Tour Guide Scamp: Day 2

I’m pretty sure the parents are ready to drop kick me to the moon. Today’s tour had them walking up 45 steps of death to visit the castle. I felt really guilty when my mom had to pull out her inhaler….tour guide fail. As much as I hated the steps, seeing the crown jewels and being able to see the entire city was worth it. We spent a good part of the day at the castle going in and out of all of the war museums, looking through the chapel, and watching musket demonstrations. The weather was perfect. I saw the sun today, and I only got cold once (and that is saying a lot for here). Even though I might have finished my time here without visiting the castle, my parents both enjoyed it and that is really all that matters.

After we had seen everything that could be seen at the castle, I took them down the Royal Mile. This is the street for tourists. There are fun shops and restaurants mixed in with some beautiful churches and government buildings. We stopped in one of my favorite little Italian places (I know, I’m in Scotland, why am I eating Italian? Trust me, my parents have already made fun of me) and had the best piece of lemon cheesecake with a lemon glaze of all time (ok, not all time, but I hate cheesecake, so this was amazing). I walked them further down the mile and to the School of Education so my dad could see where I went to class.  We wandered on to Old College because it is a beautiful building and really sells you on the school.

We spent the early afternoon having a drink at the hotel bar. Luckily my parents are the type that can sit and have a drink and people watch without being too fussed about it. We were able to chat and catch up on all the gossip that I have been missing out on at home, and then we talked a little about David and the flaming pile of shit that was. I cried. In a bar. In front of my parents, but while my mom was in the bathroom my dad did his best to tell me that no one is perfect and that even though I know I wasn’t an angel, I did nothing to deserve what I got. Having not really raised girls he is not used to dealing with things like this, but he told to just keep on trucking with my recovery process and that eventually I would come out of this on the other side. While it is what everyone has been saying to me for months, it was still nice to hear it from someone who usually stays out of all the girl drama that goes on in our house.

We finished out the day at an Irish pub near the hotel. I got to enjoy real food, and we even got to watch a little football (and of course, I mean soccer.). We looked at all the funny pictures we took all day of the rubber pirate chicken and his adventure in Edinburgh and then I strolled home. Of course my mother worries about me walking home in the dark, but alas, I have made it safely.

The Irish pub was the same one I sat in a little over a year ago after a long day of campus and city tours and decided that I was going to move here. I took a picture that night, and had my mom take one tonight. I think it pretty much sums up the journey so far.


This was last March.


This was two hours ago.

Tomorrow is a ferry ride in the harbor and a tour of the shopping district….which means a lot more walking. Sorry mom.


  1. Michelle Davis · April 8, 2013

    The day was amazing. But why are you spelling in…inn….? Is that Scottish? Every day has been fun. I am glad you enjoy just sitting and chatting.

    • erranteditor · April 8, 2013

      I only saw it once…..and it was just me and my typing abilities….I’m way better suited to be a stripper at this point.

  2. Marla · April 9, 2013

    I am so enjoying this and all the pictures, your mom and Rick will certainly be in great shape after all that walking….Keep on trucking guys !!!!!!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s