On my first morning in Edinburgh, a Sunday, I found myself out on the Royal
Mile at 5.45am. Was I completely insane? Maybe not completely, but there was a
method to my madness. Actually, there were two methods. One being that I was
able to beat the crowds to take decent photos of the incredible architecture
that stretches along the Royal Mile. The second being that delightful notion of
the "Golden Hour" - that perfect amount of lighting from the sun an
hour after sunrise and an hour before sunset. I rose to stunning blue skies,
crisp sweeping clouds and enough sunshine to warm the cockles of my heart. In
the ninety minutes I wandered around Edinburgh and the Royal Mile I managed to
notch up a neat 240 shots. I met a nice Scotsman usher outside a cafe on the way
back to my hostel who knew exactly why I was out so early. I was happy to share
my endeavours with him before heading back to my hostel for a cheap and
cheerful breakfast with my dorm mates, who expressed their amazement and
respect for being able to scrape myself out of bed so early.
They too recommended I find my way to the Elephant House at some stage of
the day and warned me that my trip to Edinburgh Castle would likely take me at
least three hours! After breakfast I traipsed back down the Royal Mile to see
if the hairdressing salon I'd spotted was open, but Scotland is not Dubai and
people generally don't enjoy working on Sundays here. Not that we enjoy working
on Sundays either mind you. Thus, I figured it was time to climb my way back up
the hill towards Edinburgh Castle.
On arrival I joined the throngs of hundreds queueing to pay the exuberant
entry fee; the most amount of money I'd paid for an attraction yet in the
entire United Kingdom. Filled with cannons, battles and love stories (love and
war of course), I quite enjoyed the fact that travelling on my own meant I
could lazily dawdle around for as long as I wanted to take photos, soak up any
sun that ventured through the clouds and listen to almost every track on my
audio guide. How decadent. I think my favourite of the stories was that Mary
Queen of Scots had her coronation at only nine months old and screamed her way
through the entire ceremony. Brilliant - what a way to start your rule. Another
cool part was the efforts that the Scots went to in order to hide and protect
the Crown Jewels; burying them below toilets, hiding them under mattresses and
ferrying them out of the castle with servants and commoners to try to keep them
in the right hands.
I broke away from the crowds after checking out the Crown Jewels to enjoy a
cream tea at the cafe and recharge for the remainder of my time walking around.
Unfortunately it was no Devon cream tea like the one I'd enjoyed at Canonteign
Falls but there was jam, cream and a pot of English Breakfast all the same. It
was at this point in time that I pondered how much I disliked the sound of
screaming tourist children but rather enjoyed the fact that I wore reflective
sunglasses while attractive young Scottish men chatted in the sunshine. Such a
bittersweet moment. I do believe the sound of screaming children won out, and I
made my way back into the walls of the Royal Apartments. It was delightful to
wander through the musuems and galleries contained within the castle walls and
snap away at the panoramic views from the towers. By the time I had seen
everything I wanted the dark, grey clouds were beginning to roll in and I knew
it was time to start making my way back down Castle Hill.
As I passed through the main gate of the castle, back onto the Royal Mile,
there was a general sense of foreboding in the air. Arrays of street performers
tried to maintain the attention of their audience as the air temperature
rapidly dropped and women quickly pull umbrellas from their handbags. I threw
my jacket over my shoulders, tucked my camera into my backpack and joined the
ladies by flicking my umbrella into the air. Ducking through an old passageway,
or close as it's known here, I stole may way across George IV Bridge and
continued walking until I could spot my destination behind the statue of
Greyfriar's Bobby. Now heralding itself as the "Birthplace of Harry
Potter," the Elephant House provided a warm, safe refuge from the rain
that had begun to pummel down outside. With a giant pot of peppermint tea on a
tray by my elephant shaped shortbread I settled myself into a corner with my
Moleskine and pondered the fact that I have fallen in love with the Royal Mile.
It's a little bit crazy, quite a bit tourist, but has a whole lot of the
beauty, charm and history of a bygone era with the added bonus of there being
hot, young Scottish men playing bagpipes there every now and then. All I could
think to myself was "Well done Edinburgh, well done."
Once the rain passed by I trailed back to my room for a well earned nap
before heading out on a witchery tour of Edinburgh. Filled with tales of
overcrowded calamity, prostitutes, ghosts, the plague, sewage throwing, body
snatching and Americans, it was a clever, witty and hilarious way to spend the
latter part of the evening. I discovered that Scotland only abolished it's laws
relating to witchery in the 1950s and that the Scots had a real penchance for
public torture and prosecution. A superbly delivered performance, our guide and
actor Adam even managed to work his way in and around the fact that the nearby
jazz festival would often intersperse his spooky tellings of murder and
monstrosities. Ever seen anyone introduce thumb screws to light jazz before? I
have now. Complete with a fast-paced, well-costumed sidekick to jump out of
corridors and provide general comedic relief with his liking of the ladies, it
was a fantastic night out, and heck, I could listen to a light Scottish accent
like that all night.
