Into Edinburgh

It was pouring of rain, my shirt was too small, and I was very sweaty as I hurried through Edinburgh.  It was July so it was warm in a thick, consuming way; it was Scotland so it was raining. 

I was lost, and I hated Edinburgh.

The city was to me a town on steroids.  It was quaint, but never having the buzz of a poper city – not like my city, Glasgow.  Like when I begin to drink cider, I immediately long for lager; in Edinburgh, I wish I was pursuing the streets of Glasgow.

Although, there is something very profound about Edinburgh, something almost oppressive.  It sinks in the middle and its concrete buildings rise and encompass you; the hills over here and over there and somewhere, the sea, out of sight but always there, a tangible chill in the air. 

You can feel the heavy weight of Scottish history burdening like a school bag as you emerge from Waverly station.  Trudging up the Royal Mile – dare I risk the labyrinth, the staircase, the alley; the throughways and the by-ways and the people going this way and that ways?  The open spaces green where no river runs.  I can’t float, only hurry.