I struggled against the bitter wind and rain with my luggage. I was headed east, the wrong direction.
There is a construction project going on in Edinburgh, they are ripping out the roads and building a tram. A large part of the infrastructure looks extremely unappealing and a lot of the directions I was given were inaccurate.
I glued myself to my computer from Bath to Edinburgh. For six hours I wrote, edited pictures and plotted my next moves. I didn’t take the time to look out the window. I looked up when the train stopped at Waverley station and I thought I had landed in Mordor. Looming above me was the Scott Monument, crowned by a turbulent sky. The monument is a jarring spire, dark and scenic.
Looking out the window is one of my favorite things to do; I enjoy watching the scenery and drifting through daydreams. If I had taken the time to look I would have noticed the rougher terrain and darkening of the clouds.
My shoes were sopping and the only people hanging out on the street were ‘NED’s', Scottish slang for ‘non-educated delinquents.” Scotland seemed a little rough around the edges.
I made it to the hostel after walking in circles for about 45 minutes.
I was sharing a room with three rude French-Canadian girls, an older American gentleman, a kind hungarian woman and a dodgy Frenchman. I peeled off my damp clothes and headed straight for the showers, which were cold. Bloody hell.
I went to bed early and promised myself that I would make tomorrow better, even if the rain killed me.