Driving into Edinburgh was like scrolling through a three dimensional Tumblr feed. We drove by girls exiting taxis with pastel blue or purple hair. Men in perfectly broken in leather jackets were crossing the rainy streets. Everyone was dressed perfectly, looking so on point that my heart sunk thinking of the bland travel clothing that filled my Samosonite. The city's old streets were packed with these hip individuals because of The Fringe, the largest arts festival in the world. Tara, Emily and I decided we wanted to go out and explore the city our first night, so after meeting up with my friend Rachel, we hit the streets.
I pulled out my passport to show security at the door of The City Cafe. A perfect Studio 54-esque playlist was pumping inside, spilling out to the sidewalk where Emily, Tara, Rachel and I stood. After searching for a few blocks, I agreed with the others this was the spot, based solely on the DJ's seamless transition between Rick James and Donna Summer. The pub was filled with Scottish twenty-somethings, mingling and moving their bodies to the music. I gazed upon all the tall bearded men at the 1950s style counter, watching them desperately try to make eye contact with a bartender through their stylish frames. We grabbed a corner booth and before I went to grab a drink, I quenched my other thirst and checked if the pub had WiFi. It did, you just had to provide your name and your email. I'm not sure if that's a smart move to give up such information willy-nilly but I've been doing it daily. At this point, I'd submit a detailed essay about my darkest secrets if a WiFi login prompted me to do so. After Rachel and I answered texts, posted a Snapchat Story and uploaded an Instagram so that everyone know how much fun we were having, we journeyed to the bar to get a cider. In Scotland, they have endless cider flavors. We landed on a strawberry one that tasted like a Jolly Rancher. For about an hour at The City Cafe, we danced, drank our liquid candy and tried to lose a guy with broken English who kept insisting we join him at a Polish club.
We left the pub and were approached by a different promoter with every step we took down the cobblestone street. Adolescent looking guys in vintage windbreakers offered flyers and promised us their club was the place to be in between drags on their cigarettes. Edinburgh was so stimulating. It was like drinking a RedBull after our relaxing week on The Island. It was in some ways exactly what I'd expected but so much better. I felt like I was thriving, even if I was wearing my Nikes to the club.
-Audrey
I pulled out my passport to show security at the door of The City Cafe. A perfect Studio 54-esque playlist was pumping inside, spilling out to the sidewalk where Emily, Tara, Rachel and I stood. After searching for a few blocks, I agreed with the others this was the spot, based solely on the DJ's seamless transition between Rick James and Donna Summer. The pub was filled with Scottish twenty-somethings, mingling and moving their bodies to the music. I gazed upon all the tall bearded men at the 1950s style counter, watching them desperately try to make eye contact with a bartender through their stylish frames. We grabbed a corner booth and before I went to grab a drink, I quenched my other thirst and checked if the pub had WiFi. It did, you just had to provide your name and your email. I'm not sure if that's a smart move to give up such information willy-nilly but I've been doing it daily. At this point, I'd submit a detailed essay about my darkest secrets if a WiFi login prompted me to do so. After Rachel and I answered texts, posted a Snapchat Story and uploaded an Instagram so that everyone know how much fun we were having, we journeyed to the bar to get a cider. In Scotland, they have endless cider flavors. We landed on a strawberry one that tasted like a Jolly Rancher. For about an hour at The City Cafe, we danced, drank our liquid candy and tried to lose a guy with broken English who kept insisting we join him at a Polish club.
We left the pub and were approached by a different promoter with every step we took down the cobblestone street. Adolescent looking guys in vintage windbreakers offered flyers and promised us their club was the place to be in between drags on their cigarettes. Edinburgh was so stimulating. It was like drinking a RedBull after our relaxing week on The Island. It was in some ways exactly what I'd expected but so much better. I felt like I was thriving, even if I was wearing my Nikes to the club.
-Audrey