Edinburgh felt like stepping into the pages of a novel—one of those brooding, atmospheric tales where every stone has a story, and the air is thick with history. If I had to choose, I’d say it felt like being inside the mind of Robert Louis Stevenson as he wrote the Case of Jekyll and Hyde—not because I was a bipolar madman, but because the city itself carries that same mix of contraries; Dark and Medieval – New and convivial; Grey, misty and overcast – Optimistic, whimsical and comforting. My time here was mystical, magical, and endlessly thought-provoking. The sky hung in shades of gray, low clouds rolling over the ancient buildings like a heavy wool cloak. And yet, the mood wasn’t dreary. It was alive, tinged with an almost cinematic beauty, the kind that makes you pause and take it all in.

The Royal Mile: A Walk Through Time

I could have spent days wandering the Royal Mile. Stretching from Edinburgh Castle to Holyrood Palace, it’s a street that hums with energy, packed with history, shops, street performers, and tiny alleyways leading to who-knows-where. Cobbled and slightly uneven, it’s the kind of place where every step feels intentional. The castle looms at the top, perched (yes, I’ll allow it here) like a guardian over the city, its walls whispering tales of battles, monarchs, and sieges. I stood there, looking over the city, and felt small in the best way possible—like I was part of something much older, much grander than myself.

The street itself was lined with shops selling everything from beautiful tartan scarves to bottles of aged Scotch that looked too pretty to drink. I watched a kilted bagpiper perform outside St. Giles’ Cathedral, his music haunting yet joyful, an unmistakable soundtrack to Scotland itself. The mix of tourists and locals, the smell of fresh pastries wafting from bakeries, the historic plaques detailing events from centuries ago—it was intoxicating in the best way.

The Food: A Surprising Delight

I wasn’t sure what to expect when it came to Scottish cuisine, but I walked away completely blown away. The full Scottish breakfast? A savory Indulgence . Sausage, bacon, eggs, baked beans, black pudding, grilled tomatoes, and a crispy potato scone—it was a plate of comfort, warmth, and utter indulgence. I could eat it every day, though I’d probably have to adopt an entirely new workout routine to balance it out. But let’s be real, it would be worth it.

Then there was the haggis. I hesitated at first, but one bite changed everything. The spices, the texture, the depth of flavor—it was shockingly delicious. And when paired with neeps and tatties (turnips and mashed potatoes), it became the kind of dish that sticks with you, the kind you start craving out of nowhere weeks later.

Fish and chips? Perfectly crispy. Scotch pies? Savory and flaky. Cullen Skink? Smoked haddock delight. Sticky toffee pudding? Sweet and Indulgent . And don’t even get me started on the whisky—smooth, peaty, complex. Every meal felt like an experience, every bite telling a story of tradition and pride and the service was consistently top notch.

The People: Warm and Welcoming

Maybe it was the accent, maybe it was the genuine friendliness, but the people of Edinburgh were a joy. They had that dry wit, that effortless charm, that ability to make you feel at home even when you were thousands of miles away. Whether it was the bartender recommending the best whisky for a cold night or the shopkeeper enthusiastically explaining the history behind a piece of handmade jewelry, there was a warmth in every interaction.

One local told me, “Edinburgh isn’t just a city—it’s a feeling.” I didn’t fully understand what they meant at first, but after a few days of walking its streets, breathing in the misty air, and feeling the weight of history all around me, I got it. It’s a place that stays with you.

A City of Layers

There’s something about Edinburgh that makes you want to keep peeling back its layers. You wander through the medieval streets of Old Town, then suddenly you’re in the elegance of New Town with its Georgian architecture. You climb Arthur’s Seat for breathtaking views, then descend into the eerie depths of the Edinburgh Vaults, where ghosts of the past seem to linger. Every turn offers something unexpected, every moment feels like part of a larger story.

By the time I left, I felt changed. I felt different.  I was touched.  Edinburgh has a way of doing that—of making you feel like you’ve lived inside a novel, even if only for a little while.  As this journey was coming to end, I was already writing the pages of my next journey back.   I must go back, and soon.