Two Castles and No Sleep

I am still not falling asleep like a normal person. So I might as well catch up on this report, since there seems little chance of sleep despite all the fucking walking I did today, the heavy meal we ate, and the not too much alcohol I consumed.

Castle on the Black Rock

Thursday was our first full day here, so it was off to Edinburgh Castle. I didn't eat much breakfast, despite how delicious it all looked. Totally off my feed. We walked to the castle from our B&B, which is in Tollcross, near the Bruntsfield Links, a famous public golf course that is also a park. The sky was kinda grey when we set out, but the weather got better. It wasn't a far walk, but much of it was wickedly uphill -- we took two long staircases upward as well. Landed in an area where there were modern-day bleachers set up for the military tattoo (big show) they do in August, when the Festival is on, I suppose.

It's strange how quickly you get used to things. Our first view of the castle, from the train coming from Glasgow, was such an astonishing sight -- this huge hulk perched atop its misshapen black volcanic pedestal. It seemed to go on forever in every direction, dwarfing everything nearby. But by the time we actually got there, it was only slightly phenomenal. Just part of the landscape. Yawn.

At the ticket window, there were only a couple people waiting to buy; then we went up. Deb asked so many questions that, by the time she decided which ticket to get, there was a huge queue behind us. Sigh. We went into the gate, and she immediately pulled out her map/book and started trying to determine ... something. What to see, best way to see it, who knows? I felt uncharacteristically impatient and just wanted to go look, so I walked off under the archway toward whatever lay ahead. The Chief had forced one of his cameras on me right before I left ("you can just leave it all on Automatic if you want to"), which was kind of good, b/c the view was spectacular, and I was soon clicking away. Shot the better part of a roll at the castle. The sun had come out, and the sky was so clear. From the place where I was standing, you could see the New Town -- which is way older than the U.S., I think. Or something.

This is not my photo; it's one from Deb's digital camera:



We waited a few minutes for the daily cannon-firing at 1 p.m. Very exciting. It was a big old gun that was green and very loud. I think it was from WWI. A fair number of tourists milled about, talking in all different languages. A group of Asian women snapped pictures nearby. One got up on one of the non-functioning cannons so that her companion could take a shot; caught in the sunlight, her pretty face was all glittery with fine sparkles ... glitter is a thing everywhere, it would seem.

By this time, I needed a boost, so we got some coffee at the snack bar. I only really cared about seeing a couple of things in this vast expanse of stone and mortar. Chiefly, the Stone of Destiny -- an allegedly magical item recently returned by England to Scotland. It had a part in the coronation ritual of Scottish monarchs. It was reached by walking through a winding path of corridors painted with historic tableaux and vignettes; there also were the symbols of power: sword, sceptre, and, uh ... crown. And some jewels, of course. You can't be royalty w/o jewels. In one of the chambers leading up to this display was an exhibit with replicas of these items and plaques marked in Braille -- so blind people could "see" them. I thought that was cool. I laid my hand on the hilt of that sword, which was huge, and tried to imagine actually wielding it on a battlefield. Huh. I'd be lucky not to break my back picking it up with both hands.

The history I gleaned in fits and spurts from this sojourn is well recorded elsewhere. Mainly, it involves a lot of killing and dying over the right way to worship God. Not even different gods, but the same one. Humans are so stupid sometimes. It's a wonder they have survived. On one hand, they can design and build these amazing edifices -- which dot the Scottish landscape like the sheep that graze the green fields. On the other hand, they destroy each other without mercy over something as idiotic as religion. It's hard for me to believe God really wants it that way, but maybe I am the idiot.

We looked around the tiny St. Margaret's Chapel, with its exquisitely lovely stained-glass windows. Wandered around more and shot more photos. Finally had enough and went off to find a place to eat.

Interlude: Before leaving the castle, we phoned the B&B to make sure my luggage had arrived via courier, as the nice man who called me earlier that morning had promised. It had. Happiness!

Lunch was beer and baked potatoes (bacon and cheese, mmm) at a pub near the foot of the castle, with a back patio looking out over Victoria Street. We actually sat outside for a while b/c it was still nice in the late afternoon sun, but moved back in before the food arrived. Did some shopping at the souvenir joints. Got back around 6 and crashed for a couple of hours. Woke up and decided to go in search of some of that traditional music Deb wanted to hear.

It took three tries, but we finally found it. We had asked the adorable waitresses at the lunch pub for suggestions, and I think Deb had one she'd read about. The first place we went to was tiny and crowded, with a band playing American bluegrass. Uh, OK -- not exactly the tradition she'd had in mind. Next up was an Irish bar with a big, young crowd and a band called the Beau Nasties playing Irish-folk versions of American pop hits: Creedence's "Bad Moon Rising," R.E.M.'s "Losing My Religion" ... and we left when they started into "That's All Right, Mama."

Off to Sandy Bull's, which was pretty crowded, but friendly, and had a mandolin and fiddler sitting in the back, playing. Ahh. Success at last. We had a couple of leisurely whiskies and got thoroughly soaked with cigarette smoke. It was very warm in there. I drank a whisky called Jura, with an ankh on the bottle (water of life, you know). We walked back to the Stuarts through the park, around midnight. The darkness was velvety but damp.

Did not sleep at all that night. Sat up reading a long, long and super-boring short story ... didn't help. Still managed to drag myself off with Deb on Friday to Stirling Castle, as planned. I am really pissed about this sleeping shit, but I'll be fucked it I let it ruin this trip. Like now. I can't sleep, but I can write. So there, stupid brain.

A Castle in the Country

The trip to Stirling was kind of surreal. I was tired and a bit queasy. We took the train into the picturesque town. It took about an hour, past graveyards and golf courses. Cows -- shaggy Highland beasts, cute -- and sheep. Hay fields with big rolls of hay. Scotland strongly reminds me of Pennsylvania, at least in the countryside. And the New Town is a tiny bit like Pittsburgh.

Anyway. Disembarked, found a tourist info office, and were soon on our way to the castle. Again, naturally, walking uphill. I was glad I'd worn my hiking boots. Deb dragged me into a church ... big, with gorgeous stained glass and a high, high, fancy wood-beamed ceiling. An older man in a kilt informed us that at some point in its long history, it had been partitioned in two (east and west), due to some worship-related dispute. (Sheesh!) We walked around and looked a while inside, then went out to the graveyard behind and wandered some more. A lot of dead people, crossing centuries. But I saw a more recent tomb, from 1997. I guess there are still family plots, perhaps.

By then it was time for refreshment -- lentil-mushroom soup and bread, with Earl Grey tea -- at a small cafe. The day was a little chilly, but gorgeous, with blue sky, bright sun, fluffy white clouds scudding overhead in the sometimes fierce wind.

Trudged more uphill. Stopped at another tourist info office, looking in vain for the free "how to drive in Scotland" booklet. Deb checked on the tourist bus that takes you around Stirling and delivers you to the William Wallace Monument, visible as an ornate tower rising solo in the distance. We didn't make that scene, howev.

Stirling Castle was enough -- gorgeous views of the green countryside and the motorway a silvery ribbon in the distance. Deb took the tour; I wandered around. Through rooms being restored -- much dust and scaffolding, plus the occasional sign explaining what a given room was used for. That was fun for the imagination. The great hall was particularly impressive -- vast as its name implies, with gigantic fireplaces and room for, i don't know, practically the whole kingdom to hang out. I went also into the vaults, where each little space had presentations on the music, clothing, art, and entertainment of the day. In the courtyard among the more expected flora was a palm tree. I took a picture of it but forgot to ask how it got there.

Along the battlements was maybe the best part. And not just because it was sunny and blue-sky, and the countryside was so beautiful to behold. I could have stood there looking at it for hours. But some of the fun was b/c I by chance ended up following a little girl who was dashing along the narrow pathway built into the castle walls as though it were a garden path -- a little girl who alighted from her journey into the midst of her family, only to have her bratty little brother grab something from her and skip away, as bratty little brothers are wont to do. She protested and shrieked at him to "give it back!" Their mother could be heard somewhat ineffectually ordering him to behave in the background, but this wasn't enough for the little girl, who, finally frustrated by attempts to reason with him, simply seized the brat by the backs of his elbows, swung him around, and slammed him hard to the ground. Whereupon he, like all bullies, cried and ran to his mommy. Who, to her credit, simply asked what did he expect would happen, behaving like that? As I descended the final steps back to the ground, I caught the little girl's eye and winked at her.

At the gift shop, I got some postcards. Deb showed up and got some whisky after quizzing the poor shopgirl to death (though she was patient and didn't seem to mind). Then it was time to go back and get the train to Edinburgh, at 5. By then I was knackered. I had a hard time staying awake on the return trip -- not even the Pixies blasting on my iPod could keep me from nodding out now and then. At the station, we got a cab back to the B&B; otherwise, Deb would've had to carry me, and I don't think she was up for that.

That evening I was determined not to nap, and to stay up until it was time to sleep. So we went out to dinner at Lazio, an Italian restaurant. Against Rick Foss's strict orders, we ate pizza in Scotland. My prosciutto and cheese was delicious. I had a big glass of wine and several slices. Stumbled back home. Crashed hard around 10. Woke just before 5 -- almost seven hours of hard-won snoozing. Wanted more, so took one of Deb's generic Xanax. Conked out again until 10:30. Actually felt like myself, and thought I might be OK now.

Hah.