"You're on the wrong train, unfortunately..."

...says the train attendant an hour into my trip. More on that crap in a minute...

I'm tired this morning. My jet lag reset is actually a return to factory setting, meaning I wake up stupid early no matter what time I go to sleep. It's great when I go to bed at 10p or earlier. Otherwise, it sucks. 

I'm too cold and tired to get out of bed and I'm not feeling especially motivated to do any sightseeing which makes me feel guilty. Starving children in Africa would kill to go sightseeing.

I thought she was real
as I walked around the corner

one, two, Freddie's
coming for you...

I finally, finally drag myself out of the cold house and into the freezing city center to check out The Museum of Childhood. I've had this place in my sights since I arrived in town and this morning is the first time it's been open. The museum is dedicated to all things children, mostly toys. The collection is vast, all pre-1950s. 

There are five galleries of exhibitions, so when I arrive I cut to Gallery 5 to try and get away from the crowd. This gallery is full of child-sized mannequins in different outfits and scenes. I'm taking pictures of the mannequins, imaging the different ways they would murder me, when the chilling sound of children's voices singing a nursery rhyme lilts into the room. This wakes me up. 

The other stand-out is the Doll Room, or "Creepy Dollies" as everyone keeps remarking. Most of the dolls are from your worst nightmares. What I find most interesting is a display of dolls from around the world. The display includes voodoo dolls, a gourd in a "dress" which is essentially a napkin, and other tribal dolls used to trap the souls of royalty when they die or encourage pregnancy or other useful day-to-day purposes. 

dibs on the Cat's Eye remake with one of these nightmares

Buoyed by the creep factor of the Museum of Childhood, I'm ready to attack The Palace of Holyroodhouse. My phone keeps trying to autocorrect to Hollywood, and I do, too. The word will not come out of my mouth correctly. If it sounds like I'm dragging my feet to go to the Palace, I am. The two major attractions in Edinburgh are the castle or the Palace. I'm only medium interested in the Palace, but I'm even less interested in the Edinburgh Castle for some reason. There is something about the military aspect of the castle that I find less inspiring than seeing the Queen's Scotland home. Plus, The Queen's Gallery is right next door to the Palace and art always wins.  

ceiling facade

Palace carpet game is strong

I buy my combo ticket and hit the gallery first. The Queen's Gallery features an exhibition called Maria Merian's 'butterflies'. Merian was a German artist and entomologist from the 1700s. The exhibition takes me ten minutes, and that includes checking out my audio tour. Obviously it's not a bad exhibition, I just can't muster the interest or patience to stand and listen to the audio tour. Weirdly, I find the brochure more captivating than I do the actual hung pieces. So I keep the brochure and I head to the Palace. 

contraband picture: just the Royal Family's family photo table NBD

artsy pic of myself &
His Royal Higness' bed

The Palace is way cool. I listen to the whole audio tour as I walk

busted being a D-bag

through and gape at the paintings and textiles (see, I appreciate art). The thrones, the paintings, the facades on the ceiling, the jewels, the abbey- the Palace is well worth the price of admission. I take pictures until one of the Palace people tells me to stop and reminds me that every room has a no photography sign. I look. She's right. I feel like a douchebag, especially because I was, of course, taking a picture OF MYSELF in a mirror when she busted me. 

I head to a pub called The Regent for lunch and I eat lasagna that is hotter than the sun. I don't know how the U.K. makes food twice as hot as America does but I crave it, even though I tend to spit my first bite back onto my plate. Comfort food is so much better when it's so hot you feel the burn down your esophagus. 

Holyrood Abbey

The Regent's got WiFi so I'm using the opportunity to text my girlfriends. I really miss them. It used to be that I didn't only prefer traveling alone, but if I had to travel with people I only did so out of absolute necessity. Now, I don't know. Maybe it's the way I scheduled my trip but I feel like I'm missing something. Don't mistake me, I love what I've seen of Edinburgh but it's not inspiring the rabid devotion I've heard from so many people. I keep thinking if I wasn't traveling solo that I would feel That Thing that everyone else seems to feel here. Maybe Edinburgh is a city best experienced with friends or maybe I'm not the lone wolf I thought I was. 

squint and you can see the Palace beyond the cemetery

The thing is, my Air BnB house is practically a hostel. If I wanted to, I could hang around the common rooms and create my own travel buddies. I've met all my housemates at one time or another and they're lovely. But instead of running downstairs in the morning when I hear them making coffee and chatting, I stick to my room and eat my peanut butter and rice cakes, careful not to make too much noise so they don't think I'm avoiding them. I don't mean to be antisocial, but it takes me a while to warm up to my best friends in the morning, much less strangers. Being shy can be the pits. 

As I sit in The Regent drowning in neurosis, a woman sits near me with her gorgeous dog. I remark on the dog and we chat and exchange Facebook info and just like that I make a new friend. (Hello, Nikola and Finnegan!) I feel like I'm not such an awkward freak after all and maybe I should just shut the hell up now and spare us all. 

dedicated to someone for something (sorry)

I get lost again on my way back to my Air BnB to pick up my luggage and happen upon two different cemeteries in the space of five minutes. I had opted against going to the cemetery at Holyrood Abbey because I was running short on time, so I'm thrilled to stumble upon these. (In going back to confirm names, it turns out the first cemetery I find IS the cemetery at the Abbey I meant to see! But it's called Carlton New Cemetery. And the 2nd cemetery is the Old Carlton Burial Ground.) Plots are from as early as the 1700 & 1800s and they each feature a watchtower that guarded against body snatching into the 1930s. (Whereas digging up people wasn't precisely illegal - though it was frowned upon - keeping any of the dead person's clothes or jewelry was absolutely against the law. So when burglars did steal bodies, they were always careful to leave any possessions in the grave. People would dig up fresh buried bodies and sell them to the medical schools for a huge amount of money at that time. PS, Thank you, Merkat Ghost Tours for that helpful info!)

damn, I love old cemeteries

I'm tired and happy to get to my seat on my 4p train. I immediately fall asleep until the train attendant comes to take my ticket about an hour into the trip. We both discover I'm on the wrong train. My train was supposed to leave at 430, not 4. I'm blown away by this. I've had 4p carved into my head for so long, I never bothered to look at my ticket. Upgrading my ticket to stay on the 4p train would be "extremely expensive", so the attendant agrees to sell me a train ticket from Edinburgh to the next stop (Newburyport?) and I can get off there and hop on my correct train when it rolls through that station. 

Once I got a fix-it ticket in Burbank for a burned out tail light. I fixed the tail light the next day and threw the ticket away. Months later I was receiving warrants for my arrest with $600 fees in the mail so I went to court to contest them. When I told the judge I never proved to the City of Burbank that I fixed my tail light, he rolled his eyes, cancelled the warrant, and reduced my fee from $600 to $50. He called it an 'Idiot Tax'.

My ticket from Edinburgh to Newburyport was about £50. Maybe all Idiot Taxes average to fifty bucks. Jesus.