And thus, I fell in love with and felt at home in the "Athens of the North." The friendly warmth and thoughtful courtesy of the Scottish people paired with the city's incredible historic charm and vibrant greenery may also have had something to do with it.
Having dinner plans at the Vintage with Stephanie didn't hurt either. Nor did Lorelei and I's twilight adventures with the British Army. To recreate such a positively unforgettable experience, I'd additionally recommend: strolling down the Water of Leith Walkway, shelling out for Edinburgh Castle, saving pounds at the National Gallery, enjoying Princes Street Gardens, having casual afternoon tea, visiting Her Majesty's local residence, dining at Khushi's, and winding down with Brass Monkey brews. Slàinte!
Now for the context to this Scottish getaway: I'd just moved out of my Parisian flat. My parents were gone and my birthday had been celebrated. I'd been crying pretty consistently for about a week--mostly through goodbyes. Thankfully, a month or so prior, I'd decided to soften the bidding-Paris-adieu blow with a trip to a city I'd been wanting to go to for roughly two years. And so I left two big suitcases at Charles de Gaulle airport to fly to Edinburgh for "the jolliest last European hurrah (in the UK (pour l'instant))" with my dear friend Lorelei. Upon our return, I had roughly four hours afterwards to then switch terminals, check in, and board my flight to les États-Unis. Never a dull moment, eh? It's no wonder I've already tired of the present-day quiet and calm wait for Los Angeles! Speaking of, by the way, mi abuelo is already planning his visit. He told me so last night. 'Twas a happy, happy Father's Day.
