EDINBURGH, LIKE KOOKABURRA

(Actual date: Sept. 9)  As in, “sounds like.”  Those of us used to pronouncing Pittsburgh can’t figure out why the Scots pronounce it something like “Edinburra.”  If you say “burgh,” you get nothing but puzzled looks.  Loni was happy this morning as our B&B host acquiesced and turned on the heat in the morning for an hour.  Just enough time to finish drying on the radiator our socks and things that we sink-washed last night.  As we were warned that parking in the Big E was extremely expensive (on the order of L3-4 per hour), we decided to take the train in to the city from our digs at Backmarch House in the suburb of Rosyth.  Our host swore there was an easy-to-find carpark right near the station, but his directions turned out to be a little vague, and we got hopelessly lost.  We finally found the station, but the carpark there was completely full.  We ended up about a half mile away in a little lot behind some buildings.  Alice was dubious that the slot we parked in was an actual space, and I think she worried all day there would be no car when we returned at night.  We hoofed it to the station, quickly caught a train, and in half an hour we were at Waverly Station (pictured), centrally located to the Castle, our main destination of the day. 
Centrally located doesn’t necessarily mean easy to get to on foot.  The most direct way was up some rather steep and narrow passageways which were a challenge for Alice’s arthritis.  Good thing we get hill exercise at home.

At the top, we popped out right into the midst of a debate on the independence vote that was just breaking up.  No need here for crowd control to keep the yeas and nays apart.  Somehow they can disagree on huge issues with civil discourse, not attack politics.

If I turned around from this scene, I’d be looking right up the street that dead ends at the entrance to the castle.  The castle isn’t visible, but if you look closely you’ll see some cranes dangling across the street.  That’s where they held the annual Tattoo, an extravaganza of bagpipe bands, military units, and the like.  The cranes were taking down the rather elaborate temporary grandstands that had been erected for the event.  Tickets are tough to get and expensive, but Mom has seen this, I think twice, with her travel group from Indy.

The cranes and the entrance to the Castle.  Loni and Alice at left.  The original castle was a fort which was destroyed in 1314 to prevent future use by the English against the Scots.

All in all, I was pretty disappointed in the Castle.  It wasn’t neat to look at, the crowds were awful (yes, I know, we were part of the problem), it was pricey, etc. etc.  Stirling Castle was much more interesting.  Still, there were some things to look at.  The crown jewels were pretty impressive.  No pics were permitted.  The Scottish crown is the oldest in Britain.  It, the sword, and the sceptre are collectively known as “The Honours.”  They were first used together as coronation regalia by Mary, Queen of Scots, in 1543.  She later gave birth here to her only child, who became James 1, uniting England and Scotland.  That union has been contentious ever since, the upcoming vote just the latest (and least lethal) example. 
Determined to destroy the Scottish Crown Jewels, just as he had disposed of the English regalia, Oliver Cromwell pursued the Honours to Dunnottar Castle near Aberdeen, but they were smuggled out for safe burial until Charles II's restoration in 1660.  The Honours were never again used to crown a sovereign.
After the 1707 Union, when the new United Kingdom Parliament met in London, the Honours had no ceremonial role. They were locked away in an oak chest in the Crown Room at Edinburgh Castle. In 1818, the chest was opened in the presence of the Castle Governor and the author Walter Scott. They discovered the Honours were still there in their linen wrappings. (Pic from the Web)
Below is one side of Crown Square, formerly a barracks dating from the 1700s, and now housing a WW1 war memorial.

Directly across from the barracks is the Great Hall, with its huge fireplace and hammerbeam roof, made entirely with pegs, no nails.  I liked the faces at the foot of the beams.

The oldest building within Edinburgh, let alone the Castle, is Ste. Margaret’s Chapel, built in 1124, said to be one of the finest examples remaining of Norman architecture.  It is quite small, and plain, but was the scene of one of our serendipitous moments.

A wedding!  We don’t know who this couple was, but they must have had a lot of pull, a lot of bucks, or both in order to get wed in this place.  I particularly liked the classic old Jag with suicide doors as the wedding getaway vehicle.  If ever there was a “stately” bride, she’s it!  She must have practiced walking with a plate on her head for hours.


Just outside the entrance to the Chapel was a giant siege cannon named Mons Meg which is supposed to have been capable of firing a 300 pound ball over 2 miles!  That’s pretty impressive for the mid-1400s.  I had to wait a long while for the crowds to part in order to get any view of the thing.

There are other, more modern cannons at the Castle, and every day they fire one off at 1:00pm.  I tried to capture the moment, but I was so startled when it went off that I blurred the shot.  The follow-up is a bit more clear, and shows some of the city below.

They recently redid the grounds in an area near the Chapel, and made quite a nice little English-garden parklet out of it.  It almost seemed incongruous amidst all that forbidding stone.

We’d had enough, so it was time to think about bucking the crowds and winding our way down out of the Castle.  You might wonder why Loni and Chuck are all suited up for a day of wandering about this place.  Actually, this evening was our fabulous fancy dinner that the kids splurged on for us, that I reported on here.  Since we were a long way from the B&B and had come in on the train, we dressed for the evening all day.

Before we exited, I got this shot of the city below.  That black spire thing to the left is the monument to Sir Walter Scott.  We saw it later close up.

Tourists.

We made our way down to one of the main drags, where we located the Scott monument. Erected in 1846, it hasn’t had a bath since.  It’s a filthy black thing that is badly in need of cleaning.  About all that glistens is the statue of Scott that rests underneath.

It was a nice place to take a load off while we contemplated our next move.

Which was to wander slowly around and under the Castle to try to find our restaurant for tonight.  We had the address, but had not yet scoped it out.  We walked down the Princess Street Gardens, which provided some lovely views of the city and Castle.


We came upon this rather nice memorial to the U.S. soldiers of Scottish descent who fought for the cause in WW1.

Once we found our restaurant, we were too early to go in, so we wandered a bit more and came upon this establishment.  Now, I like a business that tells it like it is.

In my ramblings, I found a grassy field with people playing pitch and putt golf.  The monument sign said this was the site of one of the world’s first golf courses.  Originally the Bruntsfield Links, in the 17th century they became the Edinburgh Burgess Golfing Society.

Time running out, I hustled back to the restaurant and we went in for our fabulous (and fabulously expensive) dinner.  Thanks again, kids!  Sated (and sedated) by all that food, we made our way through the dark back to the train station and had the thing all to ourselves for the trip home.