Tourists - Gold Star

It’s that time of year in Edinburgh when the weather improves (really, it does), the university students head home, and the tourists who’ve been visiting in a steady stream all year arrive in a torrent. Some locals grumble about this. Princes Street is heaving. You can’t make your way down the Royal Mile or the Bridges. Coaches clog streets designed for horses and carts. There’s hardly a Scottish accent to be heard. To be fair, the latter is par for the course in cosmopolitan Edinburgh. This is no brogue I’m sporting.

I say, bring it on. I love tourists. Really, I do. Perhaps it’s because of my status as foreigner in this country; tourists help me blend a bit better. Perhaps it’s that I find socks and sandals endearing. Probably, it’s my distaste for hypocrisy that does it. I love tourists because I love being a tourist. I can’t have that one both ways.

A few years back, I went on holiday with my best pal who is a five-foot-ten blonde. She snorted with disdain at the all-inclusive resort wristbands we had to wear, loathing the fact that they made us look like tourists. I hated to break it to her that in Mexico, she and I, her ginger friend, weren’t ever going to look like anything else. Since most of Scotland’s visitors come from the rest of the UK, maybe you think that makes them harder to spot, but tourists stand out no matter how they may try to blend.

This time of year, I enjoy spotting the tell tale tourist signs - guidebooks, maps, cameras, and confused or amazed impressions. It makes me feel proud to live in a city so many people want to see. They save, plan, and wait for this opportunity. I have to look at the castle anew when I see someone photographing it, a loved one in the foreground. I want to climb up Arthur’s Seat again when I spy the figures atop the famous rise. I want to join the queue at the National Gallery and see the latest exhibit or just look at some old favourites again. I want to hear bagpipes and eat tablet. It’s inspiring to see so many people inspired by my city.

Undoubtedly, my favourite thing about tourists is the opportunity they bring for random conversations. Certain boundaries and constraints are removed when you become a guest in another locale. Getting lost, especially when you don’t speak the language, motivates you to get to know the locals. I must have a non-threatening aura, perhaps due to my small stature, because I often get asked for directions. My language skills are poor, but my pointing is top notch. Sometimes the accent disappoints people, but this is Edinburgh after all.

Let’s face it; people will either be locals or tourists. Once you travel outside a certain radius from your house, you become the latter. And that’s a good thing. Life is about new experiences, expanding your comfort zone, spending your money. When I travel abroad, I take my money with me. When tourists come to Edinburgh, they bring their money with them. From a purely economical standpoint, tourists are a plus. Scotland brings in about four billion pounds in tourism revenue each year. If that won’t make you hug a tourist, nothing will.