The most incredible street in the British Isles has to be the Edinburgh’s Royal Mile. At one end, it is anchored by the looming hulk of Edinburgh Castle and, at the other, by the Royal Palace of Holyroodhouse. In between lies the whole pageant of Scottish history.

Along the way are St. Giles Cathedral, the High Kirk of Scotland; the tolbooth, or prison, described in Sir Walter Scott’s The Heart of Midlothian (1818); and the house of John Knox. Short dead-end streets known as wynds contain Europe’s first high-rises.

Gladstone’s Land, an Early High Rise Building

England, Wales, and Scotland are all rich in history; but in Scotland there is a particular awareness of history that permeates the culture and literature of the Scots. You find it in the works of Robert Louis Stevenson and the historical novels of Nigel Tranter. You can hardly step out of your hotel without finding yourself in the middle of it.

I’ve been to Edinburgh four times in all dating from 1976, the first two times alone, the second two times with Martine. If I had the money, I would dearly love to go again. There is something about reading one of Scott’s Waverly novels while eating a steaming bowl of cullen skink. And yes, I actually like a plate of haggis and neeps (mashed turnips), probably because haggis tastes like Hungarian liver sausage, or hurka.