Why Arthur's seat is NOT American

This morning I lost my hostelmates. One left for a flat in Edinburgh, the other headed back to France. Which, of course, meant naked hostel room morning dance (film at 11). I'm getting in the habit of waking around 8:30 but not actually leaving til 11 or later.

Morning breakfast consisted of a forgettable omelette  at Garfunkel's. I had some hope for the place as it might have something to do with the singer. I got seated at a small table in the bottom floor of the mostly empty restaurant. When I asked if I could get a slightly bigger seat since I had my laptop, he explained that there was a lunch rush so he couldn't. Which never appeared. Also their router connection to the be screwed so I couldn't get online. Meh. Only place I haven't tipped in the UK so far.

I decided to tackle Arthur's seat today. It an hour trek up a set of steep inclines and stairs to get to the top of a hill surrounding the city. It was, to put it mildly, a windy and arduous hour long trek one way. But the payoff was well worth it.

As to it being a seat, it was more along the lines of a bunch of sharp granite bumps. If it were in America - there would be an elevator to the top, the seat would be a Lazy Boy recliner, and there would be a McDonald's next to it. Ah the joys of capitalism.

The walk back went by an amazing graveyard behind a retired veteran's housing area. They even had one of the old turrets holding an art exhibit for the Edinburgh Art Festival. It was a series of of punch cards used far before computers. They used them to store patterns on looms to make tapestries. The punch cards stitched together told the story of two orphan girls that worked making tapestries. It was pretty neat.

Afterwards I headed off up the street but did make one stop into a traditional tea house. Oh my god, it was heavenly. The tea was a fresh herbal mixture they made themselves and it was served with a scone, fresh preserves, and a butter cream whipped so fluffy that I was surprised it didn't float away on its own.

After I left, a slight drizzle started and I was shocked at how many people were using umbrellas. I think the Portland in me was showing. I was walking down the street in just a T-shirt and jeans while mobs of people walked by in full rain gear ducking under any covering they could find. About halfway up the Royal Mile, I hopped in for a pint of cider to dry off a tad - then continued on my way.

Though one other thing happened of quite stunning happenstance. I stopped into an alcove (the name them as closes) to put my camera away. It looked interesting, so I popped on down Dunbar's Close to find a secret garden hidden in the alleyway. at times like this, I wish I had been in a relationship as this would have been a perfect place to steal a modest (or immodest) kiss or two.


Plan for tonight, read a bit in the room - then pop on down to Grassmarket (which is a trek down a long flight of steps to a pub lined street below). Cheers mate!