Union Canal

The sun was still out, low over the horizon when I left work; I could only see its aura from behind the warehouses, staining the whole sky golden , making the industrial landscape around my office remind me of California. Much colder, of course, but there was something about the open space and blue, spotless sky… I had a few hours before I was due to meet a friend and his family in Brumsfield, so I decided to do some good old wondering, and headed West.

Soon I crossed the railway line in Slateford and I spotted a friendly blue ‘public path’ sign pointing in the direction of Leith, and decided to follow it, through a residential estate, a thin path between two lines of hedges… And then, I stumbled upon a canal. The water was calm and reflected the sunset like a perfect mirror – how could I resist? I grinned, and decided to follow the comfortable asphalt path running along it towards town centre.

The Canal.

'Should I smile?' 'Yes please!'

The canal was dominated by cyclists and ducks, with a few focused joggers as well, but I was pretty much the only person taking a more leisurely pace. The area around where I joined the canal is not particularly inspiring, but the presence of water was clearly attracting some developments. There was a decent-looking modernist flat complex, and a few miniature single-family houses, all made to look more attractive by the light of the setting sun I’m sure. Still, I can see the appeal of looking out of your dining room window to see some happy ducks going about their duck business.

A bland set of modern flats, but with a nice view.

A miniature family house, which looks like it belongs in German countryside, not in the middle of Edinburgh.

The canal, for which I had no great expectations, was getting more interesting by the minute.

A long corrugated iron shed turned out to belong to a rowing club, and soon afterwards I came across a poster advertising this as the training place of an Olympic rowing medallist, David Florence. Well, well.

A rowing club shed.

Soon I came to a very cute, and very quiet, canal marina, and got into a conversation with a man who came down purposefully to feed the ducks and swans. It turned out that the waterway I took to be my personal lucky discovery, and which I was expecting to finish at an uninspiring industrial site at any moment one, was actually the Union Canal, which connected Glasgow and Edinburgh. Exciting!

Feeding the swans.

Some background info is needed here. I heard of the Union Canal a few days earlier when a girl from my office was describing her failed attempt to cycle alongside it all the way to Glasgow – something I strongly intend to de when the weather improves and the path gets a bit less muddy. The canal was build in 1822, and was used to transport coal; it has been shut for commercial traffic since 1930. Wiki tells me it’s a contour canal, ie a canal that, rather than going in a straight line, follows the countour of the land to avoid costly tunnels and high banks. Still, it has quite a lot of cool infrastructure, including numerous acqueducts, the most spectacular of which I had just missed by a few metres on my trip – it carries the canal above the Water of Leith, which really tickles me. There is also a tunnel to bring the canal under the Antonine Wall (the northern equivalent of the Hadian’s Wall), and a rotating boat lift. Very exciting stuff which I will have to see – but I may wait until mid march, when the renovation works on the canal and the path are complete.

Along the canal.

Now that I knew where I was, I really wanted to see where the canal ends up. I briskly marched past Harrison Park, full of dogs and kids practising cricket. It was getting dark when I reached Leamington. There was some serious development going on there as well, with a big sign advertising the sale of ten three-bedroom modern houses. Even the evening light could not mask the already weathered wood, and tired design. I wasn't inspired.

The new 'City Living' in Leamington - yes, you're not buying a house, you're buying a 'lifestyle soultion'. We'll throw empty pastic bottles floating in the water and a dramatic view of a derelict warehouse for free.

The canal ended with a lift, and a small basin – a later found out that the original quay was filled when the canal stopped being used for commercial purposes, real shame.

Leamington lift.

I stood by the lock, contemplating which way to go, and staring absent-mindedly at a derelict factory building to my left when I realised what I was looking at. This was the Fountainbridge Brewery which I have been reading about in relation to some work I’ve been doing.

The Fountainbridge brewery of Scottish and Newcastle.

This massive site employed 390 people, and belonged to Scottish and Newcastle, famous for their Newcastle Brown Ale. Following their takeover by Heineken, the Fountainbridge brewery was closed in 2004, and nothing seems to have been done to it for the past six years. Apparently you can still get in though, if you’re into ‘urban exploration’ – I found some quite amazing photographs of the derelict interior on this site: http://www.28dayslater.co.uk/forums/showthread.php?t=41228 . As my academic supervisor would say, there is an article in this!

I finished my canal-side adventure in a lovely chocolate bar (ha!) in Bruntsfield, which is just West of the great Edinburgh park called the Meadows – which I still have to explore. The bar is called The Chocolate Tree, and is wonderful.

The Chocolate Tree.

The smell of dark chocolate lures you in from the street into a cosy interior decorated heavy wooden furniture. An antique samovar and silver-cloured trays give it an old-fashioned feel, nicely contrasted with vividly coloured wall hangings.

Some of the lovely chocolates the Chocolate Tree make - all organic.

I could not resist a chilli-flavoured hot chocolate while I waited for a selection of chocolates I chose for my evening hosts to be arranged in a hand-made origami box.

Hot chocolate with chili - perfect for a frosty Edinburgh evening.

I had a chat with the owner, a lovely German girl with an impressive plait of dark hair. The company has been running for a few years now as a mobile café’, and they have also been supplying their lovely chocolates to supermarkets and restaurants. They settled in Brumsfield in December, and apart from the chocolates you can also buy amazing looking cakes which she makes herself – mmm…. The area has a young and cosmopolitan feel, so I hope that it sustains this new addition! Highly recommended for a moment of well-deserved hedonism.

A word of wisdom from the Chocolate Tree.

No drink permitted

Wet Princes Street.

It's miserable and rainy, so I jump on a bus to town centre. The windows are all misty on the inside, and wet from the outside, so it's like travelling in a big aquarium. At one of the stops I am contemplating the sign advertising a Polish Shop 'U Zbycha', when the engine stops. I can hear someone walking up the stairs, muttering to themselves. 'I've got a ticket, it's right here in my pocket.' A man in his fifties, in loose sweatpants and a threadbare sweater swaggers to the upper deck. He's got a floppy hat perched on the top of his head, dark sunglasses, and is holding an open can of lager. Oblivious to his surroundings, he just stops there at the top of the stairs, and continues muttering - I can hardly understand a word, so strong is his Scottish accent. The head and shoulders of the driver appear next to him on the stairway.
- I've got my ticket - the man repeates.
- You're gonna have to'et off if you keep this can.
- I'm not drinking.
- It's open, it's not allowed. Get off now.
The driver disappears, and the bus continues to stand motionless, in silence, lights off, the man muttering incessantly. I would get off, but he is blocking my way, and I have no intention of squeezing past him. It's an impasse. The man continues to mutter, gripping the can, not even drinking, seeimingly just happy to stand there. Then, like an angel's song, from below comes the voice of a woman.
- C'mon now, are you done with that?
It's a voice used to giving commands, it's a voice that will not take no for an answer so don't be silly, I saw you with your hand in the jar, now you will sit in the corner and think about what you've done. All passengers suddenly find themselves sitting up straight and wiping their noses. And it seems to have an immediate effect on the man too.
- What now, I'm not drinking it!
- Ya can't have it on the bus. We're all standing here because of you! If you're not gonna leave it, you have to get off.
- Who are you?
- I'm Nan.
- Nan?
- Aye, I'm everyone's grandma. Now off you go.
In her previous career, the invisible lady I can hear from the deck below must have been a siren. Or a general. The man stirrs.
- Wha, the bus's stopped 'cause of me? Now that's daft that is - he mutters as he slowly starts coming down the stairs.
- Ye ye, get off now so that we'an be on our way.
- That's daft that is.
- Off you go.
- Daft.
He's off. From above I can see the top of his hat, and his hand still gripping the infamous can, standing on the sidewalk. We're on our way. Long live Nan.

Our savior.

Thursday nights are different

Thursday nights are a bit different in Edinburgh. On Thursdays, shops stay open until late (late as in 8pm). It is as if the weekend had started early, and it's not just me who thinks this is a very good idea: the streets are unusally busy. Some museums have a late opening night on Thursday too, so I decided to take advantage of that. Instead of making a beeline for the Mound, however, which is where both the Royal Scottish Academy and the National Gallery of Scotland reside, I was constantly being diverted by views of night-time Edinburgh.

Balmoral hotel and the North bridge.

A close-up of the night traffic on the North bridge.

The rather disturbingly lit Royal Scottish Academy building.

Do not let the lighting put you off. Inside, the National Gallery is a surprisingly cosy space, especially on a Thursday evening. The rooms are octagonal, with a mixture of paintings, sculptures and even two golden clocks, which kept chiming rather charmingly throughout my visit. There were few actual visitors around, but two rooms were filled to capacity with audiences. In one, an art historian was giving a lecture; in another, a guitar and flute concert was taking place.

The audience.

The listeners were provided with small fold-away stools at the entrance, and were looking only marginally uncomfortable. The funny thing is, I am sure events of this kind take place in London every single evening, but when I was there I never participated in even one. There is just something about distances in that city that makes everything too much bother; to spend some time at the National Gallery in Edinburgh, I only had to walk for ten minutes.

I only had a chance to see a part of what the combined galleries have to offer, but was already very pleased and often surprised with the collection. There is the usual array of naked fleshy voluptuousness, allegorical scenes and stuffy landscapes; but apart from that, I find there are quite a few pictures that make you stop mid-stride, such as a very unusal 17th century Dutch lanscape - with naked bathers. So I did stop, and took out my camera, and was promptly told off by a guardian in tartan trousers. In fact, the gallery guardians in Edinburgh are amongst the most ferocious I have met, nearly equalling the sour-faced, prematurely aged women of Moscow museums. Before I knew it I was told off for trying to take pictures (twice), wearing a backpack (it has to be carried), and touching a wall (!). Fortunately it was getting late and the guardians were getting dozy, so, being a sneaky sneak, I managed to snap a few shots anyway.

The first picture that really caught my eye was hidden in a small octangonal room with dimmed lights and a low ceiling, and featured two rather sheepish looking babies in a golden shell.

Salomon de Bray 'The twins Clara and Albert Bray'

In fact, the gallery has a big collection of really good portraits - and some spectacularly bad ones of course. I did not manage to steal a photo of the Van Dyck's family portrait below, so I gazed at it for a long while instead.

Van Dyck 'The Lomellini Family'

It is so dark and full of foreboding, it got me thinking about a basic feature of portraits - the people portrayed are not happy at all. They hardly ever smile; more often then not, they look like they wholehartedly resent not only one another, but the painter as well. This holds especially true for the one below.

William Chalmers-Bethune, his wife Isabella Morison and their Daughter Isabella.

How different to contemporary photo portraits, where we always seem to feel the compulsion to grin as if we had just won the lottery and the back yard filled with mashmallows. I got talking about it with one of the guards in the Scottish Collection, and we came to the conclusion this must be because of the state those peoples' teeth were in. He got so enthused that he helped me count all the toothy smiles on show. There was only one, and that was the fool from King Lear, which does not really count, being by definition foolish.

Allan Rumsay 'Anne Cockburn' (via candid camera).

I found portraits of older Scottish women to be much more interesting then of the young ones. In contrast to the bland, big-eyed heroines, they loo like creatures shrewed, full of humor and strength - they have soul.

Henry Raeburn 'The Reverend Robert Walker Skating on Duddingston Loch'

There were many other very good paintings there, of which I will mention a few (because it's still early and I don't feel like going to bed yet). The Skating Minister is hilarious - especially when you consider that this iconic Scottish painting, the one which inspired the design of the Scottish Parliment, may have actually been painted by a Frenchman. There is a bizzare historic scene of a curling game, with men rubbing the ice excitedly with sticks in a barren winter landscape. There is also the first ever Jesus meditating the fate of humanity on a moor - the beautiful "Man of Sorrow' by Sir David Wilkie. There is a beutiful morning view of the returning herring fleet, the rectangular sails making it look vaguely Japanese.

Sir William Fettes Douglas 'Early Morning: Herring Boats Entering Stonehaven Harbour'

There is also a small section dedicated to Celtic legends inspired art. The one below was my favourite;
according to legend, the saint was transported to Bethelem to witness the bith of Christ. I like it mostly for the seal just visible in the left lower corner though, unimposing, quietly making its way ahead of the angels.

John Duncan 'Saint Bride'

Finally a little something for my pregnant friend; this made me think of the good news you've had!

Sir William Quiller Orchardson 'Master Baby'

Water of Leith second encounter

You never know when the next clear day will come, so I decided to give the Water of Leith one more good look this morning, while I have the chance. I got up and munched porridge in front of a gas fire as I waited for the sun to rise; I'm on the western side of town, so I could only judge it was out by the colour of the sky - and the online sunset/sunrise chart. Maybe one day I could get up a bit earlier and climb the Royal Mile, and see the sunrise from the castle? That would be something.

Frost designs on the pavement.

Water of Leith walkway in Stockbridge.

For this morning I settled for the now familiar walk along the river. It was frosty and, in my red hoody and sneakers, I felt quite conspicuous in the suited-and-booted morning traffic. But along the river I did not stand out at all; I was quite inconspicuous actually, amongst the fluorescent jackets! There were a few people around, running, walking and biking. The first person I saw was a long-legged middle aged woman who passed me in the park gates, and cheerfully puffed 'Good morning!'. This wonderful cordiality took me completely by surprise; in fact, I was so unprepaired for anything more than a sour smile that by the time I mumbled an answer she was long gone, and I was responding to the fog of her breath. Her good manners turned out to be a rule rather than an exception; I'd say three out of four people would 'Hello' me on their way, and I got into at least two conversations - even got to throw a ball for a very handsome sheep dog! It was a very bad throw, but the elderly owner seemed pleased enough.

Dean bridge.

Morning traffic in Dean Village.

It turned out the problem I had with following the river yesterday was due to the fact that I was trying to follow the path on the wrong bank, where there is none. Now I've got it sorted, and I'm hoping to keep running up and down it throughout the spring.

Murrayfield stadium, the sunrise and a happy dog.

Water of Leith

I decided to trust in the weather forecast and optimistically stuffed running gear into my workbag in the morning. As I opened the door I nearly collided with a mini snow plough. Hm. It was still dark, and the sidewaks were glistening with snowy mush. More hm. At least the view from the office was nice.

Snowy hills. I joined the grooming ritual of weather talk, but always keeping an eye out for a spot of blue. And the weather did improve. Long live the BBC, trainers on!

It was four o'clock exactly when I waived the security guy goodbye and stepped out into the cold. The grand plan was to follow the Water of Leith which conveniently passes close both to my office and my appartment, and the distance is just right, and the weather was perfect, and I was so excited about the whole idea, and there it was, quick and bubbly, bubble bubble along, and oooh wait where did it go? I could not bring a map with me - running with a camera was uncomfortable enough - so I was doomed to goinging in circles. I ran around the Murrayfield stadium twice trying to locate the riverbed. In the end friendly people with a dog pointed it out to me, amused.

Keeping next to the river turned out to be more difficult than I planned. I ended up doing twice the distance, just to make sure it was still there - just a street away, or a fence away. There were some things to keep me motivated.

The lack of orientation did lead to some unexpected sightseeing. And to running uphill, which is certainly not the way water tends to flow. After a bit of mad and winded dashing about, I finally slid down a muddy bank aaaaand... there it was, looking all smug - the Water of Leith walkway. And it was gorgeous.

A bit graveyardy, and bare, but really, really nice. And full of unexpected greek statues, half-ruins, exciting weirs, massive bridges, a perfect, perfect route.

Belford bridge.

Dean village, possible the cutest place in Edinburgh yet.
The path was very exciting, it even had the cheek to end abruptly, and continue on the other side as if nothing happened.


By the time I was running under Dean bridge I was jumping for joy (yes, that's me)!

So, a little video below, just to give you a taste.. ah it was great. And now my calf hurts.

On the job

Getting up is actually easier when you gave somewhere you need to be! But it does not make it pleasant...


Princes street is surprisingly quiet in the morning; I was kind of expecting the London 'ohmyGodI'mlateI'mlategetoutfmywaynowISAIDNOW!!Stopthatbus!!' early morning madness. Instead... well, it completely failed to be hectic or even busy, as if the whole city (not just me) have not had their first cup of coffee, and was just working up the energy to face another day.

I like.

I do not like the greyness of my office building though. Even the Petland hills manage to look bleak and uninspiring through the grey concrete window frames. Looking at the coffee-stained wall I munched my jacket potatoe and glumily meditated on the plight of humanity. How many working days are made utterly miserable by the ugliness, shabbiness and general yuck of offices..? At least the potatoe was nice.

In fact, I was astonished at how quickly I got used to being at an office again. You walk into the generic open-plan floor, and it seems like you're on a different planet - bizzare equipment, dusty remains of charity events and office parties and abandoned stationery sediment into strange and alien archeologies. But it takes only a few hours for the stack of empty cardboard boxes piled against a wall to become a familiar and comforting feature. I guess human brains just work this way.

The approach

I was looking at the sea. THE SEA. I forget that I have been living on an island for quite a while now. Even though Brighton is just a stone's throw away, I've only visited it once during the five years I've spent in London; and even then it was not 'real' sea, it was the channel, and it was full of greasy fish and chips wrappers and sticky chewing gum. Then for a few years I was landlocked in Yorkshire, and the hills were much more immediate. And now I was looking at it from a train window, heading north, and the wind was raising spray off the tops of the waves. And I was going to be living in a city which is actually on the sea. That is very, very exciting stuff.

As we neared Edinburgh the firth of Forth became visible (I thought 'firth of Forth' was some elaborate linguistic joke to be played on unsuspecting foreigners, but wiki tells me firth is 'the word in the Lowland Scots language used to denote various coastal waters in Scotland. In mainland Scotland it is used to describe a large sea bay, or even a strait'). The weather was brilliant and you could see all the way to the Northern shore. And then the hills of Edinburgh became visible. I love the mad geography of this city.

A sample of mad geography through the train window.

I dumped my bags at the appartment and went to explore, and buy some food. My temporary home is in Stockbridge, which, I found out, is basically the South Kensington of Edinburgh. I went to the very top of the New Town hill first, to have a look towards the bay - you can actually see the sea from the city, which is completely mad and wonderful for me (can you see the sea? I know I know, ha ha). Then I strolled down, and the further down I went, the more interesting the area became. I actually have a corner Delicatessen, and at least three cafes; once you've crossed the bridge over the Water of Leith, it gets even better. There is a cheesemonger and a boulangerie, and lots of brick-a-brack shops; it has a much more fresh and liberal feel than Kensington, proven by the fact that I've only lived there half an hour before I signed my first 'green the council' petition. Yes, I like it. It is less then a kilometre to the sea, which is absolutely mad; I am already plotting my first run, which will certainly be along the Leith, then along the coast and back home - unfortunately uphill.

Yes, it is a specialised chandelier store.

Sample of Stockbridge.

And a specialised grampohone store.

Making friends.