Day Nine of Twenty.
Nothing beats waking up refreshed as a newborn and being greeted by sunshine. Especially in a new country. Edinburgh! After breaking the window shade and wrestling with the toilet, we were ready to get out and see this town.
Ruby needed to go to the Bank of Scotland, where they were holding her 200 pounds hostage. We took the scenic route, down the Royal Mile and through the University of Edinburgh, stopping at Favorit for breakfast/lunch. An egg and “bacon” roll hit the spot.
The day was gorgeous. So why was I in jeans?!? As we wandered towards Toll Cross, we discovered a thrift store with the cutest clothes that were reasonably priced. Whhhaa? The girl inside was super adorable and didn’t mind that we tried everything on over our clothes. Best buy? A melon-colored mini skirt that after 4 days of walking (and despite the drinking) I finally fit into.
We got to the bank too late, so we headed back to Mag’s place, stopping at St. Giles Cathedral (where they want to charge you 2 pounds to take photos!) and the Police Museum, where we touched things we shouldn’t have.
We stopped at the Off License for alcohol and, since we had a few pounds left over, some food. I got my first (and last) taste of Iron Bru. Luckily we had Tennent’s to wash it down. Instead of eating, we drank 3 “tins” of lager then met Mag and his friend, Neil, at a pub called Frankenstein’s where we drank approximately four more pints of Kronenbourg 1664 – served in a proper Kronenbourg glass.
We closed down this bar as well and I got a ride home via piggy back after Ruby refused to carry me (at least I think that’s the story.) I guess me saying I weigh as much as a baby doesn’t mean I actually do weigh as much as a baby. Before we could fall asleep, the sillies hit us and we spend the next two hours giggling, chatting with Matt on Gmail, playing dress up, and trying not to wake Mag or his roommates. Jet-lag hit at 4:30am, prompting me to suggest an early morning breakfast. Ruby vetoed this idea and we crashed around 5am.
Day Nine of Twenty. Sunshine. New clothes. Jet-lagged delirious-ness. Now that’s what I call a proper Thursday.