Surprisingly, the bus system was one of the most interesting things about Scotland. So much so that I wrote a think piece on it (which I will include below). The bus systems here are reliable, used by most, and overall an enjoyable experience. We spent anywhere from an hour to three hours on the buses every single day, so it was hard not to be interested in it. The buses here are much nicer, double decker, include charging ports, cushioned seats, and overall very clean compared to Pittsburgh buses. The people at the bus stops gathered quietly into a queue, respecting others’ place in line and waiting for people to exit. It is a much more sustainable way to live, as you are reducing your carbon footprint and creating stable jobs. Here is a picture of one of the many buses we took with the Edinburgh Castle behind it.
The wind whips my hair and the rain coats my ‘water-proof’ jacket as I stand in line for the bus on Princes Street. A queue forms before the bus arrives, everyone silently respecting an order I had just recently picked up on. When the double-decker finally rounds the corner, its headlights bleeding through the downpour, I reach for my bus pass without a thought. As I board, I hear the all-too-familiar beep, granting everyone a ride. For a moment, I don’t feel like a visitor. I am simply another passenger heading home.
Earlier that afternoon, I stood shoulder to shoulder with my classmates, creating a semi-circle around a tour guide telling stories of Edinburgh’s past. We clogged the already narrow pavements and craned our necks toward the obvious landmarks. There wasn’t a single place you could look without seeing a camera raised, myself included. The bus ride home tells a different story, history giving way to an ordinary life. As we journeyed home, I spotted students carrying grocery bags, construction workers goofing around, an elderly couple hand-in-hand crossing the street. The city stopped performing for visitors, and became real.
Before arriving in Edinburgh, I had never thought much about waiting in line. From my experience in Pittsburgh, people just tend to gather loosely near the bus stop and race towards the opening doors. The bus stops here are an entirely different story. Even when there is no sign explicitly instructing people to form a ‘queue’, one emerged naturally. Commuters stood patiently in order, quietly aware of their place in line. I remember when Stacey had first mentioned this, not entirely believing people were capable of such a feat. My first few days here, my classmates and I were hesitant, unsure where we belonged. Eventually, it became almost mathematical for me, taking note of each person around me, and seemingly stepping into the queue effortlessly. It was a small gesture, almost insignificant, but in a way, it connected me to the rhythm of the city and its people. Standing in the queue became ritualistic, and the ride felt like it began long before the bus actually came.
During my first week, I refused to wear my airpods. The bus became my classroom. I listened to the sighs of the hydraulic system at every stop the bus made. I focused on the automated voice that rang out, announcing the stops to come. Conversations wafted through the aisles and I spent a lot of time deciphering accents, sometimes barely being able to make out sentences because they were so thick. It was my own problem-solving game, the pieces and storylines constantly changing as people got on and off.
Whenever possible, I climbed the narrow staircase to the upper-deck. The front seat always being the best seat, providing the best views and a phone charging station. There was a stark difference in perspective on the different levels of the bus. From the top, Edinburgh’s landscapes unfolded right before my eyes. I could see rows of stone buildings stretching into the distance and church spires puncturing the skylines. The gothic architecture slowly faded away as we got closer to the University, replaced by thousands of flats, colonies, and the occasional brightly painted storefront. On clear evenings, few and far between, sunlight spilled across the cityscapes and illuminated the rolling hills. On the dreary days, rain blurred the windows, dissolving the city into different shades of gray.
The weather assured that no two bus rides to Edinburgh were the same. Some mornings, my surroundings were engulfed in a thick fog and almost made the city suspended between reality and fantasy, as everything was hard to make out. Occasionally, the sun would show its face, and you could almost hear the people of Edinburgh singing with joy. Every window on the bus would be open, and the back of the bus becomes a place of relief for sweating passengers. The slight breeze was a life saver on the days we spent walking in the almost sweltering heat. Most days were cloudy, creating a shadow over the city that the sun’s light would sparingly leak through. Watching these changes from the perspective of the bus window made Edinburgh feel endlessly new, the city revealing a different version of itself each day.
What enchanted me the most was not the bus itself, but its ability to alter my perspective. Every journey, and there were many, took me through a city that was both ancient and ordinary. Each time I looked through the windows, Edinburgh became less of a popular tourist destination, and more of a home. The bus patched together the disconnected elements of my life here(Heriot-Watt, cafes, museums, parks, kirkyards, galleries, restaurants) until they formed a coherent map of belonging.
My favorite journeys were the late-night ones. The upper-deck becomes a quiet oasis and the city reflects that energy. Streetlights put the serene sidewalks on display, usually catching the occasional wanderer. Some nights the bus would catch every single traffic light and suspended between destinations, I did not feel hurried or lost. The bus was no longer a vessel carrying me through the city, it had become the place through which I understood it. Eventually, the surroundings became more familiar and the automated voice declared my stop. Ironically, it was the last stop of the entire bus trip, which meant there was always a proper end to each journey. I raced to press the button to hear the familiar chime. The screen at the front radiated the red lettering “Bus stopping”. As the bus halted, I clinged to the poles for support, once in a while I would stumble over from how abrupt it was. The doors opened with a hiss and I stepped out into the night. As I walked home, I could hear the bus pulling away, the mechanical hum fading into the distance. Later, the bus would return, carrying strangers, students, commuters, and tourists. For me, it was something more than transit. It became my place, the moving landscape where Edinburgh started to feel like mine.
What I valued most about the bus was the permission it gave me just to sit still and take in my surroundings. My life at home is often crowded with obligations and constant movement. The need to feel productive and on-the-go is perpetual. Even on study abroad, everything was on a schedule, and it felt like there was no time to breathe. However, the bus created a rare exception. Once you sit in those seats, the only thing left to do is wait. The city was bustling with movement while I remained stationary. The bus rides, being anywhere from thirty to sixty minutes, became opportunities to process my experiences, replay conversations, and reflect upon my time abroad. Sometimes I would stare out the window, mind blank, not focusing on anything in particular. Other times, I found myself deep in thought, the bus detaching me from the world so I could think about my personal journey.
In addition to taking public transportation, we were also given a private bus tour on our third week. We spent hours upon hours on this bus, stopping at up to five different locations every day. We went from Edinburgh, to Dunfermline, to Killin, to Loch Lomond, and ended up in Glasgow. We were able to see some of the highlands, pictured above, as well as some highland cows, pictured below.
