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It is for sure anyone as a traveler creates all kinds of expectations of any future journey, from the smallest "if there's no beauty or joy, I'm sure I can learn from sorrow" to the most ambitious "I'm sure I'll meet great exciting peopole and enjoy the most beautiful and bewitched landscapes". What we know about expectations is basically that they often and almost probably always disappoint us. Yet that doesen't mean the journey is a failure, it just ended up different as expected. I myself had expectations when I traveled from York, UK to Edinbrough by train. I was going to meet a friend in the city, it was my first alone "voayage" although I only got to be about one hour on my own around Edinbrough's train station. Yet what happened in the period of one and a half hours of train trip and the resting hour wondering about waiting for my friend I will never forget. When I got on the train at York Train Station, leaving behind the ancient city, I went straightly to my seat, wich I knew was next to the window. Since I bought the train tiket a month ago I couldn't get rid of the idea of observing trough the window; the large, almost infinite green fields and the dense fairytale woods populated by fingered trees which almost persuade any watcher to enter it's magical wild garden and discover it's darkests secrets. I could also imagin myself holding on to the world through the window and suddently turning aroung facing my book again, and reading patiently and calm. But because I was talking about expectations, you've probably figgured out that's not what happend. No, I did not loose the train, neither was I left with no seat to rest on. I walked through the coach, a man got up so I could sat on my window seat and "Dammit!" I said to myself "The window splits up here where I'm sitting, well I guess I could lean on my side and get a satisfactory partial view". What I didnt know is I would probably look trought the window once or twice during the whole trip. Not even when I had time to forget the window issue, the man sitting next to me begun, with a pleasant smile and a "Where are you heading off to?", a conversation that would end up with my first travel-friend. He was named Richard and he said he was half retired, he talked about his family and places he traveld to, I talked about my studying plans and traveling wishes and we just talked and talked till we where forced to say goodbye. He went off to visit his mother in Glasgow and I was just having my first sight of Edinbrough while I rised from the station. I couldn't believe it, "Has Edimbrough always rised so magically? The old and beautiful buildings climbed up the hill, "How did noone warn me about such scene?" I cried to myself. "Oh! my friend! I almost forgot!" I thought. While I was waiting for her I dicided to go for a little walk and taste a bit of that scroumtious scottish city. Suddently I heard some music, so I went straightly to find out where it was coming from. It was a kind of open air zone with wooden, look-alike rustic tables and seats and there were a few food and beer trucks around it. A young guy was singing and playing the guitar, and then I new, there I was going to have my first "scottish beer", I got a small one and sat on a high stool next to a barrel wich had a table use. And there I stayed, alone, resting, joyful, listening, next to another lonely man wich made me feel less alone. There I was with the city, and the city was with me and their citizens were or were to be at some pont, my companions. The essence of the simplicity of what I lived each second of the whole two and a half hours was just amazing, almost indescribable, a treasure reserved for travellers.