Cockburn Street, right off the Royal Mile, in Edinburgh, Scotland. By Emily Tarinelli ’25.
By Emily Tarinelli ’25
Guest Writer
I’ve always thought there to be something so magical about Scotland: the soulful tunes of their bagpipes, the fog that clings to the Highlands, and the legends of monsters who dwell beneath their lochs. It has been a privilege and a dream come true to study at the University of Edinburgh in the nation’s capital for the past semester, with much thanks to Mount Holyoke College’s Laurel Fellowship through the McCulloch Center for Global Initiatives.
As an institution with over 40,000 students, matriculating at the University was certainly a change from going to school among Mount Holyoke’s close-knit pool of 2,500 attendees — not to mention moving from our cozy corner of Western Massachusetts to a bustling urban cultural hub at the heart of Scotland.
Even for a city, though, there’s something homey and community-driven about it. On one of our first days in Edinburgh, my roommate from Türkiye and I ventured out of our dorm in search of lunch, and, evidently looking pretty lost and disoriented, a Scottish pedestrian walking her dog approached us and kindly asked if we needed directions. When she realized we were foreigners, she visibly and audibly brightened: “Oh, you are new to town! Welcome to Edinburgh!”
As an English major, there is no better place to pursue my studies than in the world’s first UNESCO-designated City of Literature. Compared to the collaborative nature of English seminars at Mount Holyoke, the University’s learning model is largely independent: my classes, which were centered on early modern comedy, science fiction literature, and traditional Scottish music, only met once per week for two hours each. The literature classes in particular tasked students with reading one play and one sci-fi novel in advance of every meeting. Reading two books a week was a challenge, but it certainly boosted my yearly reading goal on Goodreads!
Being at such a big school, I worried that the professors would not be as caring, approachable, or willing to get to know students compared to the wonderful professors at Mount Holyoke. Luckily, this was not the case — at least in my program. My sci-fi professor was an absolute nerd for the material we studied (and I say this with affection), like Ursula K. Le Guin's The Left Hand of Darkness and Octavia Butler's Dawn; and my early modern professor never shied away from joking around with his students and unleashing a booming laugh.
Throughout the semester, I supplemented my studies with visits to local museums rich with literary history, such as the Writers’ Museum in Edinburgh, Scotland. The Museum offered a collection of artifacts relating to three of Scotland’s most renowned writers: Robert Louis Stevenson, Sir Walter Scott, and, of course, Robert Burns. While each author is hailed nationally, Burns supersedes them all with his very own national holiday, Burns Night, where celebrants read his poetry over a traditional supper of haggis (sheep stomach), “neeps” (mashed turnips) and “tatties” (mashed potatoes). While the thought of haggis makes some international diners squeamish, the meat dish, which tastes like extra flavorful meatloaf, really isn’t that bad — dare I say it’s delicious?
There’s so much to do in Edinburgh, whether it’s walking the Royal Mile from Edinburgh Castle down to Holyrood Palace; hiking up Arthur’s Seat and hearing the faint tunes of bagpipes carried up the slopes on the wind; meandering down colorful Victoria Street into Grassmarket; admiring the city views from Calton Hill; or exploring the Princes Street Gardens with the Scott Monument towering just up ahead. Google Maps doesn’t work here — the streets are tiered, which messes with the system. Nooks, alleyways, tunnels, and stairways abound in every corner.
What’s surprised me is that I’ve come to appreciate my daily habits just as, if not more than, my visits to these popular sites. In the morning, I eat a delicious Scottish breakfast of sausage, fried eggs, a tomato, a potato scone, and baked beans in the dining hall with my roommate (how did I ever live without baked beans for breakfast?). I walk 25 minutes along the windswept cobblestone streets to get to class and listen to a lecture on aural musical tradition throughout Scottish folk history. I eat lunch with my roommate and get some work done; don my hood to combat the spontaneous rain as I head back home; eat dinner with my friends; and play a poorly skilled, yet highly competitive round of billiards on the ragtag pool table in my residence hall’s common room, before settling down and starting anew the next morning.