Georgie Boy

This statue of George IV in the New Town commemorates his visit to Scotland in 1822.

The wearing of the kilt wasn't done much anymore (and in fact had been banned for a while post-Jacobite rebellion) but news that the King planned to wear one on his visit sent all the Edinburghers scrambling to have their own kilts made.

The King's kilt was unfortunately more like a miniskirt, so to keep the crown jewels out of view he had to don a pair of tights. Which were pink.

The statue includes the tights, but mercifully, not their color, and George ends up looking far more dashing than he ever did in life.

Chimneys plus

There is some fierce architecture in Edinburgh. Some of these buildings have so much going on you barely have time to notice the chimneys.

Chim chiminee

Edinburgh's nickname used to be Auld Reekie (whether reek just means smoke or whether the name also referred to the fragrance of the sewers depends on who you ask -- I've heard multiple versions.)

Either way, houses used to have a coal fire in every room, so every house has multiple chimneys, and the rows upon rows of chimneys in the sky is one of the city's most distinctive and beautiful features.

Nor Loch

Most of Princes Street Gardens is set in a large basin, way below street level. The castle towers over it, of course, but so do the spires of the Old Town on the south side, and the more commercial buildings of Princes Street on the north. It makes the park feel secluded, even when the trains are rattling past on their way to Waverley Station.

It was once water, Nor Loch, or the North Loch, and it was finally drained in the eighteenth century because although it acted as a kind of moat to protect the castle and the city, it also prevented the city from expanding northwards.

One of its chief uses apart from protection had been as a dunking pool for suspected witches, and when it was drained they found the skeletons of many women with their hands tied. At least by drowning they proved their innocence, which I'm sure was great consolation to them in their final moments.

Back to the really important things

Like food.

This squirrel followed me around the churchyard begging for a treat so I finally gave him a piece of a protein bar.

He was so grateful he hopped up on the bench and sat next to me while he ate.

Notice those formidable claws.

Momento mori

In the eighteenth century did you really have to be reminded that you were going to die? It seems as though managing to occasionally forget it would be a more difficult task.

St Cuthbert's Burial Ground

This old cemetery is at the west end of the gardens, below the castle. It must look wonderfully spooky on a misty day, but the weather remained sunny and warm, and the play of light filtered through the trees on the mossy headstones was beautiful.

Most of the headstones are from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, and are tragic witness to the short lifespans of the average Scot then, although there was the occasional tough seventy or eighty year old.

The tombstone below lists a daughter who died at age seven, and then two more daughters who "died young." Presumably as infants, because to my modern mind, seven is heartbreakingly young to die. And that's one of many reasons I wouldn't have wanted to be born any earlier than I was, however much fun it might be to imagine living in Shakespeare's London or arguing with James Madison at the Constitutional Convention.

Haggis

I don't have any photos of haggis, but it's just as well, as it's not the most attractive subject. (Traditionally it's boiled in a sheep's stomach, and if you think back to occasions when you've had the opportunity to see the contents of your own or someone else's stomach, you'll probably decide that the lack of a photo is just as well. Google it if you're really curious.)

I was determined to try it, just so I could say I had, but it's surprisingly delicious. Surprisingly because it's made of sheep entrails mixed with oatmeal and boiled in a casing and looks like something you'd cross the street to avoid, but it's savory and nutty and chewy, something like a very thick sausage soup.

It's a better accompaniment to scrambled eggs at breakfast than the limp bacon and bready sausages of the British Isles, lovely with the traditional tomatoes and mushrooms and probably even with the baked beans, if you're British enough to be able to face baked beans in the morning.

Obligatory castle photos

So yes, there is this amazing castle looming over the park -- looming over everything in the city. Basically there was a large extinct volcano available, and it was inevitable that something fortress-like would be built at the top.

And though my hotel made a point of letting me know I was getting a room with a view of the castle, there can't be many places in Edinburgh where you can't see it. (Snark aside, the Blackberry photo of the castle at night from my hotel room does not do it justice.)

Sunday bird blogging

Edinburgh edition.

A magpie in Princes Street Gardens. Not a great shot, but the best I could do, half-blinded by all the white flesh around me. Magpies are common in the British Isles, but I'd never seen one, and the fun of discovery made up for the obnoxiousness of the species (closely related to crows.)

Edinburgh

You were expecting maybe a castle?

I spent my first afternoon in the city watching something a little more exotic, something your average visitor to Edinburgh never gets to see: Scots sunbathing.

After tramping up and down Princes Street looking for a hotel that stubbornly refused to be where the map in my hand indicated, and the elusive hotel's refusal to make it up to me by allowing me to check in early, I had plenty of time to sit in the Princes Street Gardens watching the natives enjoy the unusually hot sunny weather.

The kids were having fun. The ice cream stands were doing great business. But most of the adults looked a little dazed, as if they didn't quite know what to make of it all.

Saturday geometries

Flying to Edinburgh tonight, so here's the last New York picture for a while -- scaffolding at the Sheraton on Seventh Avenue.