Dispatch from Edinburgh, Scotland - Gardyloo!

It's a beautiful day in Edinburgh and I'm in Princes Street Gardens enjoying the sunshine. I'm sitting higher up on the hill than I usually do, but more on that later.

I've been to Edinburgh a few times and each time I visit, I'm left with the impression that the city deserves more credit than it receives for being a great European city. Edinburgh is a fine city in a beautiful country. And the Scottish people are fantastic (well, except for the surly kid at the front desk of my hotel, but maybe he's an exchange student).

My first visit years ago was a quintessential Scottish experience. I arrived at Edinburgh Airport but before exploring the capital, I picked up a car for a go at driving on the left side of the road to see the country. I got a few stink eyes at roundabouts for not looking the right (left) way, but otherwise both the car and I came out unscathed. 

www.dalhousiecastle.co.uk

I ripped around the Scottish countryside for a couple of days with Dalhousie Castle as my base. The castle was so beautiful and I lived like royalty. The restaurant was in the dungeon and I had breakfast there each morning. The servers had these deliciously endearing accents and no matter what I ordered, they'd ask if I wanted it with "rrrrunny honey".

On one of my outings, I went to Glenkinchie Distillery. I was the only one visiting at that time so I had an extended private tour with an amiable guide. He was soft spoken but so engaging and we got on well. He showed me the huge wort kettles where the makings of whiskey were stewing. He lifted the lid on one and told me to take a smell. I leaned forward slightly and took a quick sniff. He then grabbed the back of my neck and shoved my head into the cauldron, saying, "No, take a good snort!". At the end of the tour, he and I had some samples of whiskey and he became much more animated. Don't we all.


After a couple of days in the country, I headed into Edinburgh and checked into a stately hotel in New Town (which always strikes me as a misnomer since the buildings are so old but I guess it's all relative). That first night the fire alarm went off in the middle of the night. After I stood on the bed for a couple of minutes slapping an imaginary switch on the wall in a sleepwalking attempt to turn off the alarm, I came to and evacuated. In the courtyard, I was greeted by a gaggle of bleary-eyed guests that looked like characters from an Agatha Christie novel, including an Inspector Poirot in a dressing gown with a chin guard and sock garters. What a hoot.


I also recall experiencing pub culture during that visit. I was in a pub midday resting and regrouping. A middle-aged lady in gingham and lace with a purse in the crook of her arm and a hat secured with a multitude of hairpins came in, sat near me, and ordered a beer. The barkeep asked if she wanted a half or full pint. With a twinkle in her eye, she replied, "Oh, a pint if you will so you don't have to come back again so quick". Too funny.

Anyhoo, I digress. On this visit, I'm wandering the city with a comfortable familiarity that comes from repeat visits.

Yesterday, I went to the waterfront and toured the Royal Yacht Britannia. That was a thrill because it is so iconic to me. I remember seeing it years ago during a royal tour. I was struck by how intimate and informal much of the stately yacht is, and how personal to the Queen it remains. Politics aside, it made me sad that she no longer has it. It must have been a refuge from state life.


This morning, I kept the royal theme going by returning to the Palace of Holyroodhouse for a tour. I love roaming around the ruins of the old castle and gardens with Arthur's Seat in the background. During my first visit many years ago, I remember seeing Queen Mary's bed chamber. I recall some story about her valet, who the queen was rumored to be having an affair with, being killed by her jealous husband. I remember seeing a red splotch on the wood floor that was said to be the blood spot from where he died. On this visit, I couldn't find it. Maybe the floor was finally cleaned. Or maybe I dreamt the whole thing after a whiskey tasting.

Speaking of which, last night, after a couple of whiskies, I decided to wander Edinburgh's graveyards that are said to be so haunted. It was creepy but I didn't see or hear anything, except when I turned the corner of a tomb and came face-to-face with a guy doing the same thing. We both yelped and then laughed. I also recall standing in front of Holyroodhouse around midnight with my face pressed against the cool wrought iron fence calling out for the ghost of Queen Mary, so there probably is CCTV footage of that being reviewed by Scotland Yard as we speak. 

Now I'm in the park after taking a tour of underground Edinburgh at the oddly named Real Mary King's Close (Is there a Fake Mary King's Close?). Under Old Town is a warren of preserved streets and buildings from Edinburgh during the 17th century. It was built over for the construction of the Royal Exchange.



You can take guided tours of several underground closes (alleys) and see the buildings and streets as they were hundreds of years ago. The place is a hot spot for paranormal investigators. 

The guide on my tour was an older Scotsman. He was a real character and charmed the international group as he took us around. He showed us a room where the ghost of a child is said to reside. There was a collection of dolls and toys that people left for the ghost, and a couple of Asian women in our group added to it with some Hello Kitty stuff. These same two women had been hiding behind me every time we turned a dark corner on the tour and made a squeaking sound at the slightest noise. No wonder they brought presents for the ghost.

The guide talked about the horrors of the plague and the unsanitary conditions of urban life back then. The higher up you lived, the better off you were because the streets were fetid with waste. With his thick Scottish burr, he told us that people would yell "Gardyloo!" and then chuck the contents of their chamber pot out the window and down to the street below. You did not want to be walking by when that happened (or after, for that matter). The waste streamed down the streets and collected in a nasty, disease-ridden pool that is now Princes Street Gardens where I am sitting. Ew.

Maybe tonight I'll hang out my hotel window, yell "Gardyloo!", and see if anyone on the street below jumps out of the way. Fun.