By John C. Dyer, UK correspondent
“It is a foreign country,” I tossed over my shoulder to Victoria as I reached obsessively for my passport. I slipped it into my weather proof while she shook her head. “Well ...” I let the thought lapse.
We were off to Edinburgh.
To an American, Scotland quacks like a state. To a Scottish Nationalist, it was - and will be again - a country. The Scottish National Party and its leader, John Salmond, intend to schedule a referendum concerning Scottish independence from the United Kingdom.
They want the referendum to take place some time toward the end of this Parliament, not immediately. They say the delay, despite their desires and landslide victory this past May, is because they promised not to hold it until toward the end of the Parliament. No doubt also playing a part is the relative disinterest the voters showed in polls leading up to the election. The news these days is full of the blah, blah about it.
While personally of mixed feelings, I respect what Salmond has done. He has distinguished himself among political leaders for his competence - and for his grasp of “Institutional Economics” and the lessons of the Great Depression that it seems everyone else has forgotten.
The politics of the Referendum and nationalist movements in Wales, Scotland and Cornwall may make interesting reading some day, but for today, the story is “Igore’s Wylde Ryde.” “Igore" is my partner’s nickname for me. Hey, it beats Fang, my nickname at my last job.
From Costas in St. Annes to Edinburgh via the "Ghost Bus"
The wild ride begins at Costas in St. Annes. Costas bills itself as the nation’s favourite. My local one is mine. I can feel your Cappuccino. I am sure that’s what the Emperor said.
Coffee consumed, it was time for a local bus ride to Preston. This was the “Wild Ride.” I ride the Number 68 bus to Preston at least twice a month. It always reminds me of the scene from Harry Potter- the ghost bus rattling down the narrow streets of London at break neck speed. I can hear the conductor in the back of my mind, saying, “we’re in for a bumpy ride.” The Number 68 also reminds me of Toad’s Wild Ride at Disneyland, for similar reasons. So, there it is, the origin of “Igore’s Wylde Ryde.” (Photo right: Coffee and coats at Costas before departure by JC Dyer June 21, 2011).
In Preston, a cup of tea (of course), and then the Coach for the four and a half hour journey to Edinburgh. Only it took, all told, a half hour longer. (Photo left: Preston Art Gallery by JD Dyer June 21, 2011).
Coach travel in the UK is not your grandfather’s Greyhound. The coaches are large and mostly comfortable. (Photo right: bus to Edinburgh by JCDyer June 21, 2011) We have had good experiences using them.
But this time the air conditioner did not work and, well, I made the mistake of sitting next to the Loo. Ewww. A too long experience by the time it was over.
Otherwise "green, bucolic and rolling"
Three words otherwise describe the journey- “green,” “bucolic,” and “rolling.” One could add, “eye candy.”
Along the way, we took a stretch break at England’s favourite rest stop, where we ate our picnic lunch. We then moved with surprising speed through Carlisle and across Hadrian’s Wall - without even noticing the Wall. (Photo far left - rolling countryside and photo left - rest stop by John C. Dyer June 2011.
Via Gretna Green, Locherbie and Glasgow
We passed Gretna Green shortly after we entered Scotland. Gretna Green has a unique history. English couples in centuries past eloped across the border to marry in Gretna Green, where they were not obliged to prove parental consent. Scotland had different laws governing the age of consent than did England.
Further along, we passed by Locherbie and on into Glasgow. Glasgow, a city of great contrasts, has some of the worst statistics in the UK for longevity. It is sometimes called little Belfast. Sectarian tensions remain high there.
Edinburgh
Arriving at long last in Edinburgh, I took in the sight of this remarkable city.
My first impression? Busses. Busses, like taxi cabs in New York, crowded the streets.
(Photos left: busses on Princes Street by John C. Dyer, June 20011).
My next impression was of statutes and solid buildings, conveying power and wealth. (Photos left: St Cuthbert's Interior; Royal Bank of Scotland and National Art Gallery by John C. Dyer, June 21, 2011).
A city of Nooks and Crannies
In addition to the massive architecture, Edinburgh is also a city of nooks and crannies. Off the Royal Mile every few feet reveals yet another “Close.” And within the beautiful park at the foot of the Castle lies a fairy tale cottage. (Photo center left: cottage at foot of the Castle by JCDyer, June 21, 2011; photos of nooks and crannies by JCDyer, June 21, 2011)
A wealth of stories
Is it any wonder that J K Rowlings wrote Harry Potter here? (Photo left of "Harry Potter's Nursery" by JCDyer, June 21, 2011)
Edinburgh is rich with stories. I cannot begin to tell them all. One
endearing story is that of Greyfriar’s Bobby, the little dog that stood vigil over his police constable master’s grave for 14 years, fed by locals. (Photos right: Greyfriar's Grave and Bobby by JCDyer, June 21, 2011)
Dominating it all is the looming Edinburgh Castle. (Photo left of Edinburgh Castle by JCDyer June 21, 2011) If ever a structure “loomed,” it is Edinburgh Castle. It commands the eye’s attention, thrilling with its majesty, enthralling with its beauty, and challenging our deeper well springs with its changing moods.
(Photos of Edinburgh Castle 's Changing Moods by JCDyer, June 21, 2011)
As fabulous as is the public architecture, my partner and I actually came to Edinburgh
to visit her son, a student at the Uni. So, after quickly surveying the local scene, we sought a place to eat and talk.
(Photos right Indigo Yard Restaurant by JCDyer, June 21, 2011)
A cosmopolitan city
(Photos above: Edinburgh shops by JC Dyer, June 21, 2011)
But I could not have looked my partner in the eye without trying at least one Scottish dish while we were there. Eventually I worked up my courage. I chose Haggis, Neeps and Tatties, Swede soup, and a Scottish Whiskey. (Photo right by JCDyer, June 21, 2011) Notice I carefully called it “Scottish Whiskey,” not Scotch. Scotch is a drink, Scottish is a people, as was made perfectly clear to me. Yes, my Scottish Wiskey was Scotch, but shhh, not too loud. The still use woad up there. Don’t ask me to explain the constituent parts of Haggis. I wouldn’t want to spoil the experience for you.
Too soon it was time to hit the road.
We decided to bag our Coach “return” and take the train. The station nestles in the gorge beneath the Castle Rock. We scrambled down the wet pavement, purchased our tickets, and within a half hour of deciding to do so, poof, our trip to Edinburgh was history.
The train ride home was significantly more comfortable than the Coach, and less than £65 pounds for the two of us. (Photo left Edinburgh train station and photo right train interior by JCDyer, June 2011).
I will undoubtedly return to Edinburgh. I am impressed by its fabulous architecture, inviting crannies, charming stories, and most of all, by the steam in the stride of its residents. Something is happening in Scotland. I counted eight large building cranes busily at work. The streets throb with confidence and energy. I itch to see it develop.