May 13, 2015

In Edinburgh, we've seen Italian restaurants, Chinese restaurants, Turkish restaurants, Mexican restaurants, a French restaurant, a Vietnamese restaurant. The Scottish restaurants have to be here somewhere. Where else am I going to get my haggis?

Airbnb came through for us again. We're renting a small house on the west end: compact, clean, and comfortable. It's got all the amenities: towels, toilet paper, sheets on the bed, kitchen essentials.
Apparently, it belongs to a young couple who spend half the year working on cruise ships. -- Strangely, there are no closets. I think Frank Lloyd Wright said closets were a sign of a messy housekeeper. So this couple must be Martha Stewart.


On the way from the airport, we passed fields of brilliant yellow. The taxi driver said it was rapeseed (sp.?), which is used in biofuel.

We walked the Royal Mile, which starts at Edinburgh Castle, then slopes downward. (Beth H., I looked in vain for A. Malcom's print shop.) Tom thought it would packed with kitschy tourist shops--and they are there--but they don't dominate the street like they do in Niagara

Falls (Canadian side). -- We passed The World's End, a bar that's been open, under the same name, since the 17th century (presumably, the proprieters have changed).

We missed a night of sleep flying here last night, but we napped today and we should sleep okay tonight. (Thank you, God, for creating Ambien.)