It's Good to be Home

23^rd July 2014

5:34pm

Edinburgh, Scotland, UK

We get to the city around half five, we’re right on time and I know I have it bad because I’m getting all nostalgic over the stop in Haymarket. I’ve never even been to Haymarket. To me, it’s just the train stop on the west side of the city that I’ve never done anything but ride through. But still, I am practically gushing over the familiar grey brown buildings with their quirky old architecture. I’m in Edinburgh. There is this immensely ‘unreal’ quality to being back here again. I almost ask my friend to pinch me, but I don’t, because that would be weird, and worse it would be cliché.

We part ways, and I make my way out of Edinburgh Waverly and on to Princes Street. It still smells like Edinburgh. I mean it smells a bit different, but that’s because the warm air of summer always smells different to the cool air of winter. However, there still that unmistakable scent of Edinburgh, and it is this constant that keeps me grounded as I walk towards North Bridge grinning like an idiot. The people around me chatter in that way people make noise in cities, but their voices are unmistakably Scottish and that just makes me grin wider.

As I cross the road, I see that the 49 is already pulled up to the stop. Bus fare had gone up, so I have to scramble to get the extra 15p from what I was expecting. The bus lady was less than pleased with me, but that’s Edinburgh for you. It’s difficult to climb up to the top with my backpack and shoulder bag. I imagine I would have a similar time if I suddenly became really fat, but wasn’t quite familiar enough with my new body to know the spaces I could and couldn’t fit in. Despite all that, I climb up anyway. The view is better up here, and I always preferred to ride on the top.

Truth be told, I don’t really like the 49. It takes the longest, but I was too excited to wait for anything else. All the same, I love the familiar trip down North Bridge to South Bridge to Nicolson and on. I’m here. I’m really here. I have to keep reassuring myself because I’m irrationally afraid that, if I drop the thought, I’ll snap back to reality and find myself in my bedroom at home or sitting in class still waiting for this very moment.

The route has changed a bit, but for the most part, it’s the same trek to Dalkeith as I remember. My favourite part is always when you’re up on a hill from outside the town and about to go down to it. It’s better at night, but even in the day it manages to bring that idiotic grin back to my face.

I get off on the stop on High Street, and pull some money from RBS. Then I begin the walk towards Duchess Park and Dalkeith House. You might imagine me running joyfully through the town with a determined look in my eyes and shocked pedestrians trying to jump out of the way of this madman careening down the streets. However, I can promise that I did no such thing. I walk. I am in no hurry. I’m home, why would I need to rush? I was listening to music on my way through the town and I think it’s rather nice that Dougie MacLean’s version of Caledonia is playing as I enter the estate. If you haven’t heard it, give it a listen and you’ll get why I thought this was special.

Anyway, once you get into the park you always have two options. You can go to the left and walk along a paved road, or you can go straight and catch the house front on as you walk through a field. I choose the latter, because I don’t have any rolling bags.

There are two students sitting on the front steps that I used to sweep. They give me a somewhat sceptical look, and I ask if Patty is around. They suggest I try the buzzer (which I would have done if they weren’t around). Patty shows up a few minutes later with a smile and a bundle of train tickets that I had bought. I would have given her a hug, but I am all sweaty and I tell her so. She asks about my trip and tells me where my room is. I tell her about my train issues and thank her.

I am more than eager to get to my room and drop off my bags. So I run up stairs, enjoying the ease and familiarity of the house. It’s just as I remember, most notably the scent. It is so very good to be home. I don’t really have words to put around it other than that. It’s strange how much I’ve missed this place, or rather, it’s strange that I didn’t realize how much I missed this place until now. It’s very good to be home.