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I had no idea what to expect when I travelled to Edinburgh - I just knew that I had to go somewhere, and that it was a pretty city. I have a penchant for going to pretty places, you see, and oftentimes pick somewhere to go purely based on that. It probably isn't the best way to pick travel destinations, but I've yet to go to an aesthetically pleasing place that has disappointed me, and I can't imagine that it'll ever happen. So I hopped on the train from Leeds with my own little suitcase, coffee cup in hand, buzzing with excitement. Solo travel had always been something that had appealed to me, and I was finally getting the opportunity. It was probably the best city to go to - not too far, English speaking, big enough to not get lost, so if something disastrous were to happen then it wouldn't be that big of an issue. But, above all, I was excited. It filled me with a confidence in myself and a freedom which I had never experienced before. I'd never been to the city before - or Scotland itself - and I didn't really know where anything was. I had to use the map app on my phone to find the hotel, which is understandable, surely. Honestly, I couldn't expect myself to know the city as well as I know my own within the first five minutes of being there. But that's where the excitement lies. A quick Google showed me the typical tourist spots - Edinburgh Castle, Edinburgh Zoo, the Camera Obscura, distillery tours, the Fringe (if you time it properly) - the things that most people associate with a weekend trip to the city. Of course I went to some of these: the Castle in particular was beautiful, full of history and a place of so much learning. For a nerd like me, it was a perfect place to be. My nerdiness, however, lies primarily in literature, and as an English student I knew that almost everywhere is rife with literary opportunities. Edinburgh, to my great delight, was no exception. I found myself climbing to the top of Scott Monument, taking in the life an works of a previously unknown author whilst simultaneously taking in the (excuse the cliche) truly breathtaking view from above. I found myself walking along the Royal Mile, into the Writers' Museum, where, truly privileged, I was able to look amongst the writings of Scott, Louis Stevenson, and Burns, as well as writing desks, manuscripts, and paintings. Talking to my family about the trip after, this is where my nerdiness was truly exposed. Granted, it's not for all, but it was truly a hidden gem. Made my entire trip, and it was even better than the shortbread and gin. It was here that I started my tradition of buying my parents a magnet on my trips. They - well, mostly my dad - hadn't been too keen on my travelling alone. He was probably sadder about it than I was, in fact, not that I was sad in the slightest. Being able to travel on my own was truly liberating. I didn't have to worry about arranging anyone else where, being the 'mum friend', that was always my number one job. I just had myself to worry about, which didn't take much worrying at all, and I could go exactly where I wanted. Not many of my friends would have been all too appreciative of the 30,000 steps a day of just wandering around, but I didn't complain at all. I guess the magnets acted as some sort of proof to them that I could survive the trip alone - and that I enjoyed it. That I loved it, in fact. Going to an unknown city was the best. No preconceptions, no particular plans, nothing set in stone. Just the opportunity for pure exploration. The chance to find something new.