Scottish scenery

Justin and I usually focus on pictures of us. Partly, that's because we have grandmas reading this blog, and they're more interested in pictures of us than in pictures of scenery that you could find anywhere. It's also because I'm vain. In any case, I realized we had some nice scenic shots we hadn't shared. Photo credit on just about all of these goes to Justin. I'm pretty sure we haven't posted any of these before, but my apologies if it's a repeat.

Sunrise from Arthur's Seat, Edinburgh, October 2009

Snow on Holyrood Park, Edinburgh, January 2010

View from Mar's Wark, Stirling, December 2009

Mountains, possibly Trossachs, from Stirling, December 2009

Sunset from Stirling Castle, December 2009

Meadows park, Edinburgh, May 2010.


Highlands, September '09

Rainbow over Inverness, September '09


Edinburgh Old Town from Calton Hill, August '09


Sunset on Arthur's Seat, May 2010 (Photo credit - friend Anne Marie)

Hope you enjoyed!

A Walk to Portobello

Portobello, aka "Edinburgh's Seashore," is a small sandy beach on the eastern edge of town, fronting the Firth of Forth. Originally a broad marsh called Figgate Muir, the area was renamed in the 18th century after Porto Bello, Panama, by a resident who served in the British campaign to capture that city in 1739. The small town spent most of the century as a haven for the whisky smugglers who ferried their contraband across from Fife.

And at the end of the century, the town picked up its obligatory Walter Scott connection: he was quartermaster of the Edinburgh Light Horse, who drilled on the Portobello sands. After being kicked by a horse during a drill, he retired to nearby Duddingston, where he finished his Lay of the Last Minstrel.
 
The area was developed as Victorian seaside town in the 19th century and, despite having gone through some rough times since, has reclaimed its status as a nice day out for Edinburgh folks. This post gives a little photo tour of the walk from our place in Newington to the Portobello shore, passing through some typically British neighborhoods of a sort most tourists don't really get to see.

The walk starts by skirting the southern flank of Arthur's Seat, pas Duddingston Loch.

Duddingston Loch is the source of Figgate Burn, the creek which gave the Portobello area its original name.

The road winds into Duddingston itself, a small semi-rural enclave wedged between the southern slopes of Arthur's Seat and Duddingston Loch. In addition to its Walter Scott connection, Duddingston is home to two points of interest: a small medieval church . . .

. . . and the Sheep Heid Inn, Scotland's oldest pub.

(The sign lies: on dreary days, dogs are welcome, and numerous, inside the pub as well!)

The Sheep Heid dates from the 14th century, and has played host to James VI and I, Mary, Queen of Scots, Covenanters, Jacobites, and even Bonnie Prince Charlie en route to his victory at nearby Prestonpans. Today, it's a favorite stop for hikers down from Arthur's Seat. There's even a working skittles alley dating from 1870!

Here's a quick view back over Duddingston with Crow Hill, part of Arthur's Seat/Holyrood Park, in the background.

After Duddingston, the road widens into a postwar residential area. This is the closest thing you'll find in the UK to an American-style suburb.

The road crosses the A1, Britain's longest official highway route, which connects Edinburgh and London.

Then more suburbs . . .

And a monstrous postwar-modern high school:

(Sorry for the blurring. It's a bit risky to take pictures of a school in the UK, especially one that's not a touristy spot like Heriot's.)

Around the bend from the high school, the road passes under an huge rail-road bridge and into Portobello proper.

Portobello works hard to tout its seasidey-ness, and about half the town is named after Brighton, southern England's most famous seaside resort.

The road into town from the west is dominated by St. James Church, a quirky bit of turn-of-the-19th-century architecture.

Generally, in the UK, the closer you get to the sea, the more Catholics. That's because so many of the 19th-century migrants to booming port towns came either from Ireland or the Highlands.

The town itself is quaint, with one bustling stretch of high street and bunch of sleepy residential lanes.

The beach seems to come out of nowhere: no sights, sounds, or smells to tell you you're near.

The view here looks east over the Firth of Forth. The distant triangular hill on the horizon is North Berwick Law. We visited North Berwick: check out our previous posts here and here.

The seaside itself is particularly British: a rundown promenade, overpriced chip shops, dingy arcades, and water too cold to swim in pretty much any time of the year.

Still, it's a pretty view, even on a hazy day like this one!

The excursion, like so many of my walks of late, was capped by a double-decker bus ride back to Newington. Here's another view of Crow Hill, this time over the suburban street with the modernist high school:

A Walk Down the Water of Leith

The Water of Leith is a small river that runs from the Pentland Hills through north-central Edinburgh to Leith, where it flows into the Firth of Forth. A public foot-and-cycle path, the Water of Leith Walkway, follows the river from Balerno on the southern outskirts of town all the way to the old Leith waterfront.

Last week, I took a long stroll along the lower stretch of the Water of Leith. I started at the Dene, a deep ravine on the northwestern edge of New Town. The Dene is home to Dean Village, a tiny medieval town built astride a weir (or dam) that used to power the city's grist mills.

Just downriver from Dean Village is the Dean Bridge. Designed by Thomas Telford and built in 1833, the bridge soars over 100 feet above the floor of the ravine.

After the Dean Bridge, the path passes a Victorian mineral spring, St. Bernard's Well.

As you can see from the photos, the vegetation in the ravine is very dense, especially for April. This is a common phenomenon here in Scotland, which I mentioned in a previous post: you add a tiny bit of elevation or exposure to the wind, and the land is barren, but it doesn't take much shelter to get you a borderline jungle.

The river exits the Dene at Stockbridge, a posh neighborhood just north of New Town . . .

. . . then past the Stockbridge Colonies, a collection of parallel row homes originally built as cheap housing for workers.

Now, the Colonies rank among the city's most coveted real estate, and are especially popular with arty types. They're famous for their odd second-story front doors.

After Stockbridge, the river skirts Inverleith just south of the Royal Botanic Gardens and passes into Canonmills, Stockbridge's slightly less posh little cousin.

Below Canonmills the river widens noticeably and the older architecture flanking its upper stretches is replaced by new construction.

On the approach to Leith, the river even passes through an industrial estate (not pictured) and by another old weir.

After that patch, though, the Water of Leith Walkway ends with a final pleasant sight: the old harbor in Leith, pictured below.

I'll end here: Leith deserves its own post, and a more thorough exploration than I was able to give it after such a long walk.  Also, if I could do it again, I would probably have ended my walk at Canonmills or shortly thereafter--there wasn't much to see on the last stretch, and there are buses that run directly from the city center to Leith.

Ghost Town

This is an image-heavy post, so if you're subscribing via e-mail, make sure your program is showing pictures.

As you go around Edinburgh, the old architecture isn't the only thing that can tie you to the city's history. We also see a lot of what I think of as "ghost signs" - not actual hauntings, although Edinburgh is reputed to have a few of those, but rather shadows and remnants of paint that suggest to you some of the men and women who have passed through these spaces before.

In Ye Olden Tymes, just as today, you advertised your business by decorating your storefront. Why haven't they been painted over? I'm not sure. If the buildings are listed, which so many are, it may be that nobody's allowed to touch them. It might just be that nobody bothers. Most of the surviving images are either significantly above eye level or on the underside of arches, places we don't use for much these days.

This one's from the Royal Mile: William Geddes, Bookbinder


Particularly fitting, as it's in the doorway now leading to the Writer's Museum.

From North Bridge, a set of old shop signs in what's now an apartment building doorway:

The signs are the same on both side of the arch. With a close-up from the right side to fill in some gaps, we can identify one former tenant as C. Wright, Straw and Felt Hatter.

Just around the corner from my flat, on West Preston Street: a very well-preserved paint sign on the site of an old tailor's shop:

On Nicholson Square, near my favorite Indian restaurant (Kebab Mahal - voted first place in Scotland's curry awards for 2009!) This sign has clearly been painted over more than once, but as best I can make out, it says

"Baskets, Foreign Baskets, Rugs, Mats
Fancy Leather and Wood Walking Sticks
Hardware and Woodenware"

Not sure what this one says. As I recall, it was around the corner from Black Medicine Coffee Co. I'll look if I'm in the area again.

Across the street from the photo above: "Stalls to let. Apply 50 South Bridge."


On Greenmarket: the 19th century version of the Au Bon Pain window, showing off your presence in some exotic locales.


Finally, some more recent former tenants: The Friendship Centre, off Nicholas Square - presumably religious, I'm not sure.

... and the University of Edinburgh Bookstore. This site still is the University's bookstore, but it's a Blackwell's now. If you click through to the zoomed version, you can just make out "University College General Bookstore."

Surely something that would be a bonanza to scholars of advertising, as it's not something I've ever seen studied. Or perhaps for font geeks like me (down with Papyrus!).

So if you're in Edinburgh, try looking up! There are lots more cool images like this that were too faint or too large to photograph, but are still easily read as you stroll by.