Once upon a time, my husband and I used to celebrate our anniversary with a trip somewhere we always fancied, but couldn’t be arsed going to for a whole week. Like Krakow. Or Belfast. Then came 2007 – the year it all went wrong. I changed jobs, had a breakdown, took exams, moved house, we split up twice and got back together twice, and by the end of all that, we were thoroughly exhausted. We lost our travelling mojo and never really got it back, preferring the occasional package holiday to Cyprus and Portugal to city breaks off the beaten track.
We still don’t have our travelling mojo back, but we’re getting there. This week, we hopped on a couple of trains and travelled to Edinburgh – capital of this great little country and the city I once declared had cursed me (long story). It was the best trip we’ve taken in a long time but sadly it only lasted one night.
The train journey there was mostly uneventful. We struck up a conversation with a woman I am sure was Princess Anne, going incognito, and found ourselves on the receiving end of a history lesson from her. Then we arrived in Edinburgh, queued for a taxi and admired a local girl’s fur trimmed flowery wellies while waiting in the queue. Our taxi arrived and it was Teddy Sheringham driving it. Not really, just another looky-likey.
To quote my hubby, “Edinburgh taxi drivers rock.” Friendly, informative to the point of sounding like a guidebook, and wouldn’t take a tip. You wouldn’t get that over on the west coast. He advised us about theatres, restaurants, strip clubs and shops.
Wait, wait wait, wait, wait. Wait. Rewind. Strip clubs?
Yes, that’s right. We were a bit confused when he started telling us the names of the local lap-dancing clubs. We are a married couple, on a romantic night away. Why would he think we would want to know about strip clubs and lap dancers? Then we pulled up at our apartment block – which was right smack bang in the middle of what appears to be Edinburgh’s red light district. So, I guess he thought since we were staying there, we were swingers.
When I tried to check in on Foursquare, I was informed I was in “The Pubic Triangle.” Neon lights, burly bouncers and blacked out windows everywhere we looked. Well, it was interesting to say the least.
The apartment itself was fantastic. Definitely not a swinger’s place, thankfully. In fact, it was the nicest holiday apartment I’ve ever stayed in and the concierge was the friendliest and most efficient I’ve ever encountered. There were complimentary hot drinks in reception each morning and a huge library of DVDs to borrow. Not blue movies, I hasten to add, since this blog kind of has that theme running through it. We also had a range of CDs and videos in the apartment they wouldn’t charge us for. The kitchen was stocked with a basket of breakfast goodies, the fridge had milk and the bread-bin had a brown loaf. We even had a wee Christmas tree. It was fabulous. Everything was perfect, even if we were in a really dodgy area!