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| Lingfield Station |
Before writing about what I found north of England in Scotland, I figured I would include this picture from Lingfield Station looking north. I was surprised because it reminded me of shots I had seen from "Thomas the Tank Engine". It's strange how being introduced to an imitation first will affect your perception of reality when you eventually experience the original. Almost like eating a green apple and thinking, "This tastes like a green apple flavored Jolly Rancher". This could lead to discussions regarding things that are imitation verses things that are bonafide, but I will leave it at– "Look at this beautiful, though somewhat familiar looking, picture."
I happened to take the train from London to Edinburgh (pronounced by the locals like– Edin•buro/Edin•bura). Traveling out of London on around the time of the Easter Weekend was not an original idea, many others were heading home for time with family. I only wish I had thought to reserve a seat, because every seat was filled up until we reached York. Standing on a train for a little over an hour was tiring, but because of it I met Brian and his wife (both very nice Kiwis… Is there any other type?). We talked about a number of things on the train between London and York, one of which was his job as a medic and trainer. During our conversation he divulged his recipe for fake vomit, which he's used with those whom he's trained. We ended up getting seats by a couple from Scotland who were kind enough to give us some suggestions regarding places to travel while in their neck of the woods. When an announcement was made over the intercom and we had a difficult time understanding what was said the Scotsman laughed and told us we might have a difficult time understanding people in Scotland if we couldn't understand that.
Shortly after parting ways with these short term friends on the train I found myself walking down Princess Road. There is a park/garden on the south side of this road, while the other side is lined with shops. After about 1/4 mile on this road I could see Edinburgh Castle on the other side of the park.
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| East of the Castle |
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| Northwest Side of Edingurgh |
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| The North Side of Edinburgh |
Something cool I learned while visiting the castle was that in a successful attempt to retake the castle from the English, Scotsmen actually scaled the northern cliff face at night. It's a sixty to one hundred foot cliff to climb, the rock was likely wet with some sort of rain fall, it was night, and they had to have weapons or armor of some sort while climbing. Wild. The north side of the castle seems to be the most approachable when comparing it with the west and south sides of the castle, though (for those who might, for some strange reason, want to know).
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| The West Side |
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| East Entrance |
Looking from the entrance of Edinburgh Castle across the city, you can make out Arthur's Seat. The castle and Arthur's Seat are (on) two of the hills in the area. I've got the pictures to give you an idea of how far apart they are.
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| Arthur's Seat |
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| Edinburgh |
The city itself was fun to see. The people there were friendlier than… Well, we'll just leave it at, they were friendly and willing to talk to people that were obviously not from around the country. Something I was disappointed to find was that a number of the shops along the Royal Mile that were run by people from other parts of Europe. Yes they were kind, but I was hoping to hear more Scottish accents. I guess that shows how many of the locals really care to remain in a tourist hosting occupation. I did happen to overhear a mother talking to her little boy as they walked past me. She asked him– "Did ya zep yer pocket with yer phone in it?" I know it doesn't do the accent any real justice, but I wanted to do some 'phonetic' writing while I was there.
The shop that seemed to have the most locals was the shop nearest the castle on the north side of the street. It sold everything from Tartans, to trinkets, to actual weapons. A sign on the wall near the different swords and maces read, "If you bleed on it, you buy it". Apparently tourists treat things that really are weapons like toys. They even had an employee stationed in front of the display to ensure people wouldn't do anything dumb, like impale their hand with one of the hammers. In the basement there was a small museum of sorts describing how the wool is made into tartans. They also had tartans for a number of different clans which they were willing to sell by the yard (or by the meter). For a price I could have dressed up in traditional clothing and had my picture taken, but that's no fun by yourself.
