The Reason

A friend of mine used to have an apartment in Edinburgh. Used to—past tense now. We went up to help clean it out, box up the memories, and hand back the keys. It’s the kind of task that sounds mundane but ends up feeling like a small funeral for a chapter of your life.

That apartment was my excuse to visit Edinburgh more times than I can count. Weekend escapes, spontaneous trips, the occasional I-need-to-get-out-of-here getaway. The city became familiar in the way only a place you keep returning to can be, not as a tourist but as someone who knows which coffee shop has the best flat white and which alley leads to the best view.

But this was the last trip. For a while, at least. So I decided to do it properly. One final lap of honour through a city that had given me a lot of good memories.

The Farewell Tour

I started with a run along the Edinburgh Half Marathon route. If you want to see a city properly, run through it at sunrise when the streets are empty and the light is soft.

The route takes you along the coast, past Portobello Beach, where the North Sea does its best impression of “beautiful but absolutely freezing.” The sand stretched out in both directions, and for a few kilometres it was just me, the waves, and the occasional dog walker who looked at me with the pity reserved for people exercising voluntarily.

Then the route winds through quieter suburban streets, the kind of neighbourhoods where people have actual gardens and probably know their neighbours’ names. Good for contemplating life choices at kilometre fifteen.

I timed my evening walk to catch the sunset, and Edinburgh rewarded me with one of those evenings that makes you understand why people write poetry about this city. The light hit the old stone buildings and turned everything gold. For a moment, the whole city looked like it was on fire in the best possible way.

And then, as the light faded, the castle emerged against the night sky. I’ve seen it dozens of times now. It still gets me every single time. There’s something about a medieval fortress looming over a modern city that never stops being dramatic.

I kept walking as the city settled into darkness. Past the monuments, through the closes, watching Edinburgh transform into its nocturnal self, all warm pub light spilling onto cobblestones and the distant sound of someone playing bagpipes (ironically? sincerely? impossible to tell).

Good coffee is non-negotiable when travelling, and Edinburgh delivers. I had an excellent flat white and, because it was cold and I deserved it (after all I did go for a run), a hot chocolate, which was almost labelled with my name¹.

I also got to have my favourite Scottish soft drink, of course.

Edinburgh’s closes are the best part of the city. Dark, narrow, winding passages that open up into unexpected courtyards or suddenly reveal a view that takes your breath away. You can walk through the same neighbourhood ten times and still find one you’ve never seen before.

I spent an afternoon just wandering. No destination, no map, just following whichever alley looked most interesting. This is the correct way to experience Edinburgh.

I also walked through the historical part of the city where a creek runs through, one of those hidden Edinburgh gems that most tourists walk right past without noticing. The Water of Leith cuts through the city like a secret, trees arching overhead, the sound of water drowning out the traffic above.

For the final morning, there was only one option: Cairngorm Coffee. Their Melville Place location has been a staple of every Edinburgh trip of mine. Great coffee, great food, the kind of place where you want to linger over your eggs and pretend you don’t have a flight to catch.

I sat there longer than I should have. Watched the morning light fill the room. Thought about all the times I’d been here before, all the conversations had over these tables. It felt like a proper goodbye.

And then I checked my watch and realised I really, really needed to leave for the airport.

Returning is hard

I did not make my flight.

Not through any fault of my own, I should add. I got to the airport with what should have been plenty of time. But security had other plans. The new full-body scanner decided I looked suspicious, or maybe it just didn’t like my aura, and flagged me for an extra check.²

By the time I got through, collected my belongings, and sprinted to the gate, it had closed. The plane was still there. I could see it through the window. But the gate was closed, and that was that.

What should have been a direct flight home turned into a full-day odyssey courtesy of easyJet. Edinburgh to London. London to Paris. Paris to Zurich. Three flights, three airports, three rounds of security, one very long day.

But here’s the thing: easyJet actually handled it well. They rebooked me without drama, got me on the next available routing, and I made it home eventually. It just took considerably longer than planned.

Sometimes the journey is the destination. Other times, the journey is just exhausting and you want to be home already. This was the latter.

Edinburgh, I’ll be back. Just not for a while.

Thanks for the coffee and the sunsets. Thanks for the alleys that always had one more secret to reveal. Thanks for the pubs with their sticky floors and excellent whisky selections. Thanks for the comedy shows at the Fringe that made me laugh until my face hurt. Thanks for the architecture that made me feel like I was walking through history. Thanks for being the kind of city that rewards wandering.

Even if you did make me miss my flight.

See you next time.