Would not lie quiet and still on some forgotten Scottish hill (143Cong.Rec.S12478)

London isn't a hardship post, of course, so I don't get any R&Rs. But TJ is still entitled to a couple, and he decided to spend his first long break traveling around some European hotspots with his family and me. Our first destination was Edinburgh, and thankfully, despite some airplane delays, our quartet (or quintet, if you count Sage) managed to board the train north from London together. We packed a small picnic for our rail trip, but after settling into our accommodation upon arrival, we were ready for a snack. 

The owner of our apartment suggested The Safari Lounge, a nearby local joint that was a lot classier than its name might let on (top left). We shared some "tapas" of chips, tacos, and fried mussels (top right) before we took a stroll to explore the Old Town. Eventually, we found ourselves at The Scotman's Lounge, which was frequented by the kind of characters I had expected at the first lounge. Our spot at the bar happened to be next to Davy the Ghost, owner of City of Edinburgh Tours, who gave us some tips for the second part of our Scottish tour, in the Highlands (bottom left). We ended the evening with a nightcap including a traditional Scottish treat -- not whiskey, but deep-friend haggis from Harry Ramsden's (bottom right).

The next day, we focused less on degustation and more on expedition. Our apartment was right around the corner from the Palace of Holyroodhouse, at one end of the Royal Mile (top left). We happened to pass by the Queen's Scottish home during the changing of the guard, which was a lot less crowded than the display at Buckingham Palace, perhaps because of the rain (top right). Despite its name, the Royal Scotsman is not a mode of transport for the Queen, but for people who want to be treated like kings (bottom left). We listened to the bagpipe send-off for the train from Waverley Station, where we had hoped to make some purchases at its weekly market. The stands at the station were a bit sparse, though, especially compared to the cramped quarters at the market in the Tron Kirk, a 17th-century structure (bottom right).

 

We walked the full 1.6 kilometers to Edinburgh Castle, the fortress that dominates the skyline of the city, due to its defensive perch on an extinct volcano. Of course, the weather means the castle is often shrouded in fog (left). Despite its misty armor, the fort has been conquered and changed hands many times since it was first constructed in the Iron Age. After becoming part of the city's UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1996, now the government-owned base is home to some military operations -- and some feathered interlopers (right).

Mons Meg, a 150-kilogram cannon that was in operation for almost 100 years (top), still stands silent guard outside of St. Margaret's Chapel, built in the 12th century as a symbol of motherly devotion. Other weapons of war, including axes and swords, are on display within the Great Hall (bottom left), adjacent to the Royal Palace, where the Scottish Crown Jewels are now housed. How the other half lived can be seen in the Prisons of War exhibit, which recreates the conditions of the soldiers and pirates who were confined there (bottom right). 

After exploring the many crannies of the castle, we headed downhill to New Town, which is a relative term, considering most of its neoclassical buildings were constructed in the 18th century. Our Victorian late-lunch choice, The Cafe Royal, actually didn't open until 1863, but it still felt like a sufficient step back in time (left). Its specialty was seafood, so we ordered quite a bit of shellfish, including an oyster appetizer, and I double-downed with cullen skink, a traditional Scottish fish soup (right).

Edinburgh is surrounded with inclines to scale and spy down on the city. We opted to look up at Calton Hill, upon which sits the Parthenon-inspired National Monument and the Nelson Monument, built in 1816 to commemorate the admiral's death at the Battle of Trafalgar (top left). From the floor of Holyrood Park, we ruminated on the ruins of St. Anthony's Chapel (top right). We never got a full view of Arthur's Seat, which is visible beyond the chapel in clearer weather. Instead, we could merely imagine how the highest point in Edinburgh would "peak" out from behind the Salisbury Crags (bottom).

We escaped from the fog by heading out to the port part of the capital for the evening. At the Malt & Hops, we joined college kids and post-5 p.m. workers at a TGIF happy hour (top) before we headed over to the Port o' Leith for a few gos at the pokey (bottom left). For our meal, we directed ourselves to The Compass, which in terms of swankiness was a bit north of the workaday establishments we had already patronized (bottom right).

Leith actually is home to some very high-class residents, considering that the Royal Yacht Britannia is docked there, in an inlet off the Firth of Forth (left). By the time we arrived, it was no longer open for tours, not that we would've paid the money to play queen on the royal family's floating residence. Our style is more the Saturday market (right), which we visited the following morning to stock up on supplies for our cabin accommodations in northern Scotland.

All the outward signs are of a seaside resort (153Cong.Rec.H838)

When people think of a British seaside resort, they usually first think of Brighton, myself included. But after a recent work trip that sent me to Bournemouth, I would recommend it as a better place for some sand, surf, and sun (or clouds, as the case was during my visit). What it lacks in history -- it's one of the few UK cities younger than the United States -- it makes up for in ambiance and amenities.

One reason my vote is with Bournemouth is because of the Norfolk Hotel (top left). Its lobby is adorned with portraits of the family of the Duke of Norfolk, the building's former resident (top right). Despite its high-class heritage, I stayed in a humble but cute dormer room (bottom left), but I made full use of the swanky Victorian-style bathhouse with heated pool (bottom right).

In the evening, after the workday was done, I took a jog down to the beach then along the shore. It was chilly and drizzly, so there weren't many people on the beach to obstruct my view. Toward the east I could just make out the Isle of Wight through the gray (left). To the west, the beach huts that line the promenade heading toward Poole were shuttered, awaiting sunnier days (right).

Due to the poor weather, the Bournemouth Balloon, a seasonal attraction in the city's Lower Gardens, was grounded (left). There also weren't many takers for the Ferris wheel that had been installed downtown in advance of the Bournemouth Wheels Festival (right).

 

Unlike most beach towns, the city has a long green space running through the valley down to the sea. The Bournemouth Gardens follow the banks of the Bourne River, which is more of a creek now; in the Central Gardens, a small wooden bridge is enough to cross it (left). Further inland, a Victorian water tower that once corralled the river's waters still stands in the Upper Gardens (right).

I walked about two-thirds of the length of the gardens to get to the hip neighborhood of Westbourne, where the local Tesco is housed in a former church. I wasn't looking for groceries, though; I was headed for a delicious bowl of home-cooked chili at Geneve (left). Right across the street, I stepped into The Porterhouse because it advertised taps from Ringwood Brewery. To close out an early night, and a short but sweet visit to another lovely British town, I had a pint of the brewery's award-winning Old Thumper ESB (right).