_kim's journal

I promised myself I wouldn’t, but I’ve caved and come back to Edinburgh.

Thursday was spent lazing about home, recovering from clubbing the night before, and by mid afternoon I felt the need to be proactive and not sit on my bum in front of the TV all day, so I booked a bus to Edinburgh for the weekend. The journey somehow took four hours, despite driving literally the exact same route that we made in two hours on Wednesday. Not sure how it happened. But I am back, and I have never been happier to re-visit a city as I am right now.

Edinburgh is a picturesque jumble of natural and architectural wonders - medieval rises piled high along the Royal Mile; turreted skylines strung from Castle Rock; the jagged auburn peaks of Salisbury Crags; and the neat, neo-classical grid of the New Town – the city offers a constantly changing perspective. The Athens of the North, a name inspired by the great thinkers of the Scottish Enlightenment, is a city of high culture and lofty ideals, of art and literature, philosophy and science – however simultaneously it is a city of loud, crowded pubs and decadent restaurants, late-night drinking and all-night parties, beer-fuelled poets and foul-mouthed comedians.

Today is Halloween; the perfect day, I think, to spend learning about Edinburgh’s sinister past. It seems that every building in the city has a ghost or spirit haunting it – wether or not this is fuelled by the date I am unsure. At every corner on the high street there is someone with an offer for a ghost tour jumping out at you. And I mean literally jumping – witches hide behind light posts and vampires creep out from unassuming closes. I have never been scared so many times in one day.

I started my day at – where else – Edinburgh Castle, right at the top of the Royal Mile. The brooding, black crags of the Castle Rock, shouldering above Princes St Gardens, are the very reason for Edinburgh's existence. This rocky hill – the glacier-worn stump of an ancient volcano – was the most easily defended hilltop on the invasion route between England and central Scotland, a route followed by countless armies over the centuries. The place has seen plenty of action: back in the 6th century it was used as a defence against the Picts, while in the 18th century Bonnie Prince Charlie's army tried but failed to breach its walls. It is ‘The Symbol’ of National Symbols, and the Scots fly their flag proudly atop the battery. It is still a fully functioning castle – hence the Union Jack of the United Kingdon flag rising above the city, not the blue and white Scottish cross. Soldiers of the British Army patrol its corirdors, courtyards and batterys, and cannonfire can be heard just after lunch each day – a warning, apparently, to any spies lurking in the city.

Next stop was a fun little museum named Camera Obscura, a museum of optical illusions. I was rather daunted as I entered as the ticket line seemed to be comprised of myself and small children aged mostly under 10. I felt far to old to be there until I went into the first gallery then my inner child came out. I kept running into one family with a little boy of maybe 6 and he kept giving me strange looks and I crawled under mirrors and looked through weird kaleidoscopes – I think he thought I should have been more mature. But ah well, it was so much fun.

The museum had the usual optical illusions – seeing two pictures in one drawing, 3D images and mirrors that make you all distorted – but some of the other things they had were astounding. There were massive holograms that seemed so real - in particular one of a massive tarantula that jumps out at you as you’re innocently walking around a corner. I almost screamed but then caught sight of the six year old boy and quickly thought I should set a better example. There was a room of stars that made you feel like you were in a Star Trek movie – it appeared as if you were looking into the infinite universe, it was amazing. Then there were these lightning tubes – basically electricitiy that reacts if you touch the case it is in. So much fun! There were rooms of pinhole photographs, photos with hours or days or weeks of exposure; distorting lenses; cameras that made you infared, and captured your shadow; and hundreds of amazing illusions that just did not seem possible.

The museum is named after its most famous toy – the Camera Obscure itself. Designed by a woman (!) it works basically like a periscope in a submarine – reflecting images down through a series of mirrors to a while table below so the viewer can see what is outside. The guide gave us a tour of Edinburgh via this mirror – a 360° live view of the city. You could spy on all the Japanese tourists running up Castle Hill, it was most amusing. After the display I went out onto the roof top and got some amazing views over the city, though unfortunately discovered the absolute worst thing about Edinburgh – as the Royal Mile runs from East to West there is a period of several hours over midday where it is impossible to take photos above eye level as the sun either silhouettes everything, or casts it into shadow, depending on where you’re shooting. Most annoying!

After Camera Obscure I tried my very hardest to get lost – in my opinion the very best way to see any city. It worked, for about two hours I was actually scared I would never find my way back again, however my legs will never forgive me – Edinburgh is draped across a series of rocky hills overlooking the sea; it’s a town intimately entwined with its landscape with buildings and monuments perched atop crags and overshadowed  by cliffs. Combine this with narrow alleys and closes with basically vertical staircases leading between streets I found myself stopping for a breather every ten minutes. I’m sitting in a café on the Royal Mile now and my legs are throbbing – I will sleep well tonight, that’s for sure!

In my wanderings I came across the Scottish Museum – a massive (and at times overbearing) collection of everything from the beginning of the wold to modern times, all relating to Scotland. In about three hours I wandered through millions upon millions of years of history. It was a brilliant museum – though disappointly not as good at the British Museum (although I doubt anything ever will be.)

Across the road from the Museum is Greyfriars Kirk – home to Greyfriars Bobby. For those uninitated with the story, a man named John Gray is buried in the graveyard of the kirk (church). He died of tuberculosis in 1858 and his dog, remembered as Greyfriars Bobby, sat by his dead masters grave for the rest of his life (fourteen years!) until his own death in 1872. He unfortunately could not be buried in the graveyard next to his master as it is holy ground, however he is buried just inside the gate of the kirk. It was lovely, people had left little dog toys on his grave. Rather cute. There is also a statue of the Skye Terrier just outside the kirkyard, reading “Let his loyalty and devotion be a lesson to us all.”

Although, the church isn’t solely about the small dog – it does have a terryfingly sinister history. It is one of the most haunted places in the world. There is a resident poltergeist, believed to be the spirit of a prisoner tortured to death in Medieval times and buried in the courtyard, that has attacked over 200 people in the last decade alone. It was terrified from the minute I stepped into the church, and I think everyone else was too. Maybe four separate groups of people entered within a few minutes of each other and we all sort of huddled together as we made our way through the church and the graveyard surrounding it. It was scary, but I don’t even know why – it looked just like any other church but there was something eerie about it. At one point, in a particularly dark corner, something grabbed my arm and I almost fainted from fright, however discovered it was only an lady grabbing me because she got a fright from something else. We quickly decided to leave and clung to each other until we were back in daylight. I was going to book a tour tonight that takes you through the church and to the prison nearby, then up to the high street and to the haunted buildings there but I rethought that – given that I could barely handle a pretty little church in the middle of the day. I wouldn’t sleep for weeks. So I went to a play instead.

The play was at the Royal Lyceum Theatre of Edinburgh, a beautiful old theatre with deep blue walls and gilded columns. My seat was brilliant – I’m not sure how I managed to get it given that I booked literally four hours prior to the start of the concert – but it was third row back, right in the centre. And for only 20 quid! I was amazed.

The show was Confessions of a Justified Sinner, adapted by Mark Thomson from James Hogg’s book of the same title. The novel was first published in the early part of the nineteenth century and has influenced everything from Jekyll and Hyde to Fight Club. Set chiefly in the reign of Queen Anne (1702 – 14), Confessions of a Justified Sinner tells the story of Robert Wringham and his powerful faith in predestination. His name has been written in the Book of the Saved, and he will be going to Heaven – nothing he does can change it. The play looks at what a man will do when freed – in his mind, at least – from any moral restraints. It is dark, chilling and provocative; a tale of good, evil and the thin boundary that separates the two.

The play has roots in substantial historic fact. Since the beginning of Christendom, some believers have seen profit in the exploitation of the Christian religion. Some declare themselves to be ‘chosen’ by God for salvation and henceforth entitled to do as they please. Before and after the Reformation they preened themselves as God’s elect while doing their worst – and they still do. The story continues to resonate today in a world community riven by religious divide, where extremism is part of our social vocabulary.

It was fabulous – superb acting, haunting soundtrack, brilliantly adapted from the novel – and so realistic that it was scary enough to pass as an appropriate thing to do on Halloween.

Then walking back through Edinburgh I got a surprise – there was a massive street party along the Royal Mile. The majority of High Street was blocked off and there was a Samhuinn Fire Festival on. Samhuinn is traditionally the Celtic New Year although its practice far precedes the Celtic culture. It marks the end of summer and the coming of winter and is strongly associated with death – as the trees are bare and the land barren of the earlier vegetation, nature itself seems to be dying.

It was thus believed that this was the night of the dead – a time for the spirits of those who died in the previous year to pay one last visit to their living relatives before departing to the other world. Also taking advantage of the closeness between the lands of the living and the dead were the mischievous and malevolent spirits of the underworld and cautions had to be take to protect against their pranks, thus beginning the tradition of modern Halloween to wear masks and costumes.

And it was fabulous! They had a drum line playing; and nymphs, faeries, devils, spirits, trees and animals dancing; and giant effigies burning at the stake; and what I would guess as over 10 000 people dancing and singing in costumes in the street… oh it was amazing. The dance told of an ancient narrative between light and dark; summer and winter. Two characters fight to the death, winter overcoming summer as inevitably as the seasons, but the medicine-man (who I think was actually a tree, what whatever) steps in to revive the summer, thus ensuring the return of growth and light the following year. It went on until about midnight, and then there were street performers playing until the early hours of the morning. It was amazing!