Pubs

A quiet drink and a good book in the Stockbridge Tap.

Never quite knew what the big fuss was about. Until I moved North. Well, yes, I read a few books as well, but as any good ethnographist will tell you, there is nothing like the first-hand experience. I never used to understand, before I got my own local pub - or rather, it got me. It's hard to say when a local becomes a local, it can take a few weeks or a few months, but after a while you've been going there when you eneter this cosy, sour-smelling place the bar staff start to nod and say hello, and you know the other locals by sight and exchange a few remarks about the weather, and you have your corner and your favourite perspective on the place, and then you know, it's your local. For some of my friends, their pub is their shelter, their refuge and a real home; for many, it is a natural extension of their living room, a place to meet friends or just to do the crossword, or watch a game, or just hang out. I recently went out for a pint in London with my aunt, who normally lives in Paris. As we settled into comfy chairs in front of the gas fire to watch the rugby, she told me going to pubs was her favourite part of sight-seeing in London. In Paris, sighed, it's impossible just to sit in a abr and drink the same drink for an hour without being kicked out.

Big cities don't do pubs so well, city pubs don't really have a soul, a personality. To survive the constant influx and outflow of regular customers, they tend to fall into categories, rather than standing by the strength of their reputation. And so you get gastro-pubs, music-pubs, real ale pubs, 'old man' pubs, women-friendly pubs, and so on. The closest pub to my flat in London was a combination of a gastro-pub and a 'young' pub, and I remember it very fondly. One room of 'The Landseer' had big windows and was filled with leather sofas and bookcases, inviting you to spend the Sunday afternoon reading the paper or playing Scrabble. The other room was converted into a nice dining area, with pine tables and grey linen napkins, a lovely place to nibble on pickled figs and crusty bread.

Edinburgh is still terra incognita for me as far as pubs are concerned. There is a nice, clean, but a bit souless place down the road, called 'the Stockbridge Tap'; lovely Victorian tiles, lots of light, not much atmosphere. The one next to it I did not even venture into: it has high glass-top tables with black leather stools, fairy lights in the windows and is pupulated by short-skirted girls with large glasses of red and gel-haired guys puffing up their chests. There is one place that I took a liking to, mostly because it reminds me of art-deco cafes in Prague.

Cafe Royal pub and the lovely tiles.

Cafe Royal pub.

Called appropriately 'Cafe Royal', it is situated on the tourist trail, just in front of The Balmoral Hotel. It has the bland atmospehre of a chain store, but the interior is very beautiful. The walls are lined with tiles illustrating different trades, the art-deco lamps are just lovely, and all the brass finishings shine and sparkle in their light. Nice for a pint while you're waiting for your train from Waverley, or on the way home from work, but not somewhere you'd like to sit for hours.