They say the early bird gets the worm, but what they don’t tell you is that when you’re traveling with a six-year-old who treats 6AM like it’s party time, you get something even better: an entire city to yourselves.
Our Christmas morning in Edinburgh started the way all our mornings start when we travel, with my son bouncing on the hotel bed at dawn, ready to conquer the world. While most sensible people were probably still tucked under their covers, dreaming of Christmas pudding, we were heading out into the crisp Scottish air.
And honestly? It was magical. The cobblestone streets were completely empty, with just the soft glow of streetlights reflecting off the ancient stones. No tour groups, no street performers, no queues anywhere. Just us and the sleeping city, like we’d stumbled into our own private Edinburgh.
We made our way up to the castle on the hill, where the views were spectacular and the photos were completely tourist-free. Then we wandered down the famous Victoria Street, that gorgeous curved street that looks like something straight out of a fairy tale. We were taking pictures, admiring the colorful store fronts, and enjoying the quiet winter morning.
That’s when Edinburgh decided to humble me.
One moment I was admiring the charming architecture, and the next I was flat on my back on the sidewalk, having stepped directly into what can only be described as evidence of someone’s very enthusiastic Christmas Eve celebration. Yes, I had stepped in a patch of vomit, and it felt like walking on ice.
So there we were on Christmas morning, with my only jeans and newly knitted leg warmers covered in puke, frantically searching for an open laundromat in a city where absolutely everything was closed for the holiday. My son thought this was the most exciting treasure hunt ever, while I was trying not to think too hard about what was currently decorating my jacket.
After what felt like hours of wandering (but was probably just the desperation talking), we struck gold at a nearby hotel. We were able to pay to wash and dry a load of laundry. While my clothes tumbled around getting clean, we spent the day properly exploring Edinburgh—hiking through the city, discovering hidden closes and wynds, and turning our laundry mishap into the best unplanned adventure.
By evening, with fresh clothes and tired feet, we realized that sometimes travel’s best moments come from the things that go completely wrong. Sure, I’ll never look at Victoria Street quite the same way again, and my son will randomly say things like, “Hey, remember that time you slipped in puke?” But, we made memories that’ll last a lifetime and learned that even Edinburgh’s street surprises can’t dampen the magic of Christmas morning in Scotland.
Next time though, I’m definitely watching where I step.
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