In the City of the Scots

It would be impossible to write about everything I did over the past five days without making an entry that was much too long and in the end having you, dear blog reader, loose interest completely in the city that I have come to love more than any other, and that is something I do not at all want to do.

So here is first a short but complete list of what I did while in Edinburgh:
• Edinburgh Castle
• The Scotch Whisky Experience
• The Camera Obscura
• The Royal Botanical Gardens
• The National Gallery of Scotland
• Tour of the Highlands including Loch Lomond, Loch Loggin, Loch Ness, and Glen Coe
• St. Giles Cathedral
• Mary King’s Close
• National Museum of Scotland
• Scottish Parliament
• The Royal Palace of Holyroodhouse
• Deep Sea World
• The Fourth Rail Bridge
• Calton Hill Park and Nelson’s Monument

You can browse at your leisure each of the sights and I’ll talk about the ones that really struck me. On our first morning, cloudy but relatively warm, we wandered up from Haymarket to Princes Street where Edinburgh Castle found us completely astounded by the size and strength of the old fortress, rearing itself over the city like a behemoth- the center attraction all things in the old town go around. The walls melt almost seamlessly into the long green rock faces of the ancient volcano on which the castle sits, its cannons still facing out from the battlements like black dots around the crown of the city. It is a sight which pictures do no justice. In fact, this is a common theme throughout all of Scotland. You have to be there to understand the size and the sight of it all.

The whole Old Town side of the city is composed of monuments and strong, old stone architecture with blackened streaks smeared on the sides and the faces of men on horseback, men on their own two bronze feet, bolted to marble, cut into stone staring up at the high Scottish sky. Sir Walter was by far the most prominent, not just because of the high gothic styling of the Scott Monument, but because there were usually at least three statues of him in sight at any time and if you weren’t sure who a statue was of, it was probably Sir Walter.

Walking down Princes Street towards the city center you have the park and castle, green and stony on your right, and the tall precipice of stores and souvenir shops assailing you on the left. There was construction all along Princes Street cutting off access to the park on the right and each morning making us subject to the same Scottish tourist music the shops played day in and day out.

From Edinburgh Castle

But once past Waverly Station and near the Royal Mile the street becomes crooked and steep. First coming across a road rightly called “The Mound” we hiked up to the castle and then down the Royal Mile, so named for the Castle towering to the west, from whose height the entire city was clearly seen even on a cloudy day, and the Palace of Holyroodhouse ending the street to the east. This is the official residence of the Queen in Scotland and a beautiful, kingly estate with a decidedly royal candor from the plaster-molded ceilings to the ancient bed of Mary, Queen of Scots. Directly across the street from Holyroodhouse sits the sleek modern look of the new Scottish Parliament Building, a contemporary and wondrous thing that appears more like an upscale apartment then a government building. We toured each in their time, stopping along the Mile to see St. Giles' fine stained-glass windows and chapelwork and Mary King’s Close, an originally preserved street from the 16th century that now sits under the Scottish judicial headquarters. The tour of this was spectacular, taking us through the dark rooms of the original Edinburgh tenements and imparting the history with a tour guide that was surely above-par. It was one of the best investments of the trip.

But we didn’t stay in the city. On Sunday we hopped on a 12-hour bus tour to get out of Edinburgh and see the Scottish Highlands, famed for such memorable thing as the Loch Ness Monster and the wonderful television series Highlander.

Here was where I fell in love with Scotland, came to realize the way in which this country could be so very different from the one I had just left when often they are confused. The highlands are breathtaking and beautiful. Mounds to mountains of ancient stone chiseled over the millennia by the runoff from their white peaks, making lush forests rest around their feet and bright green grasses crowd on the rocks. Waterfalls and streaming rivulets are around every turn, beautiful in their seclusion and their icy rush. As we got higher and higher the air became chiller and small smatterings of rain occurred, but all this heightened the experience to the point where, stopping at Glen Coe, the sight of the famous McDonald Massacre, I didn’t want to leave. Three great mountains stood across from us, the road falling into a shadowed vale of green while high above rivers streamed and trees clung to the rock and steep meadows flourished already in the late winter. It is exactly the kind of place to get lost, the kind of place people think of, but never think of as real.

The Lochs had the same rough fall into the smooth, glassy water where men built homes on the steep shores and light glistened off the water. At Loch Ness we stopped for a boat tour to Urquhart Castle on the northern shore, the waters of which are dyed black from the peat that makes up a good portion of the hills. As the boat chugged along the churn looked more like thick stout ale than any water, dark and glassy and impassive. Whether there is a monster or no, we saw none, but I like to hold out some kind of belief in that myth. The black water certainly makes it all the more eerie.

Urquhart Caste on Loch Ness

As the sun set we came back down from the Highlands, through small towns as the land flattened before our eyes. I could feel then the missing of it, the wet but clear tang in the air, cold and fresh. The green and the grey mixed into a beautiful palette that seemed even more breathtaking than the lush pastures of Ireland.

During our last few hours spent in Edinburgh we hiked up to the elusive Calton Hill Park, the first public park in Edinburgh, marked by a smattering of monuments that hang over the city from the east and which no tourist pamphlet will tell you about. Curious as to the meaning of these stone statutes we labored our way up the steep streets and stairs, taking a sidetracked route through Old Calton Burial Ground and eventually coming to the crest of Calton Hill where all of Edinburgh, old town and new, spread itself before us. Beyond them the green spread of the Fife over the firth, the north sea, the rock inherit in the landscape was visible all wet and chill under the rolling clouds. It began to smatter rain as we stood on the hill, the wind coming up in cold whirls and whips, but the view stayed just as impressive, if not more so with the second landscape of sky moving in its own way, tangent to the city below. Even in the rain and the wind, I knew I would miss this city more than any other.

The view from Calton Hill.