Cowboy Confessional

T’is good to be back in Edinburgh.

Not enough can be said of this rather magical city. For those unfortunate enough not to have traveled through Scotland, it is hard not to understand why various Roberts and Bruce’s fought so hard to keep Scotland, why Jacobites rebelled and why ancient kings chose Edi as a place to center their nation.

There are a couple of extinct volcanoes in Edinburgh, and the train tracks pass by one. Atop the shear black cliff sits the castle. Nothing like having a view of the surrounding fields and steep climb to keep English soldiers from attacking (though my Scott ancestors seemed to be woefully inept at the task). I had not planned on staying in Edinburgh my first time through, but once the train rolled in under the castle I got off, found the first B&B I could, and hung out for a spell.

Edinburgh has a vibe that instantly made me feel at home when I first accidentally landed there mumble-mumble-mumble years ago. A city seemingly at peace with itself if not its often bloody past, it has the quiet steely charm that most cowboys possess. Part cosmopolitan, part sedate and part sheer lunacy (at least during the Festival), there are few other places as worthy of meandering through.

And once over my jet lag I’ll be wandering about. Buy me a pint if you see black cowboy boots clicking down the cobblestones.

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