Edinburgh’s Magic

It’s exhilarating to touch down in a new land among various accents of the world, and immediately immerse into the fabric of a new culture; chatting with locals, exploring crevices that suit my curiosity, until my legs ache and my belly is full of local fare and drink. My belly full of haggis and scotch. Edinburgh and her people stole my heart the second I surfaced from the rail station, the air was magical. My eyes peered upon a skyline of castle-like roof tops. The September air was fresh, bagpipes bellowed in the breeze. I felt complete, just myself, my backpack, some new currency, and a camera. I was sparked. The Scots are adorable; everything about them warmed my heart, their kilts, and especially their dialect. A coffee shop note read: “only 106 sleeps till Christmas,” local store owners inquired about where I was from, men unloading a truck wanted me to take their picture. The ghost tour guide was incredible, equipped with a perfectly spooky voice. The saleswoman at a kilt and tartan shop shared with me Scottish history. The woman in a handmade soap shop demonstrated how bath soaps react in your tub. The hairdresser that cut my wild crazy travel hair, took genuine care to wash and cut it with the up most attention, and was truly grateful for my tip. The man at the bus stop let me use his personal cell. The open mic night at a local spot was incredible, jaw dropping actually, a small crowd filled into a basement, while a local shared her knowledge of scotch.

In my magical Scottish elation, I got caught in a rainstorm in a graveyard walking toward the Edinburgh castle. The grass was stunningly bright, the castle sat majestically on the cliff. I found myself at a coffee and baguette shop near a garden. My last meal was penne and peanuts on the plane, now I craved a coffee and ice cream. I sat for a few minutes taking it all in, while my coffee cooled and my ice cream softened. Then I began to walk toward the castle, most likely due to gasping in awe from total bliss from the view, is when I inhaled the cone too quickly and choked; it was an all out choking fest, gasping for dear life. Traveling alone usually brings its benefits for the ease of mingling with locals and taking in the flavor of the country, without standing on the sidewalk convincing your friend you can go to a Hard Rock in Manhattan, without a need to cross the sea. Anyway at this moment, for the first time I really wished I had a friend to assist with the Heimlich. It hurt so much, I was gasping for breath under the skyline of the castle. It was then I imagined the words that would be spoken at my funeral: “Yes, she was double fisting coffee and ice cream, walking to the castle, in search of her Scottish Prince.” I literally heard those words in my head, however seconds later my air passage cleared, and by the time I reached the castle, I felt alive in so many ways, as I overlooked magical Edinburgh…

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