Haggis pie and fish tea in the same street; this could only be Scotland. I was walking along South Clerk St, a busy main road which eventually comes to the Royal Mile and North Bridge via an odd assortment of kebab shops, charity shops, a precariously-stacked used bookshop, cute cafes and health shops, poundstretchers and Tescos. This experience really encapsulates Edinburgh; glorious gothic and neoclassical architecture sullied by its grim blackened stonework, a huge range of art galleries and slic eateries thronging the dirty streets, and overcast skies hanging heavy in its people's hearts. It's clear that Edinburgh needs its Festival, if only to shake it from its winter gloom and remind the city that summer is upon it. I felt, walking the streets, as if this were a city in waiting. The tourists, backpackers and arts peeps had just pulled into town, replete with bulky musical instrument cases, giant rucksacks and braided hair. The locals seemed to hover to one side, curious or annoyed at the influx. They were many, but still the city had a hushed feel, patiently quiet, as if everyone was waiting for "it" to begin. Curious.
I wandered a little more, seeing the touristy sights; the castle, the Calton Cemetery with its strange vacant rooms dedicated to the dead, the Calton Mount with its expansive views. I reflected from this viewpoint. Evening was beginning to fall, the sky growing a darker grey. But out over the sea was a splinter of falling light, a brightness over the water. Like the city below the sky was grim, foreboding, but not without beauty. My brief daliance with the city had shown me ugliness, but also great potential. There is gold here, but to find it will take more exploring.
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