The D stands for departure, but reminds me of the Churchill barriers of Orkney, a tale I had no time to tell in these posts, so rich were these travels, so packed with information, perspective and fun.
The tales will continue when we return home. But for now, the actual, physical part of this trip must come to an end.
We leave for the airport in less than an hour.
(Edinburgh from Arthur’s Seat)
Before there was clean(ish) indoor heating, before Edinburgh’s medieval old town became a tourist mecca, Scotland’s capital city earned the nickname Auld Reekie, Gaelic for “Old Smokey.”
There were so many people crammed into such a small space, and so many chimneys belching so much smoke. It’s hard to believe the nickname on a day like today, with blue skies and clouds more puffy than forbidding.
But Auld Reekie it was, and Auld Reekie it has remained — though it’s now just a term of endearment.
(Victoria Street, said to be the inspiration for Diagon Alley in the Harry Potter books.)
How can you not love a city with a mountain in the middle of it? Arthur’s Seat rises 823 feet above sea level, rewarding hikers who reach its summit (or close to it) with generous views of land and sea.
Today’s rare clear morning drew people of all ages and climbing levels to the hill. You can see them here, making their final ascent up the extinct volcano.
Once on top, you could see for miles — park and city and the Firth of Forth. Imagine having these views in your back pocket, there for the taking whenever you have the energy for the climb.
We approached Edinburgh Castle from the rear, which shows to good effect the extinct volcano plug on which it’s built. It’s mostly sheer rock back there, and the fortress seems to grow from it. Impregnable is the word I would use, though it’s the most besieged castle in Scotland.
Now it’s tourists attacking the fortress — not Jacobites.
But if you can find a quiet corner — especially a place like the 12th-century Saint Margarett’s Chapel, the oldest building in Edinburgh — you feel the majesty and antiquity of the place.
We interrupt this regularly scheduled Scottish programming to bring you …. England. Yes, we crept down into “enemy territory” today, joked our tour guide as we headed out on our day trip to Hadrian’s Wall in England’s far north.
Built by the Romans about 2,000 years ago, the wall was either a raw display of power or a way to enhance the local economy, depending upon who you listen to.
Whatever its rationale, it’s still having an impact two millennia later, though perhaps not the kind originally intended. I wasn’t counting on it to protect me from heathens — but to fill me with awe. It did.
It’s August in Edinburgh, and we felt the buzz the moment we stepped off the train. Scotland’s capital city has a force field.
In part it’s all the people clogging the street, so many that we could barely snake our way through with our pull bags and backpacks.
In part it’s the festival, the original Edinburgh Festival and the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, which we sampled this evening.
And then … there are the bagpipes.
It’s the first place we’ve left and come back to, though only for one night. An early start and late drop-off from our Orkney trip has made Inverness the place to be, and now the place to leave once again.
Still, there’s something quite nice about returning to a city, a way to know it better.
I felt at home here right away, and now, par for the course, I hate to leave.
What do you get when you put 16 people and one tour guide into a small van? If you’re lucky something like what we had these last three days with Stewart.
This guy took a random assemblage of humans (albeit some of them related) from three continents and made us into a community with routines, in-jokes and a quest: We had to find a “hairy coo” — a Highland cow — not only for the six-year-old among us but for all the other lovers of these gentle, shaggy beasts.
Stewart backed up the van and practically drove us into the field where a few of the cattle were grazing. Photos were snapped … and snapped …. and snapped. It’s a testament to these creatures’ docile natures that they put up with it all.
As for our tour group, we have scattered to the four winds, to a lot more places than this famous sign at John O’Groats, the northern-most point in mainland Britain.
Today we traveled in time as well as space, touring sites which Orkadians five millennia ago would have known.
Places like Skara Brae, a Neolithic village uncovered less than 200 years ago and older than Stonehenge or the pyramids in Egypt. The Stones of Stenness rising up from the treeless plain. And the Ring of Brodnar with its 27 menhirs decked out in heather.
What I took from this jam-packed day is that we have much in common with our Stone Age ancestors, that they, like us, sought shelter from the cold, a good meal, and something beyond creature comforts, a carving on a mace handle, a decorated saucer.
They too, wanted to say we were here. And today, I saw that they were.
“It looks like someone stabbed the island with a knife,” said Stewart, our guide on this three-day tour of the Orkney Islands. He was referring to this collapsed sea cave known as a gloup.
The gloup does look like a large earth wound, and the North Sea rushes in from the back end, making it gurgle and growl. Though it was a warm day for these climes (closer to Norway than London), the temperature of the surrounding water is in the upper 50s. I wouldn’t want to fall in.
Stewart was born here, and his grandparents are Orkadians, so he knows the hidden jewels of this faraway place. Tomorrow, he’ll show us more of them.
