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Travel
Writings
Edinburgh
‘The
Party Starts Here’ is the official slogan adopted
by Edinburgh City Council, in their declared aim of
making Edinburgh the site of the biggest and best
Millennium New Year’s Eve party in the world,
this time next year. However, the Scottish capital
is already the place to be on December 31st - or Hogmanay
as the natives call it - if you want to bring in the
New Year in style, as I discovered around this time
last year, when I spent a week there.
Edinburgh’s
Hogmanay, the latest festival in the calendar of this
city of festivals, is now in its sixth year, and is
the most well-attended and successful winter festival
in the world. Last year the Street Party element alone
attracted over 400,000 people. The event began in
1992, when Edinburgh hosted the European Union Summit,
and a street-party was organised to liven things up.
The whole enterprise has snowballed since then.
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Of
course, the Scottish tradition of placing more emphasis
on ringing in the New Year than on celebrating Christmas
goes back much further. It all started because the 16th
century Protestant reformation was particularly severe
there, and the elders of the Kirks banned religious
celebrations, including Christmas, which they portrayed
as ‘Popish’ and ‘Catholic’.
But the rites of New Year were spared because they were
pre-Christian. So, right up to the latter half of this
century, most Scots worked over Christmas, and didn’t
get a break until January 1st, so they could enjoy themselves
the night before.
One of the many traditions associated with New Year
in Scotland, some of which date back to Pagan times,
is that of First Footing. After the stroke of midnight,
the first person to visit a house should bring a piece
of coal or other gift, to guarantee prosperity for that
household during the coming year. To insure further
good luck, this first caller must also be dark-haired,
a condition which probably harks back to the fear of
blond strangers born of bad memories of Viking day-trippers.
But
no matter what time of the year you choose to go, Edinburgh
is still one of the most beautiful cities in Europe.
This distinction is partly an accident of nature, for
the city is built upon a jumble of hills and valleys.
However, during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries
the natural geography was enhanced by the works of a
succession of Georgian and Victorian architects. The
result today is high drama: there are countless spots
where Edinburgh looks less like a city and more like
a theatrical backdrop (which, in a sense, it becomes,
during the International Festival and Fringe Festival
in August, when the one million visitors dwarf the number
who crowd in for Hogmanay.)
That Edinburgh is pure theatre is immediately demonstrated
to travellers as they emerge from Waverly railway station,
and look along the valley of Princes Street Gardens
and gaze upon Edinburgh Castle, perched dramatically
on its precipitous crag of volcanic rock. To the left,
huddled on a lofty ridge, is the Old Town. Halfway along
the valley, among the trees, rise the classical columns
of the National Gallery of Scotland and the Royal Scottish
Academy. On the right soars the Scott Monument, a tribute
to Sir Walter Scott.
Perhaps it is for its Castle that Edinburgh is most
famous, and it offers splendid panoramic views of the
city. Within its confines there is also much to see.
The Royal apartments include the tiny room in which
Mary, Queen of Scots, gave birth to the boy who was
to become King James VI of Scotland and I of England.
The Scottish Crown Jewels are on show in the Crown Room.
The oldest building in all Edinburgh, St Margaret’s
Chapel, is in the Castle’s precincts.
The first buildings in Edinburgh were hard by the Castle,
for protection, but gradually they spread down the ridge
to the east of the fortress. This is the Old Town. Before
going down the Royal Mile, it is worth making a sortie
along George IV Bridge to the top of Candlemaker Row,
a convenient route to the Grassmarket, a square noted
for its antique shops, boutiques, pubs and restaurants.
Robert Burns and William Wordsworth were amongst those
who once lodged in the White Hart Inn on the north side
of the Grassmarket.
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