View of Edinburgh: taken from Wikipedia because it takes more awesome pictures than I do.

Edinburgh is a small city. Small, surprisingly small. Odd, for you'd think that a city that bears the grand titles of the capital of Scotland (since the year 1437) and the world's first UNESCO City of Literature would reflect its greatness in size.

Not so.

In fact, at times it doesn't feel like an important city at all. Everything is hidden, tucked away so neatly, so demurely, that you forget that it is there, or simply do not notice. "Blink and you'll miss it" - truly, and I'm not talking about a small town here!

The upshot, of course, is that practically everything is within walking distance. No need to worry about the cost of public transport, or the schedule and frequency of buses. From the majestic sweep of Princes Street with its horizon of castles, cathedrals and monuments, to the clusters of supermarkets, drycleaners, fishmongers, and DVD rental stores supplicating the most mundane of daily existence, everything is just - there. Famous restaurants and cafes featured in guidebooks - just round the corner! National galleries/museums and the seat of parliament - 5 minutes down the street! Theatres, parks, and nightclubs - literally in your backyard!

Speaking of famous restaurants, Carol and I had dinner at Susie's Wholefood Diner yesterday, for we'd heard that there was going to be live music of some sort. I've always been partial to this little place - besides having been strongly recommended by my trusty Lonely Planet guidebook, it also had the honour of being the first restaurant I dined in since coming to Edinburgh. Besides, the charmingly kitsch mismatched wooden chairs and tables, and the warm glow of long red candles lit on old wine bottles always provides a much-appreciated homeliness.


After we walked in, ordered our food, and seated ourselves at a small table, Carol remarked that the place seemed too small for 'live music'. I looked around - indeed! Nowhere was there a stage or enough floorspace for performances of any kind.


Just as we were pondering this, the rather large group at the table next to us - who had been eating, drinking and chatting away merrily all this while - suddenly rose and pushed their table away to a corner. Out of nowhere (or at least that's the way it seemed to me) they began pulling out guitars, ukeleles, drums, saxophones - even a double bass(!) - and launched straight into the most delightfully haphazard performance I'd ever encountered! There were about 12 or 13 of them, men and women of different ethnicities and accents, some walking in at random times and joining impromptu. They sang lovely, lovely tunes, harmonised beautifully, improvised with the cutlery, wine bottles, and plates on the table, and applauded themsleves heartily after each and every song. The size of the restaurant worked to their immense advantage. It became their living room - they played, sang, joked around, stood up and got food and wine whenever they felt like it. The other diners, of course, loved every second of it.

Can you imgaine? In this tiny tiny restaurant, all this festivity and goodwill, this - lightness of spirit, all this lit up with the soft glow of candles. But outside, as the dark night slowly descends, the cold hard rain continues to fall...