Scotch Whisky a Go Go: Part, the Fifth

Where we linger further in Edinburgh whilst preparing to depart...and have yet another Dylan moment.

Another good, filling breakfast--and no computer problems to resolve. But, to start the day, we must return to Bob Dylan for a reference.... As I refilled my coffee cup, the B & B owner said, "You're like me: another cup of coffee. You know, like the Bob Dylan song?"

Walked around both New Town and Old Town throughout the day, starting with a hike in a light drizzle up and down hills and through parts of the city I've not seen. Each day I am here, I venture farther beyond th familiar, and I am less likely to consult my maps. Visited the Scottish Poetry Library and spent some time thumbing through a collection of both old and contemporary poets. Had lunch (excellent fish and chips, with beer) at the Bad Ass Cafe, which is down the street from both Filthy McNasty's and Dirty Dicks, names that are much more interesting than McDonald's.

I am not looking forward to tomorrow, when I've got to return to London, figure out how to get to Dover, and find a place to stay when I return to London after Dover. I am not, apparently (and obviously), adventurous enough to simply ad-lib everything as I travel; for if I were, I would not worry about where I'll stay.

While strolling about yet another cemetery today, this one adjacent to Princes Street and below the castle, I find a pathway that led through a park and then up the side of the hill on which the castle stands. I had seen the path from the castle, but had not given it much thought until coming across it here. It was a good, long hike up the side of the hill and to the Royal Mile, and I wondered how many people have made the same ascent over the centuries. Think of that: how unique we believe our journeys to be when they in truth are anything but.

For a couple of months before starting my trip, I would occasionally view a webcam focused on a spot on Edinburgh's Royal Mile. The camera would alternate between 2 views: one of the courtyard outside of St. Giles' Cathedral, the other of the street itself, including a garbage dumpster. I told my son that I would find that dumpster and that camera, which I finally did. From beside the dumpster, I looked up at the camera, and I suppose for a moment it was looking at me. Such cameras are everywhere I traveled--most are identified with signs such as "CATV"--and are used by one law enforcement entity or another to monitor what happens on the streets and sidewalks.

This same type of surveillance tool is becoming more common in the U.S. now, ostensibly for our own good, so that those charged with protecting us can tell us we are much safer if we are watched. In Sacramento, where I live, the Sheriff's department is gleeful that, in addition to cameras, unmaned drones will soon be hovering above us to fight crime. We are assured, however, that these drones will not patrol willy-nilly to watch us, but will be deployed only to those places where, say, a crime is in progress.

In the evening, I pack yet again, preparing for my walk to the train station tomorrow morning and the return to London. I feel safe in my hotel room, even though I am not being watched.