A week in Scotland Travelogue: caressing the White Rose DAY II (Part I)

I make an early (for me) start at 8, in order to make most of the day, and I go out into the street intending to find a pub and wolf down a huge breakfast complete with bacon, eggs, sausages, etc. I walk up Grayfriars to the Royal Mile and stop to gaze upon Edinburgh in daylight for the first time.
Espectacular. Up to present date Edinburgh is the most beautiful city I have had the honour to visit. The decadent buildings, crammed to each other, crowned by rows of old looking chimneys, look taken right out of a tale, and every façade has its own architectural charisma. Blackfriars opens onto the stretch of Royal Mile called High Street, roughly by its middle point. A few feet uphill, an avenue crosses from New Town north to the south of the city, partly made up of what once was the Edinburgh Bridge. To the north, spanning the difference in height between the hill and New Town and passing by the Balmoral hotel (the most luxurious, decadent and historical hotel of the city) and its typical five minutes fast watch, this avenue is called (admittedly) North Bridge, while to the South of Edinburgh, South Bridge maintains the only open arch that remains of the bridge, above Cowgate, and finally becomes, past the University area and the Surgery School with its sinister stories of bodysnatching, Nicholson Street. My first sun lighten steps through the Old Town take me uphill, towards the Castle.
Right by the corner of the bridge stands one of the evoking stone needles that scrath the air from the steets of Edinbugrh: the Tron Kirk (kirk:church) in present times home to the Old Town Informaiton Center. Its name derives from an old measuring device for weighing salt that was found outside the building in old days (from the old French “Tronel” or “troneau”, which means scales or balance). Built in 1648, the stone needle is actually two centuries older, built after the Great Fire of 1824 burned away a previous wooden tower. Nowadays there exists a polemic project to mutate the building and the adjacent space of Hunter Square into a kind of restaurant and club. I admire the style and lines of its blackened walls and continue my way some feet up the street to the Mercat Cross.
The Mercat Cross is a conjunction of pulpit and balcony, hexagon planned, which used to serve multiple functions. The present construction dates from 1885 and uses some elements from the original one from 1615. Aside from being the main meeting point in town, where newcomers would turn to hire the services of a cadie (yes, this is is the origin of the term used in golf) to carry his belongings and guide him around, most mercantile contracts were sealed under its shadow and all kind of official announcements were made from its balcony. However, its most renowned use is, probably, that of gallows and place of public execution.
The history of the city has a sinister side which is exploited to good profit by the tourism industry. One of the elements that are part of this dark face is a long list of examples of the administration of justice in medieval times. Credit where credit’s due, one must concede the Scottish society of the day an impressive creativity in certain things. For a start, they invented the guillotine much earlier than the French: a very similar device called The Maiden shared with the axemen the work of beheading highborn (this method was usually reserved for noblemen) transgressors. According to some sources the maiden was not nigh as sharp as its French counterpart, sometimes resulting in, how to put it, somewhat unhygienic messes (curiously enough Edinburgh’s Maiden was stored in the Cathedral, so much for harmony and peace of spirit, mine is the vengeance, claimed the Lord!); on the other hand, the axeman was not free of error: some registers of the time describe how Mary Queen of Scots took three blows of the axe before the executioner could raise his terrible trophy, circumstance this that was not unusual. Most common criminals were hanged, or sometimes drowned (often used for women, this method); for particularly hideous crimes (“hideous” in a political context, i.e. killing someone important enough, even if you did so clean and vicelessly) no expenses were spared: some David Hackstone, charged with murdering a bishop during the religious conflicts of the Reform, was executed along a period of three days. First his hands were cut by the wrists. Then his feet were severed by the ankles. After that he spent the night on top of Mercat Cross, recovering. Next day, his arms and legs were tied behind his back to the gallows, with a rope not long enough for him to reach the ground, and thrown down (see, Scots also invented Bunjee jumping!), so all his joints yanked out of place. There was still sunlight, so he was thrown down a couple of times more (no rope this time, to hit the ground) to make most of the day, and was left a second night at the Cross. The third day the executioner tore out Hackstone’s pulsing heart from his ruined but still living body and showed it to the crowd (an estimated 40.000 people used to attend executions, just like a rock show nowadays) shouting “See the heart of a traitor!”. After that, just to be on the safe side, he was hanged, and cut in pieces that were sent to different parts of the country. Cool, huh?
It is 08:30 and I am very hungry, but in the pubs I have tried the kitchens will not start serving the big breakfasts until 09:00, so I walk back to my hostel, where, at the reasonable (for Edinburgh, I mean) price of 3 pounds, I can prepare myself a treat with six items out of all the possibilities offered (scrambled eggs, sausages, beans, haggis, tomatoes, bacon and more). I choose two portions of scrambled eggs, two sausages and two slices of bacon. Tea, coffee, toasts, butter, etc are complimentary. Three toasts and a tea will do. Mmmmm. Much better. You just can’t find these kind of spiced pork sausages in Spain, after Marks and Spencer retired from the European market, and I miss them to tears. Satiated, I continue my visit of the Old Town.

In front of Mercat Cross I find the City Chambers, official building that rests atop what once was Mary King’s Close. All homes in this close, during the plague, were walled and sealed with their inhabitants still alive inside. As it happened, their ghosts (this people can´t take a joke) got a bit miserable about it and it is said they still roam the place, which claims to be the most haunted spot of the U.K (then again, it’s not the only one to claim that title). One of the walking tours involved in the supernatural side of Edinburgh organizes visits to Mary King’s Close.
By the sidewalk outside the chambers there are a few stalls selling souvenirs and jewellery. It turns out a couple of the keepers are Spanish. The girl I cross a few words with confirms our presence in the city.
“Gibraltar may be British…” She says, smiling “… but Edinburgh is ours!”
Next to their stall has its own a lady that claims the Guiness Record of highest number of piercings in the face. Takes me just one look to decide that I believe her, and I don’t look close.
Back across the street and next to the Mercat Cross stands St Guiles Catedral (still coming by the title of Cathedral although it is not one anymore). The exterior shows a beautiful gothic style, with elegant flying buttresses around the apse and the dome. Inside, the main naves are not particularly impressive, but his walls are soaked in history and dozens of plaques pay tribute to those fallen in the Great War, while the bearded statue of John Knox, father of the Religious Reform, stands vigilant to one side. His body lies close by, albeit outside the walls. Much more striking is the adjacent Thistle Chapel (symbol of the most noble knighthood order of Scotland) which, to the right of the apse, contains a kind of round table and a choir with beautiful carvings. It is, I have it, one of the only two places in the world where you can find a piper angel.


Behind this building is the old Scottish Parliament, rendered useless when the Parliaments of England and Scotland were united in the XVIII century. It is curious to find, in the space between Cathedral and Parliament, now a parking lot, a little bronze plaque in the pavement, with nothing engraved on it. John Knox wanted specifically to be buried there, so when the kirkyard was removed from that place, his body was the only one that stayed. Since that space has, in time, been needed as parking space for the Old Parliament, it turns out that the main architect of the Scottish Reform rests in peace under lot 23. Definitely striking.