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As everybody (probably) knows, some disturbed people rammed an SUV into the Glasgow airport on Saturday, the day my roommates and I visited Scotland. Obviously, since we were in Edinburgh, we were fine, nothing worse than some inconvenience waiting for the train.

Upon arrival in Edinburgh, our primary purpose was to procure a hotel for Katherine (for July 3), and after that, she and I planned to hike up to Arthur’s Seat, the topmost point of a miniature mountain (or sizeable hill, depending on your perspective) in the center of the city. We wandered the wonderful streets and approached Arthur’s seat from the back, down a gentle slope, and as we ambled this rustic, pleasant green path, we heard, faintly at first, Celtic music. Katherine feared an imminent leprechaun attack, but as we pushed on, we realized that Edinburgh was hosting a festival (actually a big picnic) showcasing Celtic music. The melodies from the bagpipes resounded and ricocheted off the rocky sides of the mountain, so we trekked to quite an appropriate soundtrack.

Every article about Arthur’s Seat insists that the walk is effortless and mild, and a few years ago, I actually reached the summit, but either I took a different path back then (multiple paths exist), or my energy levels have since depleted. We paused about halfway up, devoured the cheese sandwiches Allison packed for us, then we decided to descend the slope for tea and scones with clotted cream and jam.

This decision proved fortuitous, as the rain commenced just as we reached the bottom, and for the remainder of the day, the showers scarcely ceased. After a gorgeous high tea, we shopped for souvenirs for our parents, then we sprinted from store to store in a valiant but futile effort to avoid the downpour. After a few hours of continuous, unrelenting movement in incessant rain, crankiness set in. Edinburgh seethed and swarmed with slow-moving tourists wielding pointy umbrellas, teenagers oblivious to the weather and football hooligans chanting, “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go fucking MENTAL!” Exhausted, with aggrieved, indignant legs, at 5 pm, we clambered into a restaurant for an early dinner, so we could simply relax before our train at 7.

The perpetual rain particularly agitated me on this day, and as I waited for our delayed train, I envisioned the famous Munch painting as the screams echoed inside my own mind.