I hardly know where to start with Edinburgh. It’s silly, but honestly: I had to redo my Instagram captions so many times because there was just so many things I wanted to say about the city that could not be condensed into a single caption. Even though I have a full blog post to rave about it, I still don’t know where to start.

I worry about taking Nate to Edinburgh, because I love Edinburgh, and I want him to understand why I love it so much, but I feel like I cannot quite put into words why I love the city so much. I loved London for its culture—art, theatre, literature, all displayed for you to fully appreciate. But I can’t quite distill Edinburgh like that. Here is my best effort:

I told Asa that I think Edinburgh is a young person’s city. I’m sure people who live there all their lives are content, but I can’t see myself doing that. It’s a place to be inspired… to write, travel, make art, think deeply, walk for hours, try different kinds of food, meet different kinds of people, learn different languages, read more books. And then you leave, and you’re a better person for it. And you’re obliged to share your Edinburgh with the world.

It is a city that is somehow quiet yet lively. When the city is awake, it is filled with life, but it is also a city that sleeps peacefully. You can have a good time, but you won’t worry about finding quiet places, either.

It is a people’s city, free from big corporations and instead littered with shops that seem to mostly be a circulation of possessions, a sharing of lives and experiences. Locals own and run coffee shops and restaurants, but “local” has a fluid meaning in Edinburgh.

The Scottish accent in Edinburgh is hardly discernible because it almost always isn’t just Scottish. It’s mixed with French, British English, American English, Middle Eastern, Asian, and as a result you can’t really be sure what “local” means. Edinburgh is a city of more than just Lothian, or Scotland, or Europe: it is verifiably a city of the world.

And yet, Edinburgh manages to be so proud of its Scottish history, of its position with regard to British and world history. It embraces its geniuses: Hume, Rowling, Scott, Stevenson, Burns. It remembers them.

And it is so, so beautiful. Edinburgh is a city that aged so gracefully it wants you to know how old it really is. (Very.) It’s a city of big windows, old faded brick, beautiful skies, rippling blades of grass, cobblestone roads, narrow closes, and garden squares on every block. It is no surprise to me that it was the first UNESCO City of Literature, because how could it not be?

How could you not be inspired to write by its highs and lows, changing vistas, and tapestry of people—of different colours, backgrounds, cultures? In Edinburgh, one is almost duty-bound to write.

When I told Alex I couldn’t quite put my love for Edinburgh into words, she pointed out—and I agree—that you have to breathe Edinburgh. You have to breathe that Scottish air.

Dear, stunning, magical Edinburgh.