The next morning we finally crossed through the threshold, beneath the imposing iron portcullis, into the realm of Edinburgh Castle. We were accompanied by our Canadian pals (Eh?) Lisa and Susan, and spent all morning exploring the castle. It is, quite simply, one of the most beautifully and conservatively preserved historical buildings I have ever seen. It is imposing and powerful, but delicately perched on a cliff top, with stunning 360 degree views for maximum defensibility. Standing on its towering ramparts it was far too easy to imagine its countless past seiges. We explored the dungeons, war memorials, chapel, and ceremonial hall (full of old beautiful weapons, mounted artistically on the wall). We also saw the Scottish Honours (the crown jewels) and the Stone of Destiny, all of which are associated with the now extinct Scottish Monarchy, but are still possessed of a strange power. The Scots seem extremely superstitious, and place massive value on these ancient treasures. They are certainly inspiring to see, and their history is even more so. Except for the Stone of Destiny which, as far as we could tell, is just a rock. Most of the castle had fascinating history, which I will not recount now because out of context, and in the minds of college students, it probably seems boring. But I can attest to its being absolutely fascinating, and relevant, as the Castles practical use continued right up to WWII. We descended to the lower battlements for the Noon Gun (a cannon fired every day at exactly 1 o'clock) and took that dramatic signal as our exit. We descended from the top of the Royal Mile in high spirits, got some more turkish wraps for lunch, and then went over to the National Portait Gallery.

The National Portrait Gallery was an incredible art museum, one of the best any of us had seen, with various beautiful works from many periods and regions. There was a whole floor dedicated to Scottish painters that was particularly impressive, and we left in an even more severe state of awe. Before leaving however, we were accosted by one of the curators, a small funny man who insisted on telling us of his heritage. A Sicilian by ancestry, he told us the long tale of his grandparents (mafia gangster and neighborhood matriarch) and their immigration to Scotland and his father (road paver) and mother (ice cream vendor) and how he had been obsessed with art and had been in love with the same paintings we were now poring over since he had first seen them at the age of five. Hearing such a wonderful story so beautifully and passionately told was a fantastic and rare occurence, and we felt lucky (though a bit confused) having met Vittorio.

We walked back to Argyle and parted ways with the Canadian Girls. Then we got hot chocolate (I know it seems like we do this a lot but remember it is COLD) and headed back into the center of town. After a bite to eat, Casey walked me to the bus station and I embarked on the 10PM 534 Bus to London. Here our paths diverge for the first time since we embarked. Here I will begin to speak of "I" and not "we." (Casey will write about his adventures in France, while I will write of mine in London). We/I were/was off. On the next stage of our meandering adventures.