Edinburgh Festival Photos

Edinburgh

Edinburgh without the festival just isn't right. It's like going up stairs when you think there's one more step than there is and you thump down on the flat. I should have, maybe did, get used to it over these last few months, but oh the joy to be back at festival time.

The High Street buzzes with a bizarre army of flyer-pushers working their way between tourists, festival junkies and earnest show-goers. Posters are layered over each other by enterprising groups who vie for the safest top-spot by climbing onto shoulders or leaping wildly with broom-handles. On miniature stages, on bollards and the cobbled road, groups perform tasters of their shows. Basil Fawlty and Manuel saunter down the Mile, passing dancers, wenches, pirates, dead bodies, stilt-walkers and a rugby team whose Hakka holds up the traffic. Pluck perform with such a dazzling brilliance that I immediately buy a ticket. The sun shines. This is Edinburgh.

There isn't enough time to see everything I'd like to, but this year I get to more shows than ever. Choose better. Although I still ended up at at least one cringeworthy failure of a show - but then, that's part of the fun.

I found some gems this year: Pluck, Tony!The Blair Musical, John Hegley (again) and Pericles Redux being the highlights. Pericles Redux was the most unusual and mesmerising Shakespeare you could imagine - original text woven into physical theatre that told the story, grabbed you and carried you away. And a few days later I came across the team performing on the street, a vision of topless muscular strength and elegance.

The energy of the festival is heady. Just sitting in the Pleasance Courtyard sipping a drink is like a show in itself.

Night bus to London

Edinburgh, 10pm, and Princes Street is teeming with half-naked children tottering about on stillettos. These girls are so young that the boys with them are still at the age where they're smaller than the girls. Nobody looks over thirteen, many look slightly drunk. Cheery barrel-chested policepersons stand in twos, flourescent yellow beacons attracting tourists who ask for directions or photos. More kids continue to carry each other, squealing with laughter, up the Waverley Steps from the station, spitting themselves onto the street, before slipping back into cool and mooching across to McDonalds. Suddenly I feel very old, and feel that I have been away for a very long time. Finally, I feel relieved to see at last the UK I have always known was lurking here, beyond, behind and within all the lovely places I have been to.

Compared to a bus trip in Africa, it was a doddle, but I have to say I expected it to be comfortable rather than just bearable. I will save the details for the letter I'm writing to Megabus and just tell you that I arrived dazed and delirious at Victoria at about six-thirty on Saturday morning.

The Falkirk Wheel

This is a really fascinating piece of engineering. The Falkirk Wheel is a rotating boat lift linking the Forth and Clyde canal with the Union canal near Falkirk, as you might have guessed. The canals have been reopened and renovated fairly recently, but the flight of eleven locks that previously joined them had mostly been destroyed and built over, so this boat lift was created to replace the locks. Apparently it used to take a whole day to navigate the entire flight of locks, but the new method takes less than twenty minutes.





Mum, Dad and I went for a look, read up a little in the information centre, then watched the wheel in operation. We declined the opportunity of a boat trip up and down again, and instead watched the workings which would not have been visible from the boat. The upper canal has been built out from the hillside, through which it has passed in a tunnel, onto an aqueduct that juts out over a large pool beside the lower canal. The boats enter the wheel area, which is then completely sealed before the wheel rotates, bringing one boat up to the top while another comes down.


We walked up to and through the tunnel and along the canal a little way, passing a couple of locks and a pair of very cheery lock-keeper types who chatted about this and that. I thought briefly about walking back all the way to Edinburgh along the towpath, but instead opted for a ride in the car, including a stop off and Marks and Sparks where we indulged in an orgy of biscuit buying. A grand day out.

Aberdeen

Aberdeen is a strikingly attractive city. Perched on the edge of Scotland, stacked full of grand granitic architecture, it gleamed in the sun. Big business-like ships somehow managed to dock right in town next to the bus station, and a ferry waited to set sail for Shetland. The grey North Sea bravely sparkled when it could, dog-walkers strolled along the beach, even the big oil-related installations sat benignly on the harbour front. Out by the beach the city gives way to a tiny old fishing village of tinier houses, small and bright like beach-huts. Walking the narrow paths between them felt like walking through private gardens, amongst the barbecues, potted plants and washing.


Of course, I'm sure Aberdeen has rougher edges, but everywhere I went was simply the epitomy of couth.
In honour of the city's grandeur, I have penned a wee poem with some help from the famous poet, Adrian Mole:

Oh, Aberdeen!
I had never seen
you before.
Your granite glistened grandly
in the Scottish summer sun.
So did the sea,
till it rained.

I had only gone to spend a couple of days with my friend Shona and her family. Then somehow managed to stay there a week. In fact, it was so nice I'm surprised I'm not still there now. In all the time I was travelling, there was always the issue of "Going home" - an issue that I had trouble dealing with, as I had and have no home. The home I pictured as I travelled was the flat in KL that is no longer mine. But at Shona and John's, I found myself at home.

It was great to chat, or relax with a book, or a glass of wine, fun to do homework with the kids, walk along the railway line, and specially to go and watch Maxwell play his rugby match. And that's despite the shock of being reminded that I am old enough to be mistaken for the parent of a 13 year old! I even braved my way through Lucy's seventh birthday party - possibly a rather more contraceptive experience.

This was not only a lovely slice of Scotland, but also a lovely slice of family life. Not to mention a wonderful chance to catch up with people I haven't seen for a year. Now I'm just trying to work out why I decided not to apply for that job there...

Edinburgh

While not technically a part of the African continent, Edinburgh is an obvious stop when you think about it logically. So, with hopelessly directionless meander from one far-flung Heathrow terminal to another, I arrived in Edinburgh's swanky new 'I'm the capital of a nearly independent country' airport.

The differentness of the familiar never hits as hard as it should. But one thing did strike me as we drove south towards Peebles - despite the late hour it was light, a perfect summer sun shone over the evening hills, as if switched on by the Scottish Tourist Board, making ludicrous my parents' claims of having endured the worst summer ever. Hadn't every day had been like this?

It's always rather pleasant to stroll through Peebles, the river Tweed gushing its shallow water and numerous ducks through the town towards first the border then the sea. This is real small town life, where most people seem to know half the people they meet on the high street and butchers and bakers are still family businesses. Add to this a nice line olde stone buildings, meagre traffic and a public library (oh the joy of such an establishment after five years' absence!) and life seems pretty good in such a place.

I managed to get up to Edinburgh twice for a dose of the festival. I love Edinburgh at festival time, the gracious buildings plastered with gaudy posters, performers accosting you on the street to persuade you to come to their show later, dozens and dozens of student-types trying to out-whacky each other but mostly achieving more tacky than whacky in their bid for attention and audiences. There's plenty of good stuff to see, and I was lucky enough to see John Hegley at the Pleasance. I'd loved his show five years ago and this was just as good. His chat and poems had me chuckling aloud, the humour intelligent, spot-on and always delivered dead-pan dry. Check him out at: http://www.johnhegley.co.uk/networds/docs/poemdeterre.htm

Hiking over the hills somewhere near St.Mary's Loch reminded me that the UK isn't all dismal at all. This is a beautiful area and I enjoyed joining the 'Ramblers' for the day, especially up on the tops where the moorland looks so big and empty, the shadows of clouds scud rapidly over the heather-covered hillsides and the ground is boggy enough to absorb the unsuspecting hiker up to his thighs. Like all good walks, this one ended at a country pub where I enjoyed a drink or two with the lads while the old and/or ladylike went off to a caff for tea. Hard to believe that it's probably ten years since I last met these guys... makes me feel much older than any of them looked... anyway, they're a damn fine bunch and great company. Lesson for life: stick with the beer-drinkers.