a room with a view...

Salutations, from the fine city of Edinburgh. Just shy of two weeks abroad, and we have arrived in fair Scotland, and the city put on its best frock to greet us. We stepped out of the station into decidedly chilly atmosphere with a palpable dampness, and took in as much of the view as was possible before the scenery faded into the fog – which was all of 100m in any given direction. What we could see, we are not ashamed to admit, both awed and terrified us. It takes very little imagination to strip away the modern veneer of this city and see a medieval town underneath. Everything is imposing, and the effect is doubled when the top of every building fades out of view into the fog. The black stone streets hints at diabolical slipperiness, and you really know that a place sees a bit of moisture when the buildings are stained green. Our residence lay ahead of us up winding one-way street sloping up, away from the New town and into the Old.

Before I continue, I would like to admit that we HAD been warned. Our first stay in the Astor Hyde Park was fantastic. It was to our dismay that we were informed, by a reputable source, that we had chanced upon a gem of a place, and that we were unlikely to find such splendid accommodation elsewhere. It seemed that we had spoiled ourselves inadvertently. This was confirmed when we reached York, where the YHA (Youth Hostel Association, I presume) provided us with an experience that felt just a little more economical, stripped down, and simple. It had a feel to it that was just a little bit school-camp. At the Astor you did your dishes because it was the responsible thing, and made life for your fellow intrepid travelers easier. At YHA York, you did them because there was the inescapable feeling that if you didn't, just around a corner lurked an imposing matron, ready to deny you dessert and send you to bed early. Yet the place was clean, even the cupboard-esque windowless showers.

And so now we arrive at Edinburgh Backpackers. Not our first choice in accommodation. But we'd gotten a little behind and hadn't reserved early enough. After finding the place, we entered reception and our hopes rose a little, it looked just a little bit modern, a bit art-deco, and felt like a lively place. Let it be a warning to all ye: reception areas can be designed to lie. Money changed hands, and we waited to be shown to our room, presumably upstairs. We presumed wrong. The receptionist informed us that we'd be staying in their other building. (Small alarm bells start a-ringing.) We are escorted out the front door, and down an alleyway (or 'close' as they call them all here). Just down some stairs is a wooden door, which we are ushered through. Immediately inside this door are two more doors. The receptionist leaves us here with a key and a code, and returns to her post. We fumble around inside the ridiculously cramped entryway, the whole process complicated by another group of travelers trying to exit through the same space. After the confusion has died down, we proceed through another door (unlocked with the code) and travel up a hallway, which smells a bit like a damp bathroom. There are no windows. A few more stairs, and another door. Some stairs back down, and another door, with 'Dorm 9' emblazoned upon it. We have arrived. It isn't pretty.

It's hardly hell on earth. But it is just a bit like how I imagine youth detention would be. Blue, blue, blue and IKEA silver, all under fluorescent lighting, does not make for a welcoming décor. There is one window in this room, and it makes us laugh (on the outside, at least). Its purpose is questionable. Maybe once it opened, but no longer. Maybe once it looked out onto the glory of the outside world, but again, no longer. It now offers a scenic vista of concrete, brick a closed fire-exit. If you get right up the window you can look down a tunnel, and see daylight coming through a wire grate at the end. Beyond the great is the outside world...consisting mostly of trash. It is, without a doubt, the most depressing window ever.

Although we aren't yet so hardened to the rough backpacking life to just shrug and get on with things, we're also too fresh to the whole experience to be truly upset by this. More seasoned individuals than us will most certainly scoff at our 'hardship', but please, leave us to our fancies. We may yet see worse.