Edinburgh: Yes, Here's A Spot

Yesterday, Sarah and I took our trip to Edinburgh to see Macbeth at the Royal Lyceum Theatre.  Funnery alumnae will be happy to know that I remembered almost the entire play from my days at Shakespeare camp.  The theatre was gorgeous, with ornate red and gold detailing on all the walls, plush seats, and a brilliant chandelier hanging from the ceiling.  Somehow, Sarah and I scored seats in one of the boxes on the balcony.  I only wish I had a monocle to fit the part.

We also paid a visit to Armstrongs, a well known vintage shop that seemed to mostly have costumey-type things, perhaps because of the time of year.  Sarah put on a black wig there and, while I was distractedly looking at some scarves, came up to me and pretended that she was a costumer, hastily trying to push her way past me.  I didn't notice it was her until I realized that she kept moving in my direction every time I tried to get out of her way, saying "Excuse me, excuse me, you're in my way."

We were going to eat at The Elephant Room, where J.K. Rowling in her starving artist days wrote Harry Potter, but instead opted for a horrible "American" diner that only served about 4 dishes, all of which had ham and/or mayonnaise in them.  Imagine my surprise when I ordered a chicken caesar salad and instead received a mayonnaise and ham salad with iceberg lettuce.  Guhhh.  Luckily, Sarah was kind enough to let me mooch off of her fish and chips.

Dinner was decidedly more successful.  We went to an Italian restaurant with plenty of ambiance, as well as one of the most delicious pizzas I've ever had.  The killer gelato sealed the deal.

In general, I was more impressed with Edinburgh on my first visit than I was with Glasgow.  Edinburgh seems like a more amplified version of where I am now: taller, older buildings, more cobblestone streets and generally more neighborhoods that seem frozen in time.  Even though it was horribly rainy, windy, and cold, I was completely charmed.

But now I'm back in the West End of Glasgow, back to the surly men in newspaper boy hats arguing outside of pubs, back to the smell of yeast in the streets, back to a dialect that I can barely understand.  I can't believe it has been a month since I arrived here.  I don't think I've gone through any sort of transformation, per se, although maybe I'm a little wiser as is anyone who moves to a new place, and perhaps a little better at mastering the whole traveling thing.  In a way, I feel like I can do anything here.  For instance, I found out about the Lyceum Theatre about a month ago, bought tickets to Macbeth, organized my trip to Edinburgh, and there I was yesterday, mouth agape at the choice seat I was in, enjoying one of my favorite Shakespeare plays.  Next stop is London later this month, and I hope I have just as much luck.

The past couple of weeks have been sort of difficult for me: my dog died about two weeks ago, which was pretty rough, and I've been paining for family dinners and the flat plains of Wisconsin, but taking that trip to Edinburgh was probably the best thing I could have done for myself.  On my bus ride home yesterday evening, I thought about how silly it was to long for Beloit, a place that I would inevitably return to and probably tire of in about a month (trust me, the novelty of "flat plains" doesn't last very long), whereas now I'm in a place where my return within the next few years is uncertain at best.  I have to absorb all the sights there are to see before I find myself flying home in December with nothing but a heart full of regrets.  That's not to say I have to get out all the time.  In fact, I hope I am able to balance my travels in Europe with the simple pleasures in Scotland: people-watching in the underground, cooking spinach in my dingy kitchen, and listening to Chet Baker with a cup of coffee in hand, enjoying the view from the tippy top of my apartment.

I hope everything is going well for everyone back home.  Love you all!

Caitlin