We hadn't experienced any nightlife, such as it is for men approaching 70, since leaving Glasgow ten days ago. Edinburgh changed that--at least temporarily. Heeeeeere's Johnnie! Walker, that is.
After dropping the Skoda at Sixt, Chris and I trudged back up the hill to our very cramped hotel on the Royal Mile.
The Ibis was no Balmoral Hotel, whose architecture impressed me more than that of the castle we overpaid to visit. Chris and his mother had tea here once. I was sorry I hadn't brought the proper clothes.
But you couldn't beat the convenience of our hotel's location, just five minutes away from the Devil's Advocate, a restaurant Florian recommended.
What a special place, from the ambience to the food to the service to the embossed wood menu cover.
I ordered super tasty puy lentils, bulgur wheat, charred vegetables and feta cheese tossed with a pomegranate vinaigrette.
And the lemon posset. Thom picked up the tab to celebrate the end of our road trip. Thanks, Thom, for the most delicious meal in Scotland! And for stifling your screams of terror from the back seat!
There's something very bewitching about the vibe in Edinburgh. Or maybe it just felt good to be back among crowds of people. There was still enough light after dinner for a little sightseeing.
I thought this was the famous Scott Monument. In fact, it's just a statue of the city's favorite son.
Adam Smith, the famed economist keeps him company.
A Pride bike?
St. Giles Cathedral beckoned. It would shelter us from a steady rain the next morning.
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