Had breakfast at the Italian place where we had had dinner the night before: eggs Benedict (not too bad) and yogurt and berries. I saw a tray of potato scone things on an uncovered tray on the floor. Someone walked by them, throwing open a chain link curtain over where they were: not too hygienic even if they were about to be cooked. They seemed to be very popular with the breakfast crowd.
Our waitress did not speak awfully good English, but she was very pleasant.
The WiFi worked splendidly in the restaurant. The place wasn't too busy, so I checked out local buses. We decided not to go to Holyrood House after all but to head to the Royal Botanic Garden instead. That meant catching either Bus #8, 23 or 27. We just missed the #8 and asked another driver of a bus that did stop where we needed to go to catch it. He said it would come again quite soon, but we needed to flag it down. We did this and soon were on a half-hour tour of northwest Edinburgh, near Leith.
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| Fairly sure this is a bus in Edinburgh; in any event it is definitely Greg and I. |
The gardens were a welcome relief from traffic and crowds. We spent most of the morning there. A highlight for me — in the Scottish Heath Garden — was finding out that the small bush I had been noticing everywhere was gorse. It made me think of Eeyore; backing into it would not be pleasant.
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| Source: https://davisla.wordpress.com/category/salt-tolerant/page/13/ |
Once we had meandered through the grounds, including the Greenhouses and the Queen Mother's memorial garden, we had a snack from the cafe near one of the entrances: half an egg salad sandwich each.
Thus fortified, we checked the bus schedules and decided on a tour on the #23 bus, which took us across town in the opposite direction. It turned out to be lots of fun. We sat upstairs and on our way to the end of the route, we saw the National Gallery, Grey Friars' Bobby, and George Heriot's School. We could look down into the living rooms of the small houses packed close to the road. Laundry was drying just inside the picture windows.
By this time in the afternoon, children were being let out of school, and we were entertained by a small group of boys discussing the merits of learning Gaelic. Apparently they had all begun their early schooling in this endeavour, but now felt Gaelic was not going to further their aims in life... The people in Orkney might have been amused to hear this too.
A nine- or ten-year-old boy got on the bus from his school and called home to advise that he was on his way.We travelled ever higher on one of the seven hills surrounding Edinburgh, into a chi-chi area called Morningside and enjoyed the views of the city opening before us. It was long ride for the schoolboy, and he checked his phone more than a couple of times before finally connecting with his mum, by this time somewhat impatiently. He got off at the very last stop — in toney Greenbank. A woman we took to be his mother was standing smiling at the stop with a large dog in tow. The boy flew off the bus, his arms out-stretched and with a big hug greeted ... the dog.
The bus made a tight turn and descended to the centre of the city. Our driver deserted us without warning at the corner of The Mound (?) and Princess St. We finally figured this out and alighted only to fail to see the replacement #23 behind us until after we had crossed the road. We decided to keep on walking and not tempt traffic fate. On our way towards Waverley Station, we saw the monument to Sir Walter Scott: very impressive, even if John Ruskin called it "a small vulgar Gothic steeple."
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| Source: https://www.nationalgalleries.org/art-and-artists/40031/ sir-walter-scott-monument-edinburgh-edinburgh-11-1845 |
It was a warm sunny day, so we decided to walk back to our hotel. Edinburgh is an easy city to get to know and we had another of our pop out maps handy.
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| These little maps cost only a dollar or so on Amazon: plus shipping. |
Along the way, we had dinner at what appeared to be a great little pub, judging by the splendid Rock and Roll tunes they were playing. Alas, at Frankie and Bennie's, a "New York Italian Restaurant and Bar" (well, why not!), every last thing on the menu seemed to contain red onions. I am allergic to them, and my insides had had enough challenges (and codeine) already in their road to recovery. So no spaghetti or pizza for me.
Our waiter was infinitely patient and eventually after a lot of backing and forthing to the kitchen on his part, I decided on salmon, roasted potatoes, and a vegetable medley of peas, beans and broccoli. Greg had Cajun calzone. We were hungry; the food was tasty, but soon we left for our hotel: tired but happy.
Very fond of Edinburgh!
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