We work our way toward breakfast, walking through the labyrinth like maze, getting from one Georgian townhouse to another. Proceeding down a short hall, through a closed door, we press the bell for the lift and wait. The lift dumps us off in a small room where we are greeted with more doors than walls. Walking through another closed door—having a multiple choice I’m glad Michael remembers which one—we enter another short thoroughfare. Another door.  While skirting the waiting area of the restaurant, Michael points out the ultra plush doggie bed next to a park-like bench. It looks like a large gray wolf will be joining us for breakfast.

The dining room is airy and light, looking like spring, belying the cold gray skies on the other side of the wall.  Michael orders a full Scottish breakfast, which is the same as a full English breakfast with the addition of haggis.  I order the same, but ask the waitress to please leave off the haggis, the sausage, the blood sausage and the beans. While waiting for our main nourishment, at the continental breakfast buffet I load a saucer sized plate with small Danish pastries and a lovely giant flaky croissant.

Outside, walking the three quarter mile to the tour bus, the weather is as unlovely as I imagined.  Women fight the wind as their umbrellas try to take flight—Michael helps me adjust the hood of my raincoat while the sky spatters droplets between the tall buildings. The first to board the bus, we are able to obtain a birds-eye unobstructed view, sitting in the front seat on the top deck under the welcome shelter of the bonnet.

We plug in the earphones to our audio guide and my main question is answered—the misplaced Gothic steeple in the middle of town shelters a statue of Sir Walter Scott; a Scottish historical novelist, playwright and poet. I make a mental note that I need to finally read Ivanhoe. He also wrote Rob Roy, Old Mortality, The Lady of the Lake, Waverley, The Heart of Midlothian and The Bride of Lammermoor. I haven’t read a one. I think I spent my youth reading Charlotte Bronte and Alexander Dumas.

Michael loves boats and the two things on his list to see are the Royal Yacht Britannia and Edinburgh Castle. I’m curious about Holyrood Palace and the abbey ruins that are part of it. Given more time I would be more curious about more things, but we don’t have that luxury. I hate breezing in and out of a city, seeing it but not really seeing it. However, right now that is us. So we are going for quality rather than quantity. We promise each other we will not rush just to be able to barely see the next thing.

We reach the Royal Yacht Britannia through a ramp on the upper floor of the shopping mall that borders the Ocean Terminal in Leith. I understand why the mall is a perfect access point, the Britannia is five stories high, and over 300,000 tourists visit her decks and staterooms each year; however this is really a pittance considering that the total yearly visitors to Scotland tops 15,000,000.

The first thing we learn is the former royal yacht of Queen Elizabeth II was in service from 1954 until 1997. She is the 83rd royal vessel since King Charles II acceded to the throne in 1660, and the Britannia in her lifetime at sea traveled more than a million nautical miles around the globe. In 1997, after the Labour Party won the general election, it announced the royal yacht was to be retired and no replacement would be built. Because of this decision, Michael and I now get to see how the other half lives on an ocean going vessel. Even though we loved Island Rose, compared to the Britannia, we lose.

The numbers continue to stagger; regularly on board were one platoon of Royal Marines, 21 officers and 250 crew members—all to take care of one royal family, and their friends, and foreign dignitaries when visiting. I’m surprised by the simplicity of the royal bedrooms, and impressed that Queen Elizabeth chose to have a twin bed in order to use the same bed linens Queen Victoria used on the former royal yacht. I’m flummoxed when I hear the queen brought five tons of luggage on board for her trips. Maybe I misunderstood, but I don’t know how to rewind the tape I am listening to in order to find out.

Since we are here, having tea on board seems almost like a mandatory activity. We obligingly climb the outside stairs from the main deck toward the Royal Deck Tea Room. A bit too early for lunch and still full from our overly adequate breakfast, I order only a pot of Earl Gray Tea. Michael orders ginger beer and cake. I can’t imagine the combination, but he is happy.

Seated before a wall of windows sipping and looking, he points out a large ship, explaining it is the type of vessel used to lay Trans-Atlantic cables for communications across the world. Since Michael’s working career was spent with Southwestern Bell and Alexander Graham Bell was born in Edinburgh I feel a slight connection—gratefulness for his invention at the very least.

It has been overcast, cool, and windy all morning over the Port of Leith, however, casting our view further afield we see a spit of land across the wide bay bordering the North Sea that is distinctly sunny. It looks like the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. There is even a ghost of a rainbow in the sky reaching toward the sun-gilded knoll. We both agree we would like to be there. Right. There. At least for awhile.

Every time we complete the slow circuit of one deck we are back inside the shopping mall, descending stairs and crossing another ramp to the next deck level. It takes forever to listen to all of the recordings, stick our noses in all of the staterooms for crew and officers and royals, as well as checking out all of the working parts of the yacht.

After three hours I am ready to sit for awhile. At the moment the thought of attacking the massive fortress of Edinburgh Castle on that high hill is more than I can bear. We decide to take what we believe to be the easy route and visit Holyrood Palace this afternoon, leaving the castle till tomorrow.