I love Edinburgh so much.

Ten years living in Hobart may have knocked Auld Reekie off the top spot in my favourite cities list. But as the place where I went to uni, fell in love, had a baby, and made many lifelong friends, it will always be somewhere I want to revisit.

Last time we were back in Edinburgh, in 2018, I found the whole thing a little disconcerting. Perhaps not enough time had passed since living there, or perhaps my roots in Hobart weren’t quite so deep at that point, but whatever the cause I found it hard to straddle the line between local and tourist. It almost felt too familiar, strolling around the streets of Marchmont and popping into Margiotta’s for a Guardian and a lottery ticket.

This time round, I had no such issues. It was a pure joy to be back. I was definitely there as a tourist – just one with pals to see and no need of the Google Maps app.

We stayed near the Meadows on a beautiful, tree-lined street where squirrels sipped from birdbaths and schoolkids laughed under the window as they walked or scootered to school. DorkySon couldn’t believe how dingy the tenement stair was; I couldn’t believe how clean and well-lit it was compared to every shared stair of my student days! Not only did the main door lock work, it had a soft close mechanism so there was no door slam soundtrack throughout the night.

That’s not to say there was no discombobulation – but that had more to do with jetlag than location. On our first night, deep in dreamland and grateful to finally be fully horizontal, I woke up to DorkyDad fluffing up his pillows, searching for the light switch, and readying himself for coffee.

“Wow, he said. “That was one of the great sleeps of my life.”

“Mate,” I replied, peering at my phone screen. “Go back to sleep. It’s two in the bloody morning.”

When we wake up for the second time, the plan is for a quiet day of rest and recovery.

Maybe get in some basic groceries, have a little walk around the neighbourhood, and finally get to one of the books I’d carried halfway across the world…

We leave the house for ‘a wee walk’ at 9am and it is after 2pm before we return – 22,000 steps and 13 kilometres later. Even on a 25-degree day, Edinburgh gets you like that.

DorkyDad and I have dragged poor DorkySon around the city on a full nostalgia tour: the Teviot Library Bar, which was the reason for our first ever meeting, just over eighteen years ago; the Signet Library, where we got married (and where we are thrilled on this visit to see them setting up for another wedding the following day!); and the University Labyrinth, where DorkySon’s Christening took place. We take in Greyfriar’s Bobby and the McEwan Hall, Victoria Street, Princes Street Gardens, and George Street (I take DorkySon to Starbucks and explain with great enthusiasm that I used to get freebies there from a barista friend, and I can tell by this point the tour is really wearing thin…).

Fortunately, we had the foresight to book lunch at the brilliant Viva Mexico on Cockburn Street, and a feast of guac and tacos turns the mood around. After a chilled-out afternoon, a quick pint for DorkyDad with a poet friend at Bennet’s Bar in Tollcross, and dinner at Kora by TK in Bruntsfield (great food, shockingly bad service), we are ready for another early night. Hopefully with no 2am wakeups.

With only four days in Edinburgh – three if you discount the day recovering from travel – we know before we arrive that there won’t be time to see everyone we’d like to. It would take three weeks, not three days, to have a drink with all the friends we love and miss.

We debated doing the whole ‘we’ll be in this bar for an afternoon, pop along if you’d like to’ scenario. But I always feel too thinly spread at that kind of catchup, and the only time that would have worked was Friday evening, which would have been tricky for friends with kids, tricky for friends having to travel across town, and tricky for friends who had been working all week… basically tricky for everyone.

Instead, we decide that this time round we need to focus on fewer, better catchups with our real nearest and dearest.

On Saturday morning, a buddy from the Borders drives up with her son, and we spend a couple of hours hanging out at the flat – reminiscing about the fact that it is 22 years that weekend since we first met in the dining hall of Pollock Halls! Her brilliant, funny, lovely son is a million miles away from the toddler I remember. But he is still young enough to have a wee giggle at DorkyDad’s Crocodile Dundee impressions, before they move onto a more serious conversation about their respective golf handicaps and the merits of links courses.

We lament the fact that there isn’t longer, knowing that really, we could fill two weeks with chat rather than two hours. But we also marvel at the way good friends are able to pick up exactly where they left off without any awkwardness.

All too soon, I wave her off at the door. And then, this being Edinburgh, I run out to the shops twenty minutes later and bump into her again, just a few streets over.

(Here is another excellent Edinburgh story. A friend from Manchester messaged to say they were briefly in the city at the same time as us, but they were driving up and back in a day and there would be no time to meet. We agreed to not worry about it, but to send each other good vibes across the Meadows. So, of course, DorkySon and I go out for a ten-minute walk to pick up some shopping and run right into her. It is, quite literally, just a 30-second conversation and an enormous hug, but I know it will keep me smiling for months.)

Anyway.

On Saturday afternoon, I catch up with another two friends who I’ve known even longer – one who has come up from the Borders with her partner at the end of a long week organising a walking festival, and one who has DRIVEN UP FROM WALES FOR THE NIGHT. I am not sure that I’m deserving of such incredible friendship, but I am so very grateful for both of them.

Both of those beautiful souls have been out to visit us in Tassie… but the last time the three of us were together in a room at the same time was at my wedding, and the time before that was when we went to Crete for a week to celebrate the end of high school. We promise each other there will be less dancing on tables this time round.

We sit on a bench on the Meadows and blether, trying to fit five years of chat into half an hour. I feel lucky and thrilled and excited and loving and loved and overwhelmed and a little bit sad all at the same time. Bloody hurry up and invent teleportation please scientists, so I can have dinner with these people more often.

We have set aside our next (final!) two days in Edinburgh for seeing family. My brother, his wife and kiddos live in the city; and my mum is down in the Borders but able to travel up.

On Sunday, we all head out to the National Museum of Flight near North Berwick. There is a slightly chaotic start to the day, with a car fire on the bypass holding up my brother, and our hired driver missing the turnoff and having to travel QUITE SOME WAY down the A1 before we can get back on track…

But it is worth it when we get there, and I think for DorkySon it goes some way towards compensating for all the polite small talk he has had to make with people he doesn’t know very well. (I believe he will be blogging about our visit sometime soon, and when he does I will link to it here. In the meantime you can see some of his pics from the day on his hobartaviationfan Instagram page.)

If you live in Edinburgh and haven’t been, I would highly recommend it – and not just because you get to step onboard Concorde! It’s a great place to take younger kiddos because there is a lot of outdoor space for burning off energy between the exhibits, and there’s a decent café if you don’t want to head into North Berwick itself.

The following day, we spend some time with my mum walking around the National Museum on Chambers Street, before heading for lunch at Pizza Express (exactly the same place we had lunch with her on our visit five years ago!). There is nothing like being a creature of habit, and the dough balls are still as good as DorkySon had remembered.

The National Museum remains one of my favourite places in Edinburgh; a really welcoming, peaceful, interesting place where you can easily spend a whole day, but also just enjoy by popping in for an hour at a time. We were lucky to see an incredible exhibition about environment and art in Oceania, and laughed as we pointed out Tassie on the wall map, while beside us a Kiwi was pointing out the South Island.

And then… even though it felt like we had only just arrived, it was already time to move on. Time to leave behind the cyclists and the potholes, the dog walkers and the guided tours, the excellent bus network and the endless, enchanting views of Arthur’s Seat.

Time to leave behind Cockburn Street, which was full of people filming TikToks and has come a long way since the days of Fopp and Whiplash Trash. Time to leave behind our favourite Italian restaurant in Bruntsfield, the breakfast pastries from Victor Hugo, and the lovely familiarity of Boots the Chemist. (I know, it’s weird the stuff you miss…)

After five nights in the UK, we are back on an almost normal sleep schedule. But jetlag is more than just tiredness. It’s a tricky thing to describe. It makes us slow and silly and prone to mistakes in speech. We laugh at our own mistakes constantly. And hope that Harris will put our brains right.

It’s time to move onwards to the north.