Thanks to the illiterate chimpanzee that has somehow had itself crowned emperor of the world, the American dollar is extraordinarily weak, which means Scotland is Ex.Pen.Sive. Even if we were to change the £ on every price to a $—leaving the number itself the same—things would cost more than they do in New York. I try not to remember that one £ is actually worth two $, because that means that I spent approximately sixty dollars on a Denny’s-quality dinner last night. But Scotland is a swanky town, and this is to be expected. You have to put a coin in a turnstile just to use a public bathroom, a far cry from the days when everyone used to throw their poop out the window at the stroke of ten p.m. Progress don’t come cheap.
Today, we visit Holyrood Palace, the Queen’s residence in Scotland. I have been there before, but it’s good to be reminded of what Mary, Queen of Scots, gave up when she abdicated the throne and moved to the United States to begin a new career of drooling all over my bedspread. No, wait, that’s Goblin. Mary, Queen of Scots, lived in a little room the size of my apartment and saw her secretary murdered in front of her eyes by her jealous husband and a gang of conspirators who manipulated him into it.
Next, we eat at a restaurant called ChocolateSoup.*
It’s a beautiful day: quite warm, mostly, and only a few minutes of rain. The night gets chilly in time for our second ghost tour, run by a company called Auld Reekie.** This tour is another historical meander through the Old Town, followed by another alleged poltergeist, this one in the “vaults” that exist under the city (poltergeists are apparently a cottage industry in Edinburgh these days). These underground corridors are quite creepy, and I actually get a few tingles of supernatural energy. I notice the man next to me surreptitiously extend his hand, palm out, in the same way that I do when I “feel” something, and I take this as outside confirmation. Later, Rob tells he felt the same thing. This turns out to be the only ghostly phenomenon, although there is a long list of reports from other recent tours.
And then the walk back to the bed and breakfast. It’s not that far, but I feel as if we’ve worn a groove in the pavement, trekking to and from the city center as much as we have. We walked twelve miles yesterday and more than ten today. My new Steve Maddens are beginning to feel like fashionable horseshoes. Hopefully, I don’t throw one; I’m sure there is a street in Edinburgh lined with blacksmiths eager to replace it, but I don’t have that kind of money. Cha-ching! (And gardyloo!)
* ChocolateSoup is the scrumptious love child of Starbucks and Soupmasters that was unfortunately passed over in the line of succession.
** Which we would claim is another name for Goblin, except she ain’t that auld.
