Exactly one year ago today, I had one of the most memorable Christmases in my life.

A few months earlier I was considering a trip to Europe for Xmas/New Years to see how folks outside the US celebrate the holidays. Coincidentally, some friends had told me they just bought plane tickets to Paris for New Years, so that was my kick in the ass to go for it myself. 3 days later I was the proud owner of plane tickets to Edinburgh for Christmas and Paris for New Years.

I chose Edinburgh since I knew some folks there whom I met on a previous trip to Tokyo (Scotland football fans who were attending a friendly match vs Japan). I knew I wouldn’t see them until the 27th, so I had time to myself on the 24-26th when I landed. My plans, however, were slightly jolted when upon my arrival to Edinburgh Airport on Xmas Eve, my luggage (and about 75% of the passengers) was nowhere to be found. Turns out that Heathrow had just re-opened the day I connected thanks to a snowstorm that shut down operations for 3 days and all airport operations were awry with backups.

Upon my arrival at The Sheraton in Edinburgh, I was immediately upgraded to a castle-view suite thanks to a sympathetic desk clerk who saw my 5-night stay considerably interesting for a man with just a camera bag. They even helped me with my luggage tracking. That night, I sat at the hotel bar, ate some dinner and said “Happy Christmas” to several older couples having a nightcap before heading back to their rooms for a long winter’s nap.

Christmas morning was an amazing Eucharist in St John’s Church followed by a stroll through a fascinating Christmas carnival in the Gardens down Princes St. That evening I was determined to find a place to eat, and an Indian spot nearby was my goal. However, things slightly changed once I turned to the street.

I saw two women walking by all dressed up for a night out. I passed them and decided “why not” and turned around and kindly asked them where I could find a pub. I introduced myself as a lone American traveler and they kindly invited me to join along. After a few uncomfortable minutes of small talk, I casually pulled out my Lomo camera for some night shots of the cobblestone streets. It was then that the friendship began.

It turns out the two ladies were friends from Lithuania and photography students at the local university. Suddenly, instead of awkward small talk we began chatting up about film, composition and lenses while looking for a pub that was open.

We ended up in the Grassmarket area and stepped into a pub called Maggie Dickson’s where a rough-looking gentleman smoking outside (I’ll call him James for this story) said he liked my coat. I smiled and passed it off as nothing and just pulled it off my shoulders saying “This old thing? Nah, its old” and grabbed a table inside with the gals.

As we observed our surroundings, the pub was a bit heavy in male-population. There were a few women scattered about, but you could say it was a veritable “sausage fest” inside the cozy confines. Needless to say, “James” was with a large group of similar-looking rough blue-collar guys in the back and looked to be the Alpha Male of the group by his actions with the table. I decided to befriend the coat-loving stranger not only so I wouldn’t get into trouble should things happen, but also to make sure my female company wouldn’t be groped and ogled by every drunken bloke in the joint.

As he went to the bar for another round, I walked up his way and stood next to him facing the bartender. As he nodded my way our conversation went like this…

Me - So you like my coat then? How much you wanna pay for it?
James - Aye, yer American. What the fook you doing in this miserable place?
Me - I decided to see Christmas somewhere else besides Los Angeles
James - LA, aye, you must be knee deep in that Crips and Bloods shite then? (as he humorously throws some silly gang signs)
Me - (trying to sound like Omar from The Wire) Nah, thats old school. I’m up in all that Mara Salvatrucha (throwing my upside-down M sign), Avenues and 18th Street action, ya feel me?
James - (smiling) Fookin’ ell, that’s crazy! (He hails the bartender) Oi, Lizzie! Get me a shot and one for my American pal here.

After a few shots of… Aftershock (yeah, tough guy, right) James sits down with us and we chat up about whatever. As drunk men from his group would come by and hellaciously hit on the ladies, James would push them off as if we were holy relics. This was protection, Scottish style.

After a few rounds (graciously purchased by James), I felt the need to start buying some myself. I walked up and placed my order and Lizzie tells me sternly “I’ll serve you and your lady friends, but he’s cut off for the night, you understand?” I politely nodded and said “You’re the boss.” and walked back with three pints instead of 4.

James asked me “where’s mine?” and I nodded toward the bar and said “The boss said no more for ya.” James suddenly grabbed my glass and proceeded to chug down as much beer as he could. Lizzie stormed from behind the bar and grabbed him by the collar yelling “Yer Out!” while smiling to me and the gals saying “Yer okay, stay put.” Why was he cut off? I think it had something to do with an argument he had with Lizzie during one of his round purchases. In any case, his crew followed with him soon thereafter and the pub suddenly became normal again.

After several visits by other gentleman callers (including a Muay Thai instructor and some writer who did impersonations) we were visited by two normal guys, Christopher and Stuart. Stuart had just returned from Afghanistan and his mate Chris was taking him for a night out. After a few more pints, we decided to head for another spot. Since it was Christmas, the choices were slim, but we ended up at a multi-level nightclub called Espionage whose slogan is “1 Club, 4 Bars and Zero Charge” and has a reputation for being open 365 days a year and is decorated with old Sean Connery James Bond posters.

A few more pints were consumed, the ladies made a quiet exit and the remaining “Three Kings” in this adventure got quite knackered while dancing like idiots to some horrible pop music. The last thing I remembered was Chris helping me to a cab and shooting this photo in the men’s room.

I never did make it to that Indian restaurant… just a few bag of crisps was my Christmas dinner followed by pints of cider, hops and barley.

I woke up the next Boxing Day morning with some new Facebook friend alerts, a note that my lost luggage was arriving in a few hours and room service consisting of bangers, eggs and toast. I ran into Ruta at her job at Zara during its Boxing Day sale (its like the USA’s Black Friday) so our hazy, hungover zombie-like chat was brief amidst the shopping chaos.

Later that night, rather than wait any longer for my suitcase, I took the bus to the airport and searched for it with a British Airways clerk. It was like that final scene in Raiders of The Lost Ark when ark is placed into storage, but we eventually found my black suitcase amidst all the others like-colored bags thanks to my neon-green luggage ID hanging out like it was an island castaway waving at a rescue plane. I finally had fresh clothes to wear when I hung out the next day with my friends Jillian and Claire.

Thank you Edinburgh, Ruta, Ingrid, “James,” Christopher and Stuart. What started as a solo adventure became a chaotic-yet-fantastic night followed by happy returns. It was the best 24 hours anyone could ever want on Christmas. Bless.

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