It was late when I finally got settled into the very acceptable Holiday Inn Express in Leith. I liked the perspective of this shot as I crossed the street, but failed to note the name of the church. Anyone? And while wandering about I quickly realized that I had to re-calibrate my definition of “old”. I was born in Boston and live in Wareham next to the town of Plymouth where the Pilgrims arrived in 1620 and thought I had an idea of what “old” was.
Dinner that evening was a short distance away at The King’s Wark . I’m under the impression that they received their victualler license in the mid- 1400’s or nearly 200 years before the Pilgrims landed in America. The food was of the seasonal, Scottish variety and quite good. That is to say lots of fish, smoked and otherwise, shellfish, game and of coarse, the “chieftain of the puddin’ race”, haggis. It was fun listening to all the different languages and talking with the other customers. Try to explain venison on the menu to the group from Germany. Yes. I used hands for antlers. They understood, we all laughed. And I figured they probably spoke fluent english and were just busting my cookies. I have since found that that happens a lot in Scotland. Cross-talk, not cookie busting. It doesn’t appear to be unusual for total strangers to be having conversations between tables. Over the years, I’ve encountered it more often than not.
Not there 24 hours yet and have received a RAF Fly-over and feel like I’m in a very familiar place.
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