1st - 10th November

I write this from a train between Edinburgh and London. My time here in this incredible city is up, and to send me off, I’m in a carriage full of fit men, all in kilts. It’s visual heaven.
Leaving is a strange thing. People I’ve only just met, I’ve now said goodbye to. Places which feel like home will now be almost 17,000 kilometres away. Was it what I expected? No. It was better. I arrived knowing almost nobody, and with no plans other than to work, meet people, and explore Scotland. I leave knowing I’ve met some of the kindest people, and having seen some of the most beautiful places. Yes, I even worked a little too.
The kilted men are busy playing an awful dance version of “Life is a Highway”, drinking Buckfast, and being quite talkative and spirited. The landscape is flashing past outside, there are mountains in the distance and flocks of birds circling above the ocean.

The last few days have been a flurry of catch ups, eating, walking, hugs and promises to stay in touch.
On the first day of November, I met up with Tina, whom I’d met on the tour the previous day. We went to the Story Telling Centre, and arrived to find we’d missed the Story Telling Festival by a day. Instead, we paid to see the John Knox house, one of the oldest remaining houses in Edinburgh. A three story building built in the mid 1500s, it was home to many poor families, and John Knox, of Reformation fame.
As far as an attraction goes, it wasn’t the most interesting of places. The interior tells the story of Knox, his power within the Church, and his many disagreements with Mary, Queen of Scots. The top floor had an original timber ceiling, complete with original paint. A panel sat on the side of the room with colours depicting how bright the original ceiling would have been. With John Knox House ticked off the list, I decided an evening of music was in order.

Advertised to start at 8pm, I arrived at Stramash two hours early. Befriended by a local woman, we walked to Biddy Mulligan’s for a quiet open mic, and returned to Stramash later for a second round. I bumped into Alec and James from Mercat evenings, and my early night became a night of singing, clapping and a late walk home.

The second day of November, I met Annika and Karin at the Edinburgh Distillery, for a tour. The distillery is one of the tiniest places I’ve ever seen in the making of alcohol. (Not that I’ve seen more than two distilleries!) Underground, just near Haymarket, the distillery is self-described as a rabbit hole.
Sitting in a room just outside "where the magic happens", we were shown jars and bottles of the raw herbs and spices used in gin, images of Britain with a gin epidemic, and given a most thorough and entertaining history of gin and society. From cheap water and beer replacement to a classy modern beverage, it was like re-living a history of Scotland, through the eyes of everyday people who lived there several centuries ago. The herbalist in me was fascinated by the different flavours, thinking that monks who'd sold gin for remedial purposes had the right idea, to an extent. Distributed medicinally, gin was used for every kind of ailment. Whilst some of the ingredients may have been useful, my guess is that the high alcohol content of the

times would have quickly nullified any good effects. For my herbalist friends, the basics include juniper, coriander, citrus peel, orris root, heather and milk thistle. So basically, it’s a urinary/liver/digestive tonic….right?
We were introduced to Flora and Caledonia, two stills, and learned how gin is actually made, and finally walked along a narrow corridor, into a “den”, to finish off with a gin and tonic. I opted for the Christmas gin, distilled with frankincense and myrrh. It was like drinking Christmas, and it tasted great.
Wednesday night, Luca joined me back at The Mercat Bar, another open mic with wonderful vibes. Squeezing in all the music I’d missed over the last few months became a priority, and at Mercat, the people are always positive and welcoming.

Thursday was a marathon day. Karin and I snuggled up on Annika’s couches, and the three of us spent the whole day eating a vegan cheese platter, and watching the entire first season of Outlander. I made it to episode seven before I had to run, and an hour later I showed up at Faisal and Carrie’s place, for more good company and more good food. How lucky am I to know these people?!

The next day, I finally made it to the Writers’ Museum. Located down one of the closes, the museum focuses on the lives and works of Sir Walter Scott, Robert Burns, and Robert Louis Stevenson. Scotland is fiercely proud of their contribution to the world of literature, and so much so that quotes from Scott are all over Waverley Station, with the station itself named after one of his novels. I don’t believe we ever had such a strong focus on Australian authors in school, and it’s beautiful to see the works of such intellects celebrated over here.
In the evening, I met with a group of friends to enjoy one final dinner at Henderson’s, and to farewell any friends I wouldn’t see again (for a while). Of course I chose the haggis, being my last opportunity! We were meant to go to karaoke afterwards, but almost everyone bailed, and so after a walk up to cancel the booking, I began to head home. Lucie and Luca messaged me around halfway, and we agreed to meet up in town. This is how I found myself in Bongo, a club full of nineteen year olds, booze and flashing lights. I actually don’t remember the last time I went clubbing, and I’m not sure it’s really my scene. That said, we stayed a while, and it turned into a pretty good night! A very long, entertaining night.

On very little sleep, I went with Helen and Becky to the Vegan Quarter market the next day. I bought another stash of chocolate, and went off to meet John to walk some of Water of Leith.
Although I’m told otherwise by the locals, it was a cold day. After an hour of walking along a river, through Autumn trees, peace and quiet, I decided it was time to head back. That evening was fireworks night, and having missed a meet up with Kirsty, I sat on Helen’s couch, warm inside, and watched the sporadic light show out on Carlton Hill. The big display had been cancelled, and still tired from the night before, I went to bed for a very early night.

Sunday saw me walking through Princes Street Gardens with the lovely Carrie. More Autumn colours, this time with the castle and city landscape above us. Cups of tea, and a walk through Stockbridge market, made for a lovely relaxing morning. It was so easy to pretend that time was still, and Australia wasn’t calling me back so soon.
My last few days involved music and food. No surprises there. I finally made it to Whistlebinkies, where I met Luca and Alec. Possibly one of the best nights I’ve had out in Edinburgh. I went to Treacle and Out of the Bedroom, where I finally got to meet Dan, singer extraordinaire, who’s music I’d heard many times in John’s car.

The very last day in Edinburgh, I walked into the living room, where Helen, Becky and Katie were all in shock. Trump had just been elected, and suddenly everything seemed very uncertain. After an hour or so of utter depression, we turned off the rubbish-box, and I

went off to meet Ross for a last wander around the city.
We ended up in the Surgeons’ Hall Museums. A few hours later, we’d seen almost every kind of pathology, preservation, dissection and outdated equipment possible. It was utterly fascinating, if not a little grotesque. Despite having studied anatomy, it was still educational to see so much variety, and all the history that goes with it.

I've said goodbye to Helen. Helen welcomed me into her home as a stranger, and her generosity goes beyond everyday kindness. Over the last few months, I've been welcomed into her family, and I only wish there were words more efficient than "thank you". Helen and her family have become my friends, and I can't express how grateful I am for the opportunity they gave me in Edinburgh.

The train is now halfway to London. The carriage is full, the footy fan Scots are as noisy and jovial as when we began, and it’s time to stare out the window a while, and enjoy the last of the scenery. I've listened to over two hours of drunken singing, with so many repeats of "Love Is All Around" that I've lost count. It's a fabulous atmosphere, with most of the carriage joining in the chorus of whatever song is blasting out of the speaker behind me. Words are progressively becoming more slurred, and as far as leaving Scotland goes, this is possibly the best way to go.