Underground in Edinburgh

We follow a woman in a long, voluminous skirt, dyed deep red, down a dark, musty tunnel. Straining my eyes upwards I can see former windows and doors cut into the walls. No stairs will take you there now, no light shines to welcome in the windows. She leads us with a dim, yellow light as we slip through low doorway into a room. We draw close, hushed, breathing the damp, old dust as she tells us ghost stories.

She eases our alarm with a loud laugh and pokes fun in her Scottish brogue. She gives us some cute, corny jokes and off we go through the maze of underground rooms.

This is the tour of Mary King's Close in Edinburgh - an exposition of the city's filthy, fascinating history and a peek at a seventeenth century close, a narrow, steeply-sloped street. This close and four others were evacuated and sealed off when the Royal Exchange was built over top in the 1800s.

We'd spent three nights before this in Glasgow at my best friend Piper's apartment. We got a very informative tour of Glasgow University from Piper's friend George and went to some pubs but otherwise spent the time laying low and planning and relaxing. It was fantastic to visit a city I was familiar with already and where there are few tourists. Glasgow is gritty, but genuine and fun. And Piper is there and I miss her!

After Glasgow, Piper came with us for a (successful!) surf lesson at Belhaven Beach in Dunbar, just south of Edinburgh. Then after a delicious Thai meal, she headed home and we checked into our Edinburgh hostel. Once we were settled, we spent a few hours wandering the layered labyrinth of the city: through the slender closes with their steep staircases and under the tall bridges that connect the sloped Royal Mile to the rest of the city.

The next morning we climbed Arthur's Seat, the small mountain right next to the old city, to get a good view of the Mile as it descends from Edinburgh Castle to Holyrood Palace, and then after a quick rest, we were down beneath streets, following a seventeenth-century figure and learning about Edinburgh.

We left the close in the falling dusk and stolled up the Royal Mile, skirting below the castle. We stop to admire the great building with its windows glowing, perched high atop its basalt seat.

That night we went out with a group from our hostel and ended up on an impromptu bar-hop through the Grassmarket with the hostel's owner at the helm: a Scotsman in a top hat; mutton-chopped, tartan-wearing, and wild.

I have a deep suspicion that the top hat was entirely in charge of the expedition. Kudos, top hat, on a fantastic evening!

This is what happens when the opportunistic backpacker grows up: you get a bit burnt out and then you end up running a hostel.

This is the back-up to my back-up life plan. I just need a quality top hat.

S.