Well.
I’m here, I’m alive, and I am currently without internet connection. Hence, I am writing this before I go to dinner, while I wait for my wakeup call – something I thought I’d need so that I wouldn’t miss the dinner hours.
Until I woke up twenty minutes ago, I had gone 24 hours without sleep. Why, you ask? Well, it’s more simple than you’d imagine. Plane #1 left Columbus at around 6, and I was too pumped to do anything on that ride but read. I was almost even too hyper to do that. It was okay, I had a long flight ahead of me where I could do nothing but sleep if I wanted to.
Plane #2 left New Jersey at 10:15 (this is when I switched to Edinburgh time on my watch, so let’s call it 3:15), and lucky me, right behind me was a family with – you guessed it – young children. The younger had to be only a year old or so, and the older seemed about two. The first hour of the flight was nice, I sat and read and it was quiet and I was looking forward to a nice long sleep. The second hour, when I had turned off my light and put my book away, the little boy started crying. For an hour. When he stopped, his older sister started crying. See, these kids had it down. When one would stop crying, the other would start, hence keeping all passengers around them on their toes and away from the sandman. Fun fun.
Mommy and Daddy finally got these two terrors asleep around 6:00. Finally, a little bit of rest! The threat level had successfully been lowered from red to orange to yellow (now if only that would happen with the terrorism threat level). I guess yellow wasn’t good enough, though, because as soon as I finally felt waves of sleep start to succumb me to their will, BOOM, little girl woke up. And when she was done, little boy had something to say, too.
The sun started rising around seven, and I still hadn’t gotten to sleep. By 7:30, the passengers on the plane were waking up (I was still struggling to sleep), and by 8, we were served breakfast. I gave up all hope of sleeping a this point, and instead downed two cups of coffee.
We landed around 9:30, and I got off the plane, got through customs, got my suitcase no problem. I caught a shuttle for only ₤8, instead of the scary ₤25 that it would have cost me for a cab, and it still brought me right to the door of the Reception Centre. It’s a little past 10, and hey guess what, check in isn’t until two.
I checked my luggage, but now I really had to go. Two cups of coffee on a plane does that to a girl. So I walk up to the receptionist, and ask politely, “Where can I find a washroom?” She says, “Well, what building are you staying in?” I tell her that I don’t know, that I had just given my confirmation to the guy who took my luggage. She said that I needed to know where I was living, and then she could direct me to a washroom. Laundry facilities are in the basement of each building.
Oops.
“No,” I said, “I need a washroom, a restroom, a bathroom, a loo!” When she finally directed me to the toilet, I apologized, saying, “We call them washrooms where I’m from.” I won’t make that mistake again.
Toilet problems aside, I asked where to get a decent cup of coffee. Next building over, I got my second breakfast (after only a croissant and some fruit, you’d want second breakfast too), charged up on some more caffeine, and decided to explore a bit with the three hours I had remaining until I was allowed to check in. And I had so looked forward to a nap…
I looked around, and immediately saw the imposing remains of the extinct volcano that is Holyrood Park. This place is like right down the road from where I’m staying – in fact, the picture of the big hill from my room? Yeah, that’s Holyrood. Big. That was my destination. In fact, the very top of that was my destination.
I left the Reception Centre in my travelling clothes (sweatshirt, t-shirt, jeans, ballet flats) and carrying only my purse. If I’d been smart, I would have changed into my sneakers first. If I’d been really smart, I would have waited until I could change entirely into clothing more suited for hiking up a mountain. True, there are stairs all the way up this earthen behemoth, but they are each made up of three to five red stones, all of varying heights, so you are never really standing on solid, flat ground until you make it to the top. It was difficult, let me tell you, and by the time I got up there I was happy to have made it alive with my heart beating so fast and my legs tired beyond belief. That is a lot of stairs.
The view, though, when you get there, is absolutely worth all the walking. From my vantage point, I could see most of Edinburgh, including the castle jutting out on its craggy perch above the city. Beautiful brown buildings sprawled out beneath it in a maze of old (very old) buildings that house new shops. From my spot up at the top of Arthur’s Seat, I could see it all, this old/new city laid out before me, and it hit me: I get to live in a city with a castle. I get to live in a city where most of the buildings are older than the United States itself. I get to live here.
The climb back down was just as perilous, if not more so. Going up, I didn’t worry about slipping on the steps and up the stairs, but going down, I had to spend the first ten or fifteen yards on my butt so that I wouldn’t fall on the slippery slope. From then on, I walked like a little girl taking her first steps, arms outstretched to either side, wavering from time to time, totally unsure of my footing. Stopping was not an option. Every time I stopped, my legs would shake in a “Why would you do this to us?” sort of complaint, which I didn’t blame – it was climbing up to the 24 hour mark that I’d last been in a bed, and though I was exhilarated, I was also tired.
I got back to the Reception Centre an hour before check-in, and sat and read my book (which I had gotten out of the luggage room). I almost fell dead asleep at that table. Finally, though, I could check in. I got my key, walked to my building, and looked forward to a nice nap. I had room 201 in Baird House.
When I got to the second floor, the maid was cleaning rooms, and told me that there was already someone in room 201 in Baird House. Oh boy. I went downstairs with her (such a nice lady, she helped me until I finally got a room) and talked to the woman at the reception desk in the foyer. I explained the situation, told her I’d been travelling all night, and just wanted a place to sleep. “Poor hen,” she said to me. “Ye can leave yer bags here if ye want.” I probably looked like a “poor hen” too, my hair all riled up and my body sagging from fatigue. When I returned with another key for a different room, she told me, “Now, hen, make sure ye don’t sleep too late, ye’ll wake at three i’th’ mornin and be tired all day agin.” She told me to call the Reception Centre and ask for a wake up call around 6 or 7 so I could go to dinner. Such a nice lady.
I finally got to my room, got out of my travel clothes and into some PJs, and SLEPT.
Dinner was alright, but I look forward to cooking for myself and my flatmates, or perhaps for my host family. It was set up a lot like Lowry (in fact, almost exactly like Lowry with different decorations) except that people serve you instead of you serving yourself. I ate a small pile of forgettable food and returned to my room, where I will watch Grey’s Anatomy until midnight or so and fall asleep.
All in all, a good first day in Edinburgh.
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