A cold rain began to beat against the train's cab window as I headed north to Edinburgh. I was really tired of the United Kingdom’s perpetual rain and cold. Upon entering the city beside the dominating Castle Hill the sun finally broke through. I was immediately impressed by how nature softens the impact of the city. In its center there is a park of immense proportions upon which golfers of all ages play. On the other hand, I was not impressed by the diesel smoke, dirty statues and buildings.
The first priority of any backpacker is to find a place to stay so he or she has a base for exploring. It was easy because the Edinburgh YMCA was close at 14 South St. and Andrew St. As I walked out of the train station past the Sir Walter Scott memorial, a shot rang out from cannon on Castle Hill, apparently to mark the time. On the way to the YMCA I ran into some Hare Krishnas popular at the time. They were jumping around, chanting, dancing, and beating on their tambourines like a bunch of wild men. Nevertheless, the YMCA had food and hot water. It’s the little things in life that mean the most. It was also safer than the youth hostels in London. Maybe it’s because the Scots are different. Of all my travels in Europe, they were the kindest. I never saw drugs in Scotland.
When I toured Edinburgh’s shops I was impressed at the quality of Scottish goods especially their wool blankets. What they lack in resources, they make up for in quality. I then joined the tourists and went up to Castle Hill and saw the Royal Scottish Museum, the Museum of Childhood, the dog cemetery of mascots, and Queen Mary’s bedroom. Do not jump out of that window! At the Church of Scotland there were motions upon motions, hot air, and the stamping of feet. It reminded me of the U.S. Congress.
With the touristy stuff out of the way, I called it a day and went back to the YMCA where I met a 19 year old tough who told me things at his home were bad - enough for him to run away. For some reason he brandished a large knife which a surprising number of backpackers carry and invited me to go pub crawling with him. I’m glad I was brave enough to decline because he came back later in the afternoon bloodied and black eyed. He said he had fallen down a hill. Apparently his trouble was not limited to his immediate family. Common sense and instincts are a backpacker’s best friends.
