Still jet-lagged, but doing the tourist thing anyway

Well, here are some of the much-promised pictures! Our room at the house is really something; it's in pretty-close-to-original condition, meaning a 20-foot ceiling, three huge windows with wooden shutters, beautiful wainscoting, and a marble mantelpiece.




Here, you can get a sense of it. Cool, huh? I think we're really lucky; all the other faculty and guest rooms are pretty much plain white plaster walls.





Sunday night, Gloria took us for a long walk on the grounds, around some of the many trails. The place is full of huge, beautiful trees, some of interesting varieties (like the monkey-puzzle tree). Of course, we saw both the North and the South Esk; here's a shot of some water that Dennis would like to (and will get to!) fish:





After sleeping until almost noon on Monday, we took the bus into Edinburgh to get our first look around and go to two Festival events that we'd bought tickets for: a musical performance by a Russian gypsy duo called Mazaika, and a poetry reading by Billy Collings. Here's one really lovely view from Princes Street Garden.



This is a nice city scene; we happen to be here at the end of the many festivals that take place in August, so we got to hear some interesting street music, including an amazingly energetic Highland drum and pipe band. Those guys (and girls) would scare the living shit out of me if they came at me with claymoors! (that's not them in the picture, by the way)





Here's Dennis with his first dram of whiskey bought and consumed in Scotland: a Highland Park (25 cl for 3.50) at the Edinburgh Book Festival, just before we saw Billy Collins reading his poetry.





So, that's me with the most expensive Highland Park known to man. I'd say the pour is roughly one eight of a "Rob dram" Figure in the 1.85 dollar/pound ratio and that's one pitiful sip. Everything is 25% more than at home. At least that's what I've seen so far. Ah but when the thirst is upon ye, ye doone what must be doone . . .

The pictures sort of show what it's like in Edinburgh, but the vastness of the city goes well beyond the physical. The place is very much alive. In one day we saw true highland battle bands (crayzies with drums and flying hair), Andean pan-flute music (and it was damned fine), Russian gypsy accordian and violin music, and an ex USA poet laureate, ending the night walking back to the bus listening to Tears for Fears playing in the New Town park ("Don't You Forget About Me lalalalala) And we finished off the night with a belly full of vegetable pakora with chili yogurt sauce and a dram of Ardbeg 10 -- which wasn't really a good idea . . .

The people around here are fine, with a brogue both soft and strong, a lilting rhythm that catches my attention so fully that I forget to listen to lyrics because of the music. You get a real sense of the national pride here, something I'd like to feel myself . . .

The one major impression that I've had so far (and I can see it every where) is that people have lived here for a long, long, very long time. There is history everywhere you look. Lots of evidence of success and failure all stacked together in a sort of mishmash of time and place. Chapels have become gift shops and ancient gathering places have become sources of cultural piety. The castle on the mountain that allowed Edinburgh to become a city in 1125 still rules over the land, you can still see the niches where bowmen once stood. Industry hasn't really hit this mostly commecial city, so the rivers still run clean enough to invite sea trout and salmon to try to finish their inland runs and the meadows just outside the city and all around Dalkeith where we are staying are filled with sheep, goats, and the errant hairy Scottish cows that all look like Moe.

To put it all in a nutshell: this place is cool.

More later . . .

us'ns