The spring sun brings out the oddest collection of white people in Scotland. The last few days have been exceptional, as far as Isle weather is concerned. According to Rhona, a friend from the ME studies office, this Monday was the warmest day in well over a year, attesting to the fact that the past summer here looked much like all of fall and winter, with perhaps a bit more degrees. She then informed me that it is supposed to be 24 degrees today, to which I smiled, taking a cue from her excited grin. As a Yank, I really have no idea what "24" means, other than an exciting TV drama about the covert operations of a shadow government no one wants you to know about. Supposedly, 24 is a good, warm, summertime temperature (I cheated, I looked up it on my computer's conversion chart... its about 75 real people degrees), which makes everybody in Edinburgh a little frisky.

Someone even gave a box of Popsicles to the homeless man who has claimed the territory outside of Tesco; he seemed quite pleased.

The flat spaces of Holyrood Park have transformed into an oversized college green. Grassy knolls are claimed by noon by 20-somethings studying or lounging in sports bras with their pants pulled up to their thighs for maximum sun exposure. Surprisingly, no bikinis yet, despite the young crowd; at OU, the first sign of any regular sun sparked a campus-wide campaign to be as naked as possible in every public space without being arrested. College kids need sun. Across the Pond, it seems to take a little longer to settle in; something to do with the looming disappointment of that inevitable day when its cold and rainy again?

Families are also taking advantage of the good weather, bringing lounge chairs, small tents, dogs, toys, high-tech baby carriages (not strollers, hard core carriages) and even full dining arrangements, complete with bottles of wine and picnic tables, out onto the green. Groups of kite-fliers claim large swaths of land closer to the mini-mountain of Arthur's Seat, territory well-respected due to the dangerous and often parachute-like nature of the kites. For some, the goal is to actually achieve liftoff while balancing on skateboards; none are very good, hence the respect of their territories: fear of death by kite.

Footballers also claim large flat areas, marked off by contraband street cones, swooning girls, and scrawny youths who didn't get picked for the team again today. Every once in a while, we notice some American culture creeping out in the form of a quick baseball game, or a couple of friends attempting to learn the dynamics of an American football and how to throw one; not at all like a rugby ball. Frisbees, too, zip by our heads as we make our daily pilgrimage across the park to or from Uptown. Sometimes they are caught by the intended person, sometimes by a wayward dog too excited by the prospects of fetching to realize that its not his frisbee. Or sometimes the dog is distracted by one of the many outdoor cats that have found solace in the sun. Shouts of "Gus, come. Gus, no! No Gus, come here!" abound.

And ice cream eaters. Children, grandpas, Japanese tourists, joggers, even policemen partake in the Cadbury (a highly ethical chocolatier, big fan) airy, semi-dairy fluff often mistaken for ice cream (don't get me started on the dynamics of super-premium ice cream, and what that actually means, learned from my former-Ben-and-Jerry's-statistician brother). And where children eat ice cream: ice cream disasters. Avoiding fallen swirls of not-quite-liquid goo and cones sacrificed to the sun gods has become a greater hazard than avoiding dog shit. I can't imagine the countless numbers of crestfallen children there must be every day in this park.

And of course the hippies have come pouring out of all orifices. Finished now with rehearsals for the Beltane Festival, they have settled in small herds scattered throughout the park. Their presence is often announced by the tell-tale signs of hippieness: bongos and pot, occasional singing. Of course, had this been an actual college campus in the US, such enclaves would have been complete with in-depth discussions on the importance of Hari Krishna and trays full of shrooms, free for the public if you listen to their musings on spiritualism, communing with god through hallucinogens, and why The Man sucks.

Maybe the shrooms will come out with the bikinis.