Edinburgh, a city like no other

Eighteenth-century poet Allan Ramsay looks over the crowds on Princes Street, with Edinburgh Castle as his back, as he has since 1865. He must marvel at the changes this city has seen. We certainly do, and it has only been 31 years since our last visit – just yesterday, in the scheme of Edinburgh’s history.

They like men of words here, philosophers, philanthropists, soldiers, inventors and statesmen. Sir Walter Scott’s stunning memorial is considered to be the largest to a writer anywhere in the world, as it should be. Would love to see one for J.K. Rowling soon…

The native stone is grey and dark, and it can be quite gloomy in the rain that is so frequent here. But we have arrived at the terminus of our long journey to find that Edinburgh’s Saturday crowds are out shopping and consuming just as their cousins around the world do on a pleasant weekend. There is money and music and energy here, and even a few faint strains of the bagpipes, along with tartans everywhere.

It’s a glorious city, and we are happy to have four full days left to get reacquainted.

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