Scrapbooking Award

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Day of Destiny (18 September 2014 Edinburgh)
Today was a special day. Today was the voting day for the referendum on Scottish independence from the United Kingdom. We didn’t plan it that way, it just happened. Kind of like how we managed to be in Charleston for the 150th anniversary of the shelling of Fort Sumter. We were only there for a day, and that was it.

All over Edinburgh there were placards and chalked messages. People were dressed up in kilts or had Union flag vests or the St Andrews satire painted across their face. There was all sorts of silliness going on, but it was good-natured.

I wasn’t too sure how things would pan out in the evening. Maybe a few claymore-welding Highlanders cutting down anyone with a grin on their face. I was pretty sure that the No vote would win, but you never know…

John was a strong Yes vote, if we’d been asked. I took the position that it was a matter for the Scots, but my own preference was for stability and unity over uncertainty and division. Besides, the leader of the Scottish Nationalists hadn’t exactly impressed me with his wisdom. Or sanity, for that matter.

But hey, it was a great day to be in Edinburgh. Talk about your dumb luck in planning, eh?

 

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Scotburger (18 September 2014 Edinburgh)
We walked around Central Edinburgh for a bit, but it was soon getting onto lunchtime, and there were two places I wanted to dine at.
Both associated with J K Rowling, the author of the fabulously successful Harry Potter series. The first and best known is The Elephant House, a restaurant up near Greyfriars. The management has capitalised on the fact that she wrote some of the books there, nursing a coffee while she worked on the manuscript.

Less well known is Spoon, not too far away. Given the more reasonable prices there, a struggling young writer would be far more at home, and so it was – she wrote a lot more of the series there than the other place.

Spoon has changed hands a few times, and for a while wasn’t even a cafe. But it’s back in business, and we walked down South Bridge until we got there. Just on lunchtime, as it happened.

Decorated in a funky, hipsterish way, the place is upstairs, airy and well-patronised. Our waitress, clearly on the Yes side of the referendum vote, presented us with a menu while we downed a couple of ciders.

John didn’t hesitate. “Haggisburger,” he read, his eyes growing large. “Got to be done!”

Haggis is the national dish: sheep innards minced with oats, spiced so as to hide the flavour. I’d tasted it on a previous visit and wasn’t a fan.

We nursed our drinks, got out our iPads and enjoyed the wifi, and eventually our waitress turned up with our meals. Of course we photographed them.

“You’ll need a dollop of brown sauce,” I cautioned John, and he dutifully splurged a gollop onto his plate.

He was thoughtful after the first bite, but eventually decided he liked it.

 

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Not your Starbucks (18 September 2014 Edinburgh)
Dining at Spoon in Edinburgh. John enjoyed his haggisburger. I opted for a more traditional ploughman’s lunch. Chunky slabs of bread, cheese and ham, served with salad and pickles. Done right, this is about as perfect a meal as I could wish for.

In Jk Rowling’s day, the space was somewhat less funky. It was just called “Nicolson’s Cafe” – it’s on Nicolson Street – and you could nurse an espresso all day long if you were writing a book. Or just keeping in out of the cold.

An article about the history of the place here. There’s still budding writers happy to visit. Myself amongst them. I should have maybe spent more time here on my last trip, but I’d be embarrassed about seeming pretentious. And cheap.

I did have an espresso to finish, however. And John had an Irish coffee. Black coffee served with whisky mixed in, and cream on top. They call it “Irish” because it looks like Guinness, I’m sure!

All told, a memorable meal, and definitely a regular stop for me.

 

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Creature of habit (18 September 2014 Edinburgh)
We left Spoon, the cafe on Nicolson Street, and headed west. Got a wee bit lost in the university grounds. Part of the problem was the map we had, which didn’t show laneways, part was that I wasn’t keen on using my phone to open up Google maps and cost me a slab equivalent in roaming charges, and part was than north of the equator I somehow get confused about directions.

Maybe not the last part, as it was well and truly overcast.

Anyway, we were aiming for The Elephant House, where I wanted to make a dinner booking, and there was also a statue with a fascinating story, not far away.

As a child, I watched the Disney movie Greyfriars Bobby, about a Skye terrier who showed such loyalty to his master that he slept on his grave each night for fourteen years. The film was shamelessly emotional, and the little dog actor just tugged at the heartstrings with each mournful look at the gravestone.

The film was based on a book, based on a real-life dog, and there is a statue near the entrance to Greyfriars Kirk. Originally a drinking fountain with two levels: one for people and one lower down for dogs, it is now quite the tourist attraction, and puir wee Bobby’s nose is worn smooth and shiney.

I’m a seasoned Edinburgh traveller now, but I remember the thrill of seeing the dog for the first time one evening in 2009. We found Bobby, rubbed his nose, and looked in at the kirkyard, where Bobby is buried under a marble gravestone. People leave flowers for the terrier, dog toys, and sticks for him to fetch.

The nearby Elephant House was closed for the afternoon, so I decided to return in the evening to see if they could spare us a table. But for now, I’d promised John castles, and here was one of the more famous examples, just a few blocks away.

 

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Foogs Gate (18 September 2014 Edinburgh)
I love the Royal Mile, Edinburgh’s old main street down from the Castle to Holyrood Palace, the ancient home of the Scottish monarchs. It’s not quite mediaeval, but it and the surrounding lanes are cramped and cluttered and quaint. There’s all sorts of fascinating little shops, selling everything from Scotch to childrens’ books.

Full of tourists, of course, and there are any number of souvenir shops all selling the same hokey goods. Cheap cotton kilts, polyester sporrans, overpriced shortbread biscuits, postcards of bagpipe players and Highland cattle, sometimes both in one shot.

Buskers galore. There were chaps playing the bagpipes in about the same abundance as buskers on Circular Quay in Sydney blowing their didgeridoos.

We turned left and headed up the hill. The Castle is built on an ancient volcanic plug, and there’s only the one realistic approach. Straight through the forecourt where they hold the annual tattoo. It’s quite a tiny place, really, and it’s a wonder how they can pack a massed band into it, let alone have them marching to and fro.

Incredibly atmospheric. The fog had thickened and the castle ramparts loomed overhead, grey and dripping in the mist. We paid our admission and headed in. In place of the sparkling view over Edinburgh I’d promised John, it was something less. “Fifty shades of grey,” I muttered, pointing out where various features of the city might be seen on a sunny day.

Some words carved into the stonework caught my eye. “Foogs Gate”, they read, and I thought it might be some Scottish mis-spelling of something rude, but no, a nearby plaque said that this was the old name for the “Foggy Gate”.

Fair enough. They’d gotten that spot on.

 

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Saint Andrew’s cross (18 September 2014 Edinburgh)
Scotland is part of the United Kingdom and everyone knows the British flag, the so-called Union Jack. But Scotland has its own flag, and it was everywhere that day of the independence referendum.

It’s called Saint Andrew’s cross, and it’s a diagonal white cross on a blue background, which is called a saltire by those who study flags and heraldry and that sort of carry on.

Flying from official flagpoles, of course, and there’s dozens of them in Edinburgh Castle. Advertising and postcards and souvenirs, too, and a walk through any souvenir shop is a mixture of nothing much but blue and white crosses, and tartans, and pricetags.

But today, there were saltires on saltires. People with their faces painted blue and white. People dressed up in saltires. Bumper stickers. Flags hanging from windows. Flags flying from car aerials.

The Yes side was out in force pushing for support. A bit like the republic referendum a few years back in Australia, except they weren’t keen on the Aussie flag.

There was a spirit in the air, and that day was very Scottish. Especially in Edinburgh, and in the castle itself it was something you could just about touch and feel and bite into.

Or maybe that was the fog.

 

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Great Guns (18 September 2014 Edinburgh)
Edinburgh Castle is full of artillery pieces. The castle was an actual military fortification, able to withstand a siege and to dominate the surrounding terrain.

It is perched up high, and the cannons firing from embrasures within the walls would have been able to inflict damage on any attacking or beseiging force.

The oldest gun in the castle is “Mons Meg” made in Belgium in 1449 around the end of the Middle Ages. Whatever fortifications existing on Castle Rock at that time were destroyed in the “Lang Seige” in 1570, and most of the buildings are Seventeenth Century and on.

The newest gun in the castle is the saluting gun, an L118 “Light Gun” dating from the 1970s, it fires at one o’clock every day except on Sundays, Good Friday and Christmas Day.We weren’t there for the salute, but we saw the gun, now carefully shrouded against the damp.

 

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Castle complex (18 September 2014 Edinburgh)
I think one of the things that I like about castles is that they have such odd and complex shapes. I like interesting architecture, and castles tick all the boxes.

The photo above shows some of the varying levels. There are stairs and ramps and passageways everywhere. It is a packed site, and it must have been a nightmare building the place, let alone trundling heavy great guns around.

But inside, there are squares and parade grounds. The castle is still occupied by the military, though only in a ceremonial and administrative sense now.

The photo below shows one end of the Scottish National War Memorial, along with a patch of lawn and garden. We had a map to help us, but in the mist it didn’t help me as much as it might! All the buildings looked very grand and much the same grey-brown rock.

 

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History and blood (18 September 2014 Edinburgh)
If you like history, then Edinburgh Castle is the place for you. The site, the buildings, the guns, the amazing view (when it's not fogged out, that is), the memorials - they all contribute to the sense of the past coming alive. Kings and Queens, great lords and ladies, soldiers and generals, the great and not-so-great, they have all stood where you, a tourist flown in from a far land, have stood.

Drink it in. These battlements have rung to the sound of gunfire, cannonballs whipping through the air, taking of a limb or two. Swords have clanged against each other. The ground is soaked in blood.

But more than that, the buildings themselves house museums, each worth a few hours just to have a brief look at every exhibit.

We didn't have long, but we looked in. The Royal Palace was a treasure. Literally.

Built in 1450, it has been used as a royal residence and remodelled extensively over the centuries. It now houses paintings, murals and tableaux. The images of Scottish kings above is one example. Macbeth, clutching a dirk, looks daggers at Duncan I.

The Scottish crown jewels, the "Honours of Scotland" are also housed here. Photography forbidden, but John and I gazed at the Royal Crown, Sceptre, and Sword of State. The Stone of Scone is also here, upon which the ancient Scottish kings were crowned. As are the current British monarchs, for it was housed in a shelf under the throne in Westminster Cathedral when Queen Elizabeth II was crowned in 1953.

Fascinating stuff for a history buff.