Sunshine on Leith

I popped in my AirPods and stepped out from my hotel. As I blinked in the sun, I opened my Spotify and found the album I wanted to listen to and hit play as I set out for my walk. A very Scottish man crooned, “When I wake up, well, I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who wakes up next to you…”

And so I began my walk from the center of Edinburgh to Leith. It was a glorious morning, and the sun shone brightly on a crisp April day. I had spent hours in my teenage room listening to this album, the cassette wearing down from overuse. I loved the brash, political lyrics, the thick, almost indecipherable Scottish accents, and the catchy melodies that were at once uplifting and defiant, yet soulful and melancholy. To a brooding teenager, it was the perfect playlist.

When I realized I was going to be in Edinburgh for a few nights, I knew I had to make my way to Leith, and I knew that the Proclaimers’ Sunshine on Leith album would provide the soundtrack. My brisk walk matched the brisk lyrics, and I marched in step with the beat. And so I walked down the broad boulevard, headed for the sea and what I came to know as the Firth of Forth.

Along the way, I saw the history of Scotland, medieval and modern, unfold before me as the lyrics of “Cap in Hand” rang in my ears:

No, I can't understand why we let someone else rule our land, 

Cap in hand. 

This land had always fiercely longed for independence, and it seemed almost a little perverse that the Royal Yacht Britannia was anchored at its port – a modern reminder that Scotland continued to be very much part of the United Kingdom and the Crown.  I also saw signs of a new Scotland. Peppered among the typical shops with yarn, woollies, and such, were a Chinese supermarket, a Pakistani restaurant, and a Nigerian cafe. As I got closer to the water, the streets became narrower, and some were cobbled with no sidewalks. I drew close to the water and walked along it to the port, listening to “Sunshine on Leith” and hearing their proclaimed love for both their land and the nameless object of their affection.

Lunch was at Fisher’s, a pub-like seafood spot near the water. I sat at the bar and enjoyed a crisp, bracingly cold white wine and the catch of the day. I chatted with the bartender, a young bloke who grew up in Glasgow but came to Edinburgh a few years ago to distance himself from the hectic pace of the city. As a native New Yorker who moved to San Francisco more than 10 years ago, I understood this.

After lunch, I decided to follow the path along the Water of Leith back into town. The path and the Water meandered through Edinburgh and looked charming and inviting. I popped my AirPods back in and hit play. The slow, lilting lyrics from the best hangover anthem ever recorded played out:

It’s Saturday night
I’m feeling on song
I think I’m alright
I know I’m all wrong
The drink that I had
Three hours ago
Has been joined by 14 others in a steady flow

But as I walked down the winding path along the Water of Leith, which led me past the Royal Botanic Gardens and quaint Dean Village, I knew I was alright, and there was nothing at all wrong.