Britain happily lack that washed-out 70s vibe and tinge of despair that you get from using American public transport. Getting off the train, I was taken aback by the sheer volume of people rushing off the platform. This was a city, and St. Andrews is a town. Waverly station looks sort of like Grand Central's red-headed step-cousin. Well, really, it's probably more closely related architecturally to Ellis Island. Lots of rusting iron beams, rivets, Beaux Arts columns and cartouches. But everything was clearly marked, and I found my way out onto Market Street. I was again hit by waves of people, and the sound of a bagpiper playing for tourists.
Edinburgh is really nice. New York is the only thing I can compare it to in my mind, because I don't really remember San Fransisco and Houston is too sprawling to impose any real sense of grandeur or immensity. And they're both too young, come to that. Whenever the Scots want to tease me, they ask how I like taking in classes in buildings that are older than my country. I like it very much, in point of fact. Edinburgh isn't New York, but it is a metropolis, and it was exciting to be in a proper crowd, listening to the aforesaid bagpipes. I got a little lost looking for the castle, ended up on Princess street, and saw an arrow advertising the Walter Scot Memorial; so I decided to head that way and I could figure out how to get to the castle later. The huge crowds and lines of tour buses suggested I wasn't anyplace sketchy. 
I paid three quid to tramp the 287 steps up the medieval-style spiral staircase, very narrow with no rails or landings, get my bearings and figure out what direction the castle was in. It was crazy windy, but very beautiful, and I really was able to get a lay of the city. There's a central atrium type thing with beautiful stained glass and facts about Walter Scot inside where I could get out of the wind. I got a little distracted on account of a bunch of little blond American girls in North Face jackets screaming up and down the stairwell. One of them shouted, "Think of it as a bounding experience!" which made me burst out laughing and I almost dropped my camera. I tried getting a shot of the monument itself, it's a very pointy and gothic and looks like it was carved from charcoal, but a tree got in the way. 
From the Monument I was able to head up a street called The Mound, with good reason because it involves walking up a hill. From there I turned onto the Royal Mile, the most touristy street I've been on maybe ever - it was sort of like the French Quarter, actually. I saw an Invisible Man and two Bravehearts, there was a whiskey tour, a house of mirrors, an armory (?!) and so many, many shops selling Scotish flags, rugby balls, and kilt boxers. The majority of the tourists along the drag seemed to be French, although I heard some German and there were a few, mostly old, Japanese couples. And at the end of the Mile was the castle itself. 
This? This is the Castle.
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