Leaving cities: Edinburgh

 

This morning we woke to a grey, very Scottish, day. Rain dribbling on us from the low lying clouds. We packed the last of our bags for a long weekend in the Highlands. The weather did what it does but we didn’t even comment on it. My girlfriend and I got up early to ride the bus into town. We got to the bus stop near our flat in portobello. The 45 Lothian pulled up on time and just as it did we heard someone scream out of their car window at another vehicle “WATCH WHAT YOURE DOING YOU F…..” – timed perfectly to be censored by the mass of the bus we were boarding.

How Scottish, pure rage at 7:30 in the morning. Before a coffee I can barely muster the urge to speak, let alone yell. We trundled along on the bumpy road to town. Feeling good about the trip ahead, we are finally going to the Isle of Skye! As the bus approached the Leith roundabout I noticed another stereotypically Scottish attraction – a passed out drunk man sitting on the floor of a bus stop. He was on the floor but leaning against the seat. It was as if he almost sat down, misjudged the seat edge and then went to sleep feeling like it was close enough.

The city is grey and busy this time of the morning, we are getting closer to winter now. My grandparents left all of this 20 years ago to a small village near Newtonmore. They’ve been back once I think, they dread the idea of it. Now we are hiring a car to drive to the same place they escaped to. The Highlands.

I guess we are escaping too.