:: edinburgh (2) sleeping rough
Having driven from Manchester to Edinburgh straight after work.. Then watching a comedy show from 10.30 pm till 'late', we had to wonder where on Friday night we could pitch a few tents. We decided to think about it in the Cowgate, at the Three Sisters in particular. By the time Oliver and I had visited a pizza place on the Grassmarket and returned, a decision still had not been met. Later, in the Opium club, we still hadn't a clue, and as pubs started to close around us we went back to the cars.
Ach well, we were parked quite nicely and quietly (surprisingly!) on Castle Terrace. We slept in what we drove there. Oliver seemed comfortable with the two girls in his Volvo. Bart and his girlfriend enjoyed the spacious front seats of the Picasso, and I figured I had space in the back. With the rear seat folded down, I crawled into the massive trunk and folded away. Though I had to appreciate the high ceiling and the darkness, by 7 am I ached all over and felt suffocated. I got out the car, tried to convince Bart we should go - but the rest had been more comfortable it seemed. Nae bother, I walked towards Princes Street and got a Ploughman's sandwich. When I walked back though, I met Bart and Oliver in their cars on Lothian Road. They had decided to go and find a camp site. Great, I jumped in for some fun, following Oliver's satnav and the camp icons on it's screen. First we did a few rounds of Charlotte Square, then I asked them if they wanted coastal, foresty or central locations. I did have a bit of trouble guiding us down Queen Street and further towards Musselburgh through ever smaller streets.. But soon enough we ended up on Drum Mohr, near Prestonpans and with view of the sea. After everyone had set up a tent, I had the choice of heading back, or sleeping in a car again. I grabbed a bus back to the city.
Scouring my old street, Gilmore Place, for a cheep but cheerful B&B, a stunning Polish girl quoted me £55 for a single bedroom for the night that she could make immediately. Very tempting, but even through I could smilingly convince her to knock a tenner off, I decided to try my luck at another B&B and was offered £35 by an old unfriendly looking man, for an immaculate room however that I could immediately sleep in. I slept till 4pm or so, then went to the city centre and tried to convince Simone not to get off the bus before Princes Street. But failed - they picked the restaurant (Al Fresco, Leith Walk) and I had to run towards it. Of course I cursed the sky blue (it stpped raining for a second), but in fairness the food was excellent. We followed it up by walking back to the Cowgate and Grassmarket, from pub to club. Through the rain of course, and lots of it. Simone caught Oliver and myself at Victoria Terrace, dancing with a witch. See the picture below..
Then our worst decision. Oliver, Euer, Simone and myself walked from the Grassmarket back to the Royal Mile for the Mercat Ghost Tour, while Bart and Katrina remained at the Grassmarket to outdrink a few Scots. We met 'Black Agnes', as we were supposed to call a seemingly blonde faux-gothic looking woman - who struck me as a holiday worker with residence in a nearby hostel, to be fair. She shouted a nice story about a beautiful prince who was literally gutted at the cross, before marching us down to the Blair Street Vaults. Now this I had been looking forward to. What apparently is the most haunted place in Scotland though, was ruined for us by a private party going on in an adjacent vault.. The mere idea this was possible was a letdown, but the beats also drowned out any possible eerie foorsteps and sighs. With that gone, what remained was a cave-like cellar, really. Hardly worth writing home about, but the internet can handle my rant, surely. Walking through Edinburgh though, on desperately rainy evenings - was cool. the ghost tour was concluded with a visit to Canongate cemetary, at the foot of the High Street - an old but hardly spooky cemetary. Having been told about a monster murdering a local boy though, who was thought to be buried here, Simone did shiver slightly when a dog howled nearby. I slept like a baby in my B&B that night, while the others got used to incessant rain and thunder under their canvas shelters.
Ach well, we were parked quite nicely and quietly (surprisingly!) on Castle Terrace. We slept in what we drove there. Oliver seemed comfortable with the two girls in his Volvo. Bart and his girlfriend enjoyed the spacious front seats of the Picasso, and I figured I had space in the back. With the rear seat folded down, I crawled into the massive trunk and folded away. Though I had to appreciate the high ceiling and the darkness, by 7 am I ached all over and felt suffocated. I got out the car, tried to convince Bart we should go - but the rest had been more comfortable it seemed. Nae bother, I walked towards Princes Street and got a Ploughman's sandwich. When I walked back though, I met Bart and Oliver in their cars on Lothian Road. They had decided to go and find a camp site. Great, I jumped in for some fun, following Oliver's satnav and the camp icons on it's screen. First we did a few rounds of Charlotte Square, then I asked them if they wanted coastal, foresty or central locations. I did have a bit of trouble guiding us down Queen Street and further towards Musselburgh through ever smaller streets.. But soon enough we ended up on Drum Mohr, near Prestonpans and with view of the sea. After everyone had set up a tent, I had the choice of heading back, or sleeping in a car again. I grabbed a bus back to the city.
Scouring my old street, Gilmore Place, for a cheep but cheerful B&B, a stunning Polish girl quoted me £55 for a single bedroom for the night that she could make immediately. Very tempting, but even through I could smilingly convince her to knock a tenner off, I decided to try my luck at another B&B and was offered £35 by an old unfriendly looking man, for an immaculate room however that I could immediately sleep in. I slept till 4pm or so, then went to the city centre and tried to convince Simone not to get off the bus before Princes Street. But failed - they picked the restaurant (Al Fresco, Leith Walk) and I had to run towards it. Of course I cursed the sky blue (it stpped raining for a second), but in fairness the food was excellent. We followed it up by walking back to the Cowgate and Grassmarket, from pub to club. Through the rain of course, and lots of it. Simone caught Oliver and myself at Victoria Terrace, dancing with a witch. See the picture below..
Then our worst decision. Oliver, Euer, Simone and myself walked from the Grassmarket back to the Royal Mile for the Mercat Ghost Tour, while Bart and Katrina remained at the Grassmarket to outdrink a few Scots. We met 'Black Agnes', as we were supposed to call a seemingly blonde faux-gothic looking woman - who struck me as a holiday worker with residence in a nearby hostel, to be fair. She shouted a nice story about a beautiful prince who was literally gutted at the cross, before marching us down to the Blair Street Vaults. Now this I had been looking forward to. What apparently is the most haunted place in Scotland though, was ruined for us by a private party going on in an adjacent vault.. The mere idea this was possible was a letdown, but the beats also drowned out any possible eerie foorsteps and sighs. With that gone, what remained was a cave-like cellar, really. Hardly worth writing home about, but the internet can handle my rant, surely. Walking through Edinburgh though, on desperately rainy evenings - was cool. the ghost tour was concluded with a visit to Canongate cemetary, at the foot of the High Street - an old but hardly spooky cemetary. Having been told about a monster murdering a local boy though, who was thought to be buried here, Simone did shiver slightly when a dog howled nearby. I slept like a baby in my B&B that night, while the others got used to incessant rain and thunder under their canvas shelters.
Labels: travel