Everything Scottish

About England, I will always remember the places. About Scotland, I will always remember the people.

Ian, the tour guide, had grown up in Stirling and was visibly galvanized when we crossed the border near Carlisle. He brought us off the motorway onto a smaller road that followed the River Tweed all the way to Edinburgh. Our view became one of sheep pastures, stone walls, increasing hilliness, and copses of trees. I thought I recalled something in the Oxford Book of Verse from my English major days, and I was right:

Twa Rivers
Says Tweed to Till—
‘What gars ye rin sae still?’
Says Till to Tweed—
‘Though ye rin with speed
And I rin slaw,
For ae man that ye droon
I droon twa.’ (Anon.)

Edinburgh, located not far from the mouth of the Firth of Forth, is a smaller city than Glasgow but is Scotland's capital. Most of the city's buildings are built of locally quarried limestone, a porous rock that has absorbed the soot of centuries of burning bituminous coal. The architecture, however, remains stunning, particularly the ancient fortress that sits atop a crag and dominates the city. Edinburgh Castle reminds of a line from Macbeth, when the Macbeth claims that Dunsinane Castle would "laugh a siege to scorn."

Edinburgh Castle, distantly seen here through the haar from Holyrood Palace, remains an imposing and awe-inspiring achievement.

Our visit to Edinburgh Castle coincided with the birthday of the Queen, so modern cannon were used for a 21-gun salute at noon. I am not a fan of British royalty, or even the concept of royalty, so I was underwhelmed by the event, and I had the feeling that my attitude was shared by many of the Scottish people. I asked the Castle guide directly why Scots would make a fuss over the monarch, even a titular monarch, of a conquering nation. The question seemed to cause her considerable discomfort, and her attempt to answer was less than satisfying.

As impressive as Edinburgh is as a city, I was more impressed by the friendliness and openness of its people. I find myself telling over and over the anecdotes about eating the Haggis, protecting my charges from Hare Krishnas and Australians, and, especially, my close encounter with Lasses' Night Out in an Edinburgh pub. I shall need to write about these misadventures in some detail.

This drumlin, variously called the sleeping elephant or the king's seat, looms above the city of Edinburgh.