Stardate: 26 April 2019 - Down in the Bowels and Up on the Roof

As our major outing today (an underground tour of Mary King's Close, a 1600s streetscape) was booked for 10.15am, we had a few hours to kill beforehand on domestic duties: notably a second, grand Washing of the Smalls.  While British laundromat washing machines are fairly easily understood, the same cannot be said for their domestic counterparts.  The washing machine in our flat has 14 settings, including one for 'sports shoes'.  It has eight temperature settings plus a dial with seven numbers ranging from 400 to 1600 - no idea what its function is. There are no instructions.  Our first load took an hour and 25 minutes, despite our efforts to keep it as short as possible. We were reminded of our last trip to the UK when in a cavalier fashion we chucked everything in for an economy cycle, thinking that meant 'quick' but it took four hours and a pair of my (admittedly cheap) jeans came out in two pieces - the waistband separated from the rest.   British washing machines are rugged and inscrutable beasts.

While we were waiting we watched some telly.  Rod Stewart was appearing on "Lorraine" - a fairly low-brow morning show along the lines of Studio 10. How the mighty have fallen! He's apparently celebrating 50 years in the business as a solo artist but I was never that keen on him after his early stuff when I was still a fresh-faced schoolgirl.  Still scrubs up all right for an old codger though.  Then we watched Jeremy Kyle, and that is VERY low brow - studio confrontations between aggrieved people often involving biff.  Today it was two grandmothers going hammer and tongs at each other about access rights to the grandchildren.  Both women would have been about 35.  Not the most edifying viewing, although Geoff was quite enthralled.

A feature of old town Edinburgh is many narrow, steep alleyways that run off major streets.  Most are quite ancient and are still in use. This is Advocate's Close, not far from our first destination today, Mary King's Close.

Mary King was the name of one of the few wealthy residents of the Close, hence its name. It housed many residents and livestock, including cattle. There were slums and tenements on either side of the alleyway and large numbers of residents succumbed to plague during its worst outbreak in 1645.  (Mary had already carked it by then).

The Close was probably not dissimilar to this one in the pic but in the 18th century, part of the Close was demolished and the rest completely covered over by the building of the Royal Exchange.  Although it's now effectively underground, we were able to walk down and up the very steep remaining part of the Close and into several of the few remaining tenement houses.

It was all very cramped and claustrophobic but I suppose it's what you get used to.  Each day's slops bucket was emptied morning and evening into the street, as seemed to happen everywhere during this period, but I must say I find it puzzling that there wasn't a dedicated slops spot up the road and around the corner in these places.  Anyway, despite the Royal Exchange commandeering the street for its own nefarious, capitalist purposes in the 1700s, some stoic residents remained, with the last not actually vacating until 1902.   By then I imagine the practice of chucking the contents of the slops bucket out the front door had ceased.   

It was quite an entertaining excursion although we did think our tour guide a little hammy, given most attendees were po-faced and sober individuals like ourselves. 

Handing over to Mr Pants soonish to report on the afternoon's activities!

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I didn't know that there are so many (I'd say hundreds) of these narrow, sloping alleys called Closes.  If you walk along the Royal Mile there's one about every 50 yards or less.  Here is the view from Advocate's Close (see photo above).  The thing that looks like a steeple is the Sir Walter Scott Monument, which is visible from many parts of central Edinburgh.

Following a pleasant lunch of quiche, sandwich and salad  (so good that we'd returned to the same place we lunched two days ago), we headed to Calton Hill.  The hill is not that far from the centre of town but I gathered from our bus tour two days ago was a pretty steep walk.  But you can drive to the top, so we hailed a convenient cab and asked if he could take us to the top.  Of course he could!  An excellent decision.

On arrival, it was clear that this has to be the best place for views of the city and beyond.  In addition to the views, there are numerous monuments and statues that make the trip worthwhile.  The camera worked overtime, but I'll only include the highlights:

This is the Dugald Stewart Monument that commemorates the Scottish philosopher and is based a Greek design.

The National Monument, commemorating Scots who were killed in the Napoleonic wars.  Although there are tourists cavorting on it, there are in fact no steps, and you have to clamber over the lower wall to get up there.  I figured if you were meant to climb on it there would have been steps, so I declined, out of respect.

And another Nelson Monument, this one apparently in the shape of an upturned telescope.  We went inside; lots of information about Nelson and the battle of Trafalgar, in case you needed any more.  Didn't mean that to sound disrespectful.  He is a genuine national hero; just that he seems to be commemorated almost everywhere you go.












And some views from the hill.

An ancient volcanic outcrop.  There were numerous hardy souls who'd hiked to the top.  Anne wanted to join them but I vetoed it.  What a spoilsport!

An excellent view of Edinburgh Castle (if I do say so myself), and far better than we managed to capture when we there two days ago.  Mainly because there weren't 5,000 tourists from Gdansk, Hanover and Seville in the way.

Finally, a distant water view of the Firth of Forth and the port of Leith.  And a nameless soul wistfully admiring the vista.










So many photos; so little time.  In this case I think the cliche a picture is worth a thousand words is apt.

Following our return home, and flushed with the success of the day, Anne insisted on an outing to the Grassmarket, a nearby street that is basically a row of pubs with the occasional restaurant to make it look wholesome.  I of course declined, as I only drink on very special occasions.  I'm told that she particularly liked The Last Drop and Biddy Mulligans, but I really wouldn't know.