Scotland for the Senses

Should auld acquaintance be forgot…

2011-06-19T12:54:00.000+01:00

I thought the first line to the popular Burns’ song Auld Lang Syne would be appropriate on this occasion, which marks my goodbye to this blog.

After more than two years I am closing up virtual shop. Like many bloggers I have simply run out of creative steam, and as I get older it becomes more important that I persue something because I love it rather than because I feel I should. My life is very full and happy, and I simply feel my energy being pulled elsewhere.

I don’t know quite how to thank you, everyone who has followed along on my many adventures, and who has encouraged my writing and photography. You have helped make this wee project a great joy. Thank you also for your passion and curiosity for Scotland. I think that together we have shown this wee country a lot of love.

While I will eventually be shutting down comments and other bits and pieces, the blog itself will remain as a point of reference and potential enjoyment for whoever should stumble upon it.

I have no doubt I will someday reemerge in bloggerland under a different guise. If you have enjoyed my writing and would like to be notified of my future creative efforts, please email me at
scotland4thesenses@gmail.com and include “Sophia’s email list” in the subject line.

I shall leave you with Eddi Reader, who sings my favourite rendition of Auld Lang Syne.

Much love and safe journeys,

Sophia

Gullane's black rocks, then cake

2011-06-05T12:36:00.000+01:00

In the gentle world of East Lothian, it is easy to make a trip to the beach stretch out the way the sun laps from the dunes to the shore in the late afternoon.

Be as lazy or adventurous as you like, running or rambling from the carpark in Gullane down to the beach, where you start the lingering trek towards the distant black rocks.

The day is that combination of chilled breeze and the coin-sized orbs of warmth against your cheeks and your eyelids.

Follow the trail from the beach, over the rocks and up into the dunes, past the ruins of a small chapel whose parishioners worshiped here 500 years ago. Today a golf course extends inland not far away, but the waves that roll against the sand below sound the same as they did then.

Walk as far as you like, all the way out to Yellowcraig if the spirit moves you. Or stop and sit for awhile before deciding that the afternoon just wouldn’t be complete without an enormous piece of cake and a comforting cup of milky coffee.

Sun, sand, vistas, shells, cake. The perfect afternoon out.

Deep fried pizza. Get it in ye.

2011-05-26T18:32:00.000+01:00

This is a pizza supper. Take a pizza. Fold it half. Plunge it into hot oil until maximum saturation is reached.
If you dare, unfold the greasy pizza and fill it with chips until you are have created a mountainous, fatty, salt-sprinkled, cheese strewn monster.

Consume.
Regret.
Repeat.

The long walk of foodie torture

2011-05-23T16:31:00.001+01:00

A wee while back I undertook a stroll through areas of Edinburgh known as Morningside, Bruntsfield and The Meadows.

My guidebook was once again the Pocket Mountains Edinburgh edition of 40 town and country walks, but while the book pointed out one quaint city landmark after another, for me the directions they had written down entirely missed the mark when it came to the pleasure of this particular journey.

We're talking foodie pleasure here. A walk through Morningside and Bruntsfield takes you past some of the best cafes Edinburgh has to offer, especially if you have a sweet tooth.

I began as instructed at the clock at the foot of Morningside road, which in 1884 marked the spot for Morningside train station.

I should pause here to point out that I already knew of several of the foodie havens we will be visiting. So as a way to limit my spending, I had brought with me a paltry £6. Only a few steps away from the clock I began to regret my decision.

My first stop was Henri’s of Edinburgh, a specialist French delicatessen where the cheese cooler is full of delights and the shelves are heaving with treats direct from Paris. On this occasion, the counter was also coloured with a selection of delicate fruit tarts. Glancing around the shop I saw my friends’ Christmas lists filling themselves in.

Managing not to part with any of my meagre pocket money so early on, I crossed the street to Loopy Lorna’s Tea House, where the pink sign in the window adorably dubbed me “poppet” and let me know that the kettle was on. It was there that I spied what must surely be the city’s grandest lemon and poppy seed cake. It was a tower of two layers of cake and canary yellow, creamy citrus goodness.

Once again I extracted myself without buying anything (fellow foodies may begin to praise me at your leisure).

My next stopping point was The Canny Man’s public house, which dates back to 1850 when it was a popular boozer for local cattle drovers and farmers. On the outer wall is posted a brass plaque that would make the surly character of Bernard Black creak out a lopsided scowl:

No smoking
No credit cards
No mobile phones
No cameras
No backpackers

Luckily the woman behind the bar gave me a pardon on the no camera rule and I was allowed a few shots inside this dimly lit, writer’s dream of an old pub. My favourite spot was a tiny nook between two close walls, which housed a single table and two chairs. The ultimate booth for introverts. Then there was the main bar, which displays an amber wall of Scotch.

With a rambling trail of thank yous I left The Canny Man's and headed out of Morningside and towards Bruntsfield, where my non-spending streak would meet an abrupt end the moment I set foot in the S. Luca ice cream parlour.

First I sampled the NY Lime Cheesecake ice cream, a brilliant combination of creamy texture and tart citrus tang. But as the weather had been variant all morning, I decided to be the same and go with a trio of vanilla, chocolate and coconut icecreams with a hot chocolate sauce. The coconut was my very favourite, like a tropical smooch that melts into memory.

Anyone with German ancestry living in Edinburgh knows of the next spot on our trail. If childhood recollections can be reborn in a loaf of bread, they are at Falko, where the fat bread pretzels hang before baskets of heavy rye and walnut loaves.

Then there are the mountainous apple strudels and the triple layered torte, but I succumbed only to a loaf of this dark bread, mainly because I was down to my last few coins.

One more stop before we get a reprieve from pleasure, and only because on the day of my walk (a Sunday), Coco Chocolate was closed.

The Chocolate Tree is one of my favourite shops in the city. They adore chocolate here, and their welcoming window display, a tip of the hat to Victorian style indulgence, speaks to their ongoing obsession.

Normally I would linger longest over the cakes or the chocolates themselves, but as it is the summer season they have added a small ice cream selection to their offerings.

I nearly fell into the almost sinister blob of purple and red that is the blueberry sorbet. When I look at it I don’t know whether to feel afflicted or hypnotised, but either way I know I want some.

But now we are (mostly) free! Free to dance or (in my case) lumber through Bruntsfield Links and its marvellous views toward Edinburgh Castle, before turning down the path through The Meadows, where only weeks ago the last of the blossom petals cascaded around walkers and bicyclists. The light that dances through the heavily leafed trees onto the carpet of green below will last all summer long.

If you’re still feeling up to it you can stop again at Peter’s Yard before heading over George IV Bridge and ducking down to the best cheese shop ever. Or you can just go home. Rest. Try not to think about cake or chocolate or ice cream or bread or sorbet or cheese or anything at all.

Just promise to remind me to bring my wallet the next time I walk through Morningside and Bruntsfield. Thank you.

The Hound of the Wellingtons

2011-05-03T06:56:00.000+01:00

The folks at the Ness store in Edinburgh have created a tartan canine out of boots. And I love him.

Isle of May: Highlights

2011-04-30T21:38:00.000+01:00

The Isle of May will make you think of Arthur Conan Doyle’s Lost World. On the island’s western side, sheer cliffs reach up from the waters of the Firth of Forth. Noisy guillimots - around 30,000 of them - clutter every available rocky ledge, while thousands of kittiwakes dive and squawk in what seems to be a mad, confused display.

If you are prone to seasickness and the water is choppy, you will not enjoy the more than 45-minute journey to the island. As eager as you will be to take it all in as you approach, all you will be able to do is look towards the horizon and focus on your breathing.

Once your shaky legs touch solid ground again, you look up to see your first puffin, sitting at a distance atop a concrete outbuilding. Today the Isle of May is inhabited each summer season by a handful of researchers from Scottish Natural Trust, but over the centuries it has been a holy retreat for monks, a village for fishermen and their families, the site of Scotland’s first permanent lighthouse, and a wartime lookout post.

You have two hours to follow the paths around the two-kilometre long island. If you thought you were excited about seeing one puffin, prepare to fall utterly in love with these tiny clown-faced birds. From just 10 pairs in 1950, the Isle of May is now home to the largest breeding colony of puffins in the UK.

As tempted as you may be to leave to path to get closer, don’t! You could disturb a puffin burrow or the nest of a female eider duck, who, unlike the drake with his stark black and white plumage, blends in neatly among the tufts of uneven grass.

There will be so much going on around you that you won’t know where to look. These seabirds descend en masse to breed and raise their young, rattling every fibre of life while there is time.

If you are lucky, you will spot some grey seals sunning themselves on the beach on the west side of the island, or poking their heads out of the water. In the autumn the birds will return to the sea as the seals come ashore to welcome another 2,000 pups into the world.

It will be difficult to leave, and not just because you are dreading a second bout of illness on the way back to Anstruther. What is most precious is being a passive observer among creatures who are so oblivious to you.

You are a curious two-legged thing that walks by and will not harm them. When you leave you will not be remembered. But you will remember them and be grateful for all the rapturous life that will continue when you are gone.

The journey back is fine, since you head straight to the upper deck and an endless supply of cold, fresh air. Yes, your bones will feel as if they have atrophied by the time you enter Anstruther harbour, but it will be worth it.

If you want to learn more about the Isle of May, Scottish Natural Heritage offers a great virtual tour.

On a side note, the Isle of May is a wonderful place to get engaged.

Particularly if you are looking out at a view like this one.

Happy Beltane, everyone!

Kirkcaldy to Dysart: The longest short walk

2011-04-25T13:23:00.000+01:00

Looking at a map, the walk from Kirkcaldy to Dysart is short. The two are so close in fact that Dysart is considered another suburb of Kirkcaldy and if you stick to the roads the two communities flow together almost seamlessly.

But if you take the trail from Ravenscraig Castle along the shore to Dysart, you can easily forget there are any towns nearby at all.

Start at the beach below Ravenscraig. If you are the type who loves to wander beaches collecting pebbles, don’t be surprised if glance at your watch and find that an hour has passed rather than 15 minutes.

Years of wind and waves have created incredible contours and designs in some of the larger rocks, whose features warp and sway like frozen lava. Scattered here and there are particularly unique specimens, like the stone I have named “Batman rock” for its bizarre shape. Where did it come from? What might it have been used for?

I propped it up on another larger stone to photograph it and this is where I left it, with its blind eyes looking out to sea. Mind you, if I had brought my backpack along you can be sure I would have hauled it home. I wonder if anyone else saw it and did just that.

When you finally leave the beach below Ravenscraig you have the option of retreating to one of a number of waterside nooks that exist next to a long curved rock wall that looks like pulled sugar. Shorter rock walls descend to the beach, creating secluded enclosed areas ideal for picnics or just a little quiet time. At least until the tide comes in.

Eventually you must make your way through a large stone tunnel before emerging at Dysart’s quaint harbour. On one side the gaps in a massive stone wall have become home to nesting seabirds, while on the other a myriad of boats bob and rock in the quiet water.

To get a sense of Dysart’s fishing past and the history and geological background of The Fife Coastal Trail, it is ideal to first pay a visit to The Harbour Master’s House, which was opened in 2006 as Fife’s first coastal centre and the headquarters of the Fife Coast and Countryside Trust.

The old workers houses along the harbour front were restored in the 1960s. Their whitewashed walls face the lapping sound of the waves. I imagine the view from the windows would be incredible during storms, and of course just a few short steps from the doors is the water and plenty of opportunity for watching the local sea and bird life.

From here you can continue on the Fife Coastal Trail, or head back to Dysart, choosing a high trail out of the village, which provides a postcard view of the harbour. Walk a little further and you won’t miss the end of daffodil season when you see the carpets of bluebells stretched out between the budding trees.

Depending on the kind of experience you’re after, the short walk from Kirkcaldy to Dysart can take as long as you like. Start in the morning to give yourself plenty of time. Bring a picnic. Bring a book. Don’t rush. If you’re lucky, the sun will shine high and the breeze will blow warm. A short afternoon can stretch out like a week.

Daytrip to Kirkcaldy and The Links Market

2011-04-18T13:39:00.000+01:00

When I first arrived in Kirkcaldy I was underwhelmed.

My first impression was that of a practical town, a mix of the occasional charming stone building, horrendous apartment blocks that were all the range in the 1970s but which now resemble aging Lego pieces, and a high street where you can pick up a Greggs sausage roll on your way to buy designer sunglasses.

I arrived early (part of my German heritage - can’t be helped) in order to have time to wander around before taking in the annual celebration of noise and calorific merriment that is The Links Market, the longest street fair in Europe.

The high street in Kirkcaldy goes on for miles; it’s no wonder it’s often called "The Lang Toun." But other than the library, which has such lovely grounds it looks like a miniature university campus, it wasn't until I had made my way to the seaside esplanade that I began be be charmed by Kirkcaldy.

The steps at the far end of the beach curve like an amphitheatre, except instead of actors the sea itself is the show. At the intermission the tide comes in and tries to wash away the spectators.

In the 1600s Kirkcaldy was one of Scotland’s most vibrant ports. This same stretch of sea and sand would have been alive with all matter of trade.

Now the gulls scan the lunches of passing walkers, ready to make a meal of any unguarded chip, while the sandpipers wade through the shallows, busy and skittish. The broad harbour is vacant except for one lonely dredger heading back in to anchor.

Leaving the city centre the road leads uphill towards Ravenscraig Castle, which sits with the modern world at its back and the broad palette of nature before it.

James II built Ravenscraig in a fit of protective flamboyance, keen to erect something that could weather the storms of the fiercest weaponry of the 1450s.

A small bridge crosses the dried moat, giving access to the sparse ruins of the headland, where cliffs fall away steeply on either side and a twisting set of stairs lead down to the pebbled beach below.

The castle is unmanned and access to the interior is blocked off, but the views out to the sea are remarkable.

If I were to take you to this beach right now, I would be hard pressed to get you to leave. The pebble collecting value alone is worth several hours of exploration, let alone the intriguing trails that lead off along the coast.

But if we go now this post will be far too long, so I will save it for the next time. For now we make our way back to town, the esplanade and Links Market. It really does go on for a terribly long way, and can be summed up in a barage of rhythmic repetition:

Candyfloss-hotdogs-ballgame-crazy throw you through the air ride-crying child-barking dog-laughing child-whiff of hash-haunted house-burgers…(deep breath…) Candyfloss-hotdogs-ballgame-crazy throw you through the air ride-crying child-barking dog-laughing child-whiff of hash-haunted house-burgers…

Oh, and one old guy relating the perils of sin with a handmade sign. As you do.

So it goes. See you next time for a walk along a small but stunning section of The Fife Coastal Path.

Sunset over Blackness Castle

2011-04-17T22:33:00.001+01:00

Few words tonight my bloggy friends. Just a fine Scottish sunset falling behind the stones and harbour of Blackness Castle.

Often referred to as “the ship that never sailed,” Blackness juts out into the Forth River, providing formidable military defense since as early as the mid-1400s.

It was one of those rare cloudness days that held us all in awe, the sun’s final glow giving a false warmth to the castle walls. We held out until the breeze turned too cold, then retreated gratefully to the car.

Do you have memories of a beautiful Scottish sunset? Where was it? Do tell.

Welcome to Romantic Roslin Glen

2011-04-12T23:21:00.000+01:00

Hello you. Welcome to the two year anniversary of this wee blog dedicated to the sensual pleasures of Scotland.

For me it would not be a celebration unless I indulged in some kind of enjoyable excess, so I invite you to the following photo heavy tribute to the many beauties of Roslin Glen and the River North Esk.

The splendour begins not long after we leave the village of Roslin, the name for which is formed of two Celtic words, Ross - a rocky outcrop and Linn - a waterfall.

Looking now through all the layers of springtime green, it is difficult to imagine a time when these fields would have been stained with blood. On February 24 1303, Scottish and English forces clashed here for the 3rd battle of Roslin, an event when saw a Scottish victory but also horrendous casualties.

Today the sun is out and as we meander the path between fields and forest we think “this is nice,” because it is. Open space, clear air - a pleasant country walk.

But when we take the turn to follow the river walk, everything changes. Suddenly get a view of the valley that stops us in awe because we didn’t expect this kind of romantic scene.

Once we can move again we thump down worn stone steps, stopping half way to follow a butterfly from blossom to blossom with our camera.

Our route, referred to in the guidebook as The Riddle of Roslin, directs us along the river trail, but it is impossible to resist a detour to see the remains of what the local information boards call Maiden Castle.

It is thought that sometime during the late bronze age and the iron age, between 1000 BCE and 200 AD, this ridge above the river was home to a large family group. This was not a castle as we might think of it, but simple roundhouses and some minor defences of stone banks and deep ditches. With the surrounding forests and the fish-rich river for food, a family could have thrived here.

Today, if it weren’t for the information boards to advise us of the history of this place, we would walk unaware through the ghosts of our bronze age ancestors. We are always trying to revive our pasts, while nature feels no such need to cling. She moves on, grows over, lives today.

Finally we begin to explore the banks of the river, which are bulging with green and fresh stems and the pristine white petals of wood sorrel.

The river is high and slow from spring rains and moves gently past banks that are so thick with plants it is as if life is something that can be purged in one great heave.

Nearby old trees take a humble back seat to all the countless new shoots. They allow the wind to stir their branches, whisks inside an infinite bowl. At the water’s edge their roots wrap like fat baby knuckles around plates of ancient glacier stone.

I tell you, there is no way to photograph all of this. Everywhere around us, birdsong bounces back and forth like a room full of grandfather clocks, time reduced to a ball that no one can catch.

We walk for a long time, trying to follow the book but often veering onto this path or that, just letting ourselves wander, to spread out and discover.

Like when we come to he place where rust-coloured rocks overhang the trail and remind us of scenes of the grand canyon. High above us we can see small caves and we long to look in.

This desire intensifies a short while later when we look across the river to see Wallace’s Cave, named for Scotland’s national hero, who took part in the Battle of Roslin.

With no way to get to the other side and explore, we will have to make do with this video from BreatheScotland.

The cave is also associated with Hawthornden Castle, which stands across the river, somewhere beyond the clutter of tree branches.

Hawthornden Castle was built in 1638 by poet William Drummond. A little research has brought me to the brink of jealous delirium as I have learned that part of the castle is now used as a retreat for writers and artists.

Each year the Hawthornden Castle Fellowship offers five writers a place here for a month of seclusion. It’s alright if you need a moment to let the idea sink in. We have time.

Somehow we are nearing the end of our walk. Already? Well believe it or not, we have been away for hours.

We’ve taken so many detours and stopped so many times to try and memorise the exact undertone of sweetness in the air, that by the time we have journeyed through the last of the forest trails and are making our way up the stairs and through the archway leading to Rosslyn Castle, we are well and truly knackered.

The castle was built after the battle of Roslin, but much of it was destroyed by fire in 1447. The only part that is still inhabitable is the five storey house that was built as part of later restorations. If you are feeling particularly burdened by cash, you can even stay here.

For the moment let’s set aside plans to visit the famous wee Rosslyn Chapel. We’ll wait until the construction work for the new visitor’s entrance is finished, and hope that visitors will once again be able to at least get close to the outside of the chapel without having to shell out the £7.70 entrance fee.

Thank you for reading. Over the past two years I have so enjoyed sharing my adventures on this wee patch of the internet. I enjoy all manner of enthusiasm and supportive comments. You are welcome for cake anytime. Let’s have a seat just here and enjoy a bit of sun, shall we?

Sights and sounds along the Union Canal

2011-04-09T22:08:00.000+01:00

In Scotland it is easy to develop an almost obsessive adoration of the sun. Over the past few days we have experienced warmth that has felt more like summer. This sudden heat has the flowering trees turning their sweet stirrings up to 11. You can see the effect on people’s faces; we are all walking around blissfully assaulted by the pleasure of nature's lustful exchanges.

So before we start today’s walk let’s stop to see the blossoms at Saughton Park near The Water of Leith trail. We can stand beneath the trees and hope for a breeze that will loosen some petals and create a soft pink rain just for us.

The Pocket Mountain Edinburgh walk for Union Canal to the Quay at Fountainbridge starts in Slateford near the Water of Leith Visitor Centre.

From here you actually have many options for walking. You could cross the road and head into the trees towards Balnerno, or walk beneath the canal all the way to Leith.

If you had all day (or a bicycle) you could follow the canal out of the city towards Linlithgow. Or, as we are today, you could take the meandering route back towards the city where the canal ends at Fountainbridge.

The Union Canal is 50 kilometres long, extending all the way to Falkirk and its famous wheel. The canal has no locks. It snakes through the countryside over aqueducts and through tunnels, creating as it goes a microcosm of wildness, a stretched-out pond with thick grass lining its banks like a perpetually receding hairline.

For those with an interest in architecture and engineering, this easy walk allows you to traverse 183 metres over the 8-arched Slateford Aqueduct.

The cobbled pathway across is narrow and uneven, which creates the vision of a comical tumble into the water every time you need to pass someone walking or cycling in the other direction.

When I started the walk, it was with my ipod playing. However my impulse to drown out any sounds from the nearby city was overwhelmed by the many flurries of natural sounds that vied for my attention.

Soon the pressure of birdsong made any man-made clutter a nuisance, and I removed my earphones with grateful relief.

Between these bubbles of the wild world, where the fat bees practice their areonautic lumbering from blossom to blossom and the ducks divide their glances between suspicion and the hope of bread, there are people.

There are joggers, dog walkers, and cyclists with their sudden bell ringing that can cause you to jump out of your skin.

Among my favourite fellow canal users are the rowers, often members of the St. Andrews Boat club. I wonder at their patience as they manage a few pulls on their oars before slight bends in the canal cause them to have to slow down and realign themselves.

But my most loved sight is that of the canal boats, which in my mind float along as symbols of freedom and an affinity with the natural world.

True, the route is a simple 50 kilometres one way or the other, but it is 50 slow kilometres, with plenty of places along the way to tie up and spend a night or two. The world changes, the world stays the same. Beautiful.

At the end of our walk we emerge at Fountainbridge, an area of Edinburgh that has received a welcome facelift over the past few years.

There are some charming cafes now, and on a Sunday morning, if you time it right, you can be at Loudon’s just after opening time.

A stack of papers will be waiting, as well as the possibility of a cooked breakfast or just a coffee and a piece of cake. In this case the moist and subtle lime, yoghurt, pistachio and rose water cake.

Thanks for walking along with me. You’ve earned a treat. Tuck in!

Early spring on the Fife Coastal Path

2011-04-03T20:51:00.000+01:00

Get your shoes; we’re going out. Yes, I know our supplies of tea and biscuits are here but they’ll be here when we get back. Yes, I promise.

I have your train ticket. We’re going to North Queensferry, and although I am sad to say I haven’t the necessary funds to treat you to a meal at the renowned Wee Restaurant, I will let you stand beneath the mountainous Forth Rail Bridge and pretend you are a giant who has built the whole thing out of enormous Meccano pieces. Yes, you can do the sound effects.

North Queensferry is the start of the Fife Coastal Path - aren’t you excited?!

We have barely started the walk and have yet to enter the small but diverse Carlingnose Point Wildlife Reserve, when we have to stop for a bit of house envy. For there, jutting out into the Forth, in all its white-with-terracotta- accents glory, is a home that appears to have its own wee lighthouse. Helpful for keeping an amused eye on jealous tourists, I would guess. Sigh.

A moving tangle of birdsong follows us as we walk, while the sun glints off the water and the slow-moving boats hulk past.

When we reach a small beach, we turn our backs to the posh houses and admire instead the view of tall grass and soft sand, and the sound of the waves speaking in wet whispers to the shore.

Soon however, things start to change.The natural world is slowly erased by scenes of industry and our trail passes right by a rather massive scrap metal recycling facility.

Over and over the giant claws come down, heaving chunks of cars and old refrigerators onto a conveyor belt. The pieces ride the belt into THE MACHINE and are spat out again as smaller pieces.

In terms of tourism jargon, the section of the trail leading into the town of Inverkeithing could be marketed to those with an interest in seeing what a post apocalyptic Scotland might look like.

Luckily, Inverkeithing’s town centre possesses more charm, including St. Peter’s Kirk and Fordell’s Lodging, the latter of which dates from 1670. As we cut down from the town towards the water again, there is a quirky wee house that looks like a thermos stuck onto the side of an 1980’s haircut.

You're not tired yet, are you? Come on, one foot in front of the other.

As we first enter the suburban stretch of Dalgety Bay, we pass through the eerily pristine world of St. David’s Harbour Village, which looks a great place to film a Scottish version of The Stepford Wives.

Where we may be suspicious of the new and almost too-perfect, we are charmed by the area around Donibristle Bay, with the beautiful 18th century wings of Donibristle House and the sight of boats bobbing in the small harbour.

Time to stop for a rest.

Sorry, I forgot to bring sandwiches. I do however have an organic, gluten-free seed bar in my bag. No? I didn’t think so.

Never mind. Have a seat on the bench, just for a wee minute or so:

Continuing on, we reach the highlight of our walk: a roofless rectangle of ruins that are made all the more mysterious by their location overlooking the bay.

There was a time, more than 800 years ago, that St. Bridget’s Church would have been the centre of village life for the community. Here the dead lie parallel to the shore, but time has caused the stones to sink crookedly, the wind and rain gradually scrubbing the names away.

We can wander this stone shell as long as we want, wondering at how the sun seems just as happy to warm abandoned walls. We take care to close the gate behind us when we leave, taking with us the ring of indifference the quiet click makes.

Now we have just to reach Aberdour and the train home, for that is as far are we are going today. Unfortunately we have missed the opening times for Aberdour Castle, but we shall try this another day because the gardens are meant to be lovely.

But before Aberdour, one last, grand view out to Inchcolm Island, home to Scotland’s best preserved group of monastic buildings. The island and the abbey sit like a postage stamp, enveloped by the busy Forth.

There - you’ve done it. You’re lucky I didn’t make you walk all the way to Burntisland, which had been my original plan. But I can see that you’re knackered and could do with a cuppa and a biscuit or four. I’ll boil the kettle and you dig the digestives out of the cupboard. Deal?

Giveaway winners

2011-03-31T07:50:00.000+01:00

Thank to everyone who has taken part in my latest giveaway! Going to a new home are three adorable wee pots with tartan flowers, made by the lovely and talented Tracey at Pebble Heart.

Emerging from the hat of treats, the winners are…

Kay, who would love to travel the north of Scotland with her sons.

Annie, who lists a visit to Edinburgh with her daughter as her first choice.

Finally, lover of all things Scottish Journeys to Scotland would take her mum to Perth.

Could all the winners email me their addresses and your wee flower pots will be landing in your mail boxes in no time.

Thank you to Tracey for sponsoring this giveaway. More of Tracey's work can be seen on her website.

Big squeeze from rainy Edinburgh.

Sxx

Scottish cheese: An introduction to Orkney Grimbister

2011-03-28T18:26:00.002+01:00

Simple pleasure of the day: stopping by my favourite cheese shop on the way home and being the only customer. Normally there is a queue out the door and there is no chance to allow the cheese experts to guide you through the hills and valleys of delightful dairy morsels of make-me-swoon deliciousness.

But today, no queue. I walked right in and exclaimed to the man behind the counter, “I LOVE CHEESE!” To which he replied with equal verve, “NOT AS MUCH AS ME!” Immediately I knew he would not let me down.

I requested to try some Scottish Crowdie, because it has been on my list of cheeses to explore in more depth. Alas they didn’t have any, so instead he recommended the Orkney Grimbister, which he says is like taking crowdie and squishing it until it is hard and less crumbly.

Like crowdie it is mild and lovely with oatcakes. There is a whisper of nuttiness but the main impression is its freshness and cleanness, if that makes sense. Scottish cheese is known for the influence of the deep, rich grass that the cows eat. Orkney Grimbister certainly has that.

If you’re mostly fond of powerful cheeses, the Grimbister (like crowdie) may not be the one for you. My Scotsman wasn’t keen on it, saying it just didn’t have enough punch. But I like the lightness and subtle creaminess. It would be perfect to have along for a picnic.

When in Scotland, buy cheese. From a proper cheese shop. The cheese here is remarkable. It will make you groan while you are eating samples in the shop. Just roll with it. Everyone will be jealous.

Thanks for everyone who has entered my wee giveaway for the tartan flowers in the pots. There’s still time to pop over and leave a comment to enter.

Now…more cheese….

A touch of tartan for Mother's Day (giveaway!)

2011-03-26T14:17:00.004Z

It’s been a while since I’ve done a giveaway! With Mothering Sunday coming up, I was thrilled to hear from fellow blogger Tracey, a local Edinburgh crafty mum who wanted to give a little piece of Scotland to a few lucky moms out there.

One of Tracey’s most popular creations is a small flower pot containing a paper bouquet of kusudama flowers (kusudama is a form or origami).

Tracey has used three colours of tartan paper to add a Scottish twist (or in this case, fold) to these darling wee pots.

As usual this giveaway is airmail friendly. The flowers are slightly delicate but I promise to be very careful when sending them.

There are three pots to win! To enter simply comment below with your answer to one of the following questions:

1. Where in Scotland would you love to visit with your mom? (if you have a beautiful mother figure in your life, this counts too!)

Or

2. If you’re a mom yourself (or if there are children you feel close to, who you love to nurture), where in Scotland would you most like to visit with them?

You can also enter by emailing your answer to scotland4thesenses@gmail.com and including “Tartan flowers” in the subject line.

The deadline for entries will be Wednesday, 30 March. I will draw the names and announce the winners on Thursday 31 March.

You can also show Tracey some love by paying her a visit on her blog: http://beadspaperglue.blogspot.com/

********Update*******

This giveaway has now finished. Congratulations to the winners!

Not quite starstuck on Blackford Hill

2011-03-24T22:35:00.000Z

Continuing on with our Pocket Mountain collection of Edinburgh walks, I can’t help thinking that the height of summer would have been a better time to make the walk to Blackford Hill.

At the moment the leaves at Cluny Gardens, which lie at the foot of the climb to The Royal Observatory, are just starting to squeeze out of the branches.

The world still looks dull and washed out, waiting for that strong push of life that comes when the earth begins to warm.

In 1928 Scotland’s largest telescope was lugged up Blackford Hill in pieces, which is how I felt once we reached the top. The wind took over and battered us with every step, although the higher we climbed the better the views over the city.

The blackened stones of The Royal Observatory make the building look like the perfect place for an isolated mad scientist to conduct his experiments, all alone atop a dark and windy hilltop. The observatory was built in 1892 when pollution was affecting the original site on Calton Hill.

Despite the views we didn’t linger long at the top, given that I had to hold my hood around my head so I looked a little like Kenny from South Park. But I imagine on a warm summer’s evening it would be just the right place to watch the sun go down.

Let’s pretend it is one of those warm lovely evenings and the dark has closed over us like a thin blanket, the lights of the city glowing like grounded stars.

We can lean our backs against a stone and stay as long as we like. Or at least until we get peckish and head down for a curry.

On the road to Duddingston

2011-03-20T17:48:00.004Z

Blogging can often surprise you, taking you on adventures you had never expected. It’s especially rewarding when you get the chance to meet and even work with folks you admire.

I’ve long been a fan of the Pocket Mountains books, a series of handy wee guides to Scotland comprised mostly of town and country walks in various areas of the country.

The publishers are aiming to refresh their Edinburgh edition next year, so I’m going to be doing the walks, making notes and just ensuring the routes are still open and clear. Of course, if I have to go on 40 town and country walks, you’re all coming with me.

Our first foray is walk #14, “Radical Road from Duddingston,” which starts at the foot of the hills in Holyrood Park.

Our route is a combination of trails through the park and pavement along Queen’s Drive, while taking in grand views of the sombre Arthur’s Seat and the platform-like Salisbury Crags.

Our half-way point and the highlight of the trip is the quaint village of Duddingston, home of Scotland’s oldest surviving public house.

The welcome glow of green is starting to show through on the hills, and on the trees the buds seem to be desperate to burst. All the same, the long descent into Duddingston brings a welcome break from the sometimes chilly wind that continues to whip over the open areas.

The first thing that is likely to draw a visitor upon entering Duddingston is the Kirk, which sits on a high slope overlooking Duddingston Loch. Founded in the 12th century by a Norman knight, it has undergone a number of changes over the centuries.

This included the addition of a separate gatehouse meant to keep out 19th century body snatchers, who were intent on selling fresh corpses for medical research.

Still attached to the stone wall outside the Kirk are “jougs” or stocks, where criminals suffered the punishment of being held by an iron collar, on display for all the faithful to see.

If you’re like me you’ll wander the yard at least once, looking for unique gravestones. Against one wall, a small Celtic cross bears a sad, simple proclamation in memory of “Wee Jim.”

Leave the Kirk to take a stroll down to Duddingston Loch and try to imagine the Reverend Walker, balanced and stoic on his skates in what has become one of Scotland’s most famous paintings.

Finally, I think we’ve earned the right to hoist a pint in the spot which has been home to a pub since 1360. We’re off to The Sheep Heid Inn. The story goes that King James IV of Scotland gave the innkeeper an ornate ram’s head snuff box in 1580, giving the inn its name.

The light was too dim for indoor photos, so you will just have to imagine the dark wood, the low, heavy-beamed ceiling and the walls cluttered with old clocks all stopped at different times, brass pots and pans, and of course, a collection of mounted sheep heads.

For those with a love of the macabre, take yourself back to 1724. You’re tucked in at a table at the busy inn, where a fire is roaring and a closed coffin is on display. This is the funeral of Maggie Dickson, who has just been hung for infanticide.

As you sit nursing your drink, the room goes silent as banging and scratching sounds start to come from inside the coffin. The lid is lifted and Maggie is found still alive. She goes on to make a complete recovery and becomes known as “Half-Hangit Maggie.”

The downside to surviving her hanging? Since she had been pronounced dead, she had to remarry her “widower” husband.

We both loved The Sheep Heid Inn. This is one of the best things about Scotland -these small local places which have been central to village life for centuries. This is the kind of place that can change a visit to Edinburgh from simply pleasant to truly memorable.

Now that you’re sloshing with food and drink, you’ll have to haul yourself uphill over The Radical Road, a stony path built by unemployed weavers in the 1820s. The project was made at the suggestion of none other than Sir Walter Scott, and the reward for putting one foot in front of the other are the magnificent views of Edinburgh Castle and an opportunity to get up-close to the unique geological features of Salisbury Crags.

Overall, I thought this walk was excellent. Keep in mind the trails can sometimes be muddy and I would caution those with bad knees that the final descent down Salisbury Crags can be a bit sore. However, for ease of access from the city centre to the variety of natural and historical features, I would give this an enthusiastic 9/10.

Only 39 walks to go!

**************
Blog news: Some of you may have noticed the addition of a wee donate button in the sidebar of this blog. For the past two years I have kept this blog advert free, but this is something I am currently considering to help keep me going on these adventures that I love. “The bacon buttie fund,” as I have named it, is there to give people the opportunity to support me if they value the work I am doing.

Thanks again for reading. Squeeze.

A first attempt at Scottish Sticky Gingerbread

2011-03-18T23:20:00.000Z

When was the last time you popped the lid on a jar of black treacle and watched it ooze over a stack of butter? Welcome back to the world of Scottish baking.

The first time I visited Scotland I was in my 20s and travelling Europe using a hospitality exchange programme called Servas. It was a great way to meet people and learn about different cultures. When I was in Edinburgh I stayed with a lady who made me a full Scottish dinner of haggis, neeps and tatties. For dessert she made a glorious sticky ginger cake, which she served with vanilla ice cream. I had never had anything like it and loved it.

Yesterday I was flipping through my Scottish recipe books looking for something that would replicate the deep, dark gooey cake I had eaten so long ago.

I happened upon just such a recipe in Catherine Brown’s Classic Scots Cookery, a book which is quickly becoming my go-to reference when I’m feeling peckish for something that gives my arteries a trip to the Celtic carnival.

It’s the butter that does it, all 250 grams of it. You combine this with 275 grams dark brown sugar and a small, slow river of black treacle (to the tune of 175 grams), and warm it all up to a lava-like soup on the stove along with a wee spoon of ginger and cinnamon.

Take your lava off the stove and wait for it to cool a bit. Then mix in 4 eggs and a wee scoop of baking soda that has been sifted with 275 grams of plain flour. Finally you can add several tablespoons of finely chopped crystallised ginger and about 200 ml of natural yogurt or milk that has been soured with lemon juice.

Bake this runny mixture in an oven pre-heated to 350 F (Gas 4) for about an hour (less if it’s a fan oven).

The result is especially dreamy when served warm with vanilla ice cream. All the wee ginger pieces will have sunk to the bottom, which will be extra sticky.

There are several other recipes for sticky gingerbread around the web, so you’ll be sure to find one that entices you. Just get yourself some black treacle and start pouring.

Steeples, stones and a bit of imagination

2011-03-13T21:56:00.000Z

Back in my somewhat younger days, my experience of travelling began on a small scale. I fell in love with the idea of local exploration, of taking a limited area and highlighting the details until they glowed with their own magnificent mystery.

In my 20s I spent several months backpacking around Europe. I remember wandering through Bruges with my best friend, with our only aim to follow the sound of the various church bells. It was a brilliant way to get lost.

With the atrocious winter we just suffered, it has been awhile since I took one of my random walks. But today, with the skies only partially threatening to dampen my spirits, I headed out for a bit of an aimless adventure.

I set off from Gorgie and managed to take in Polwarth, Merchiston, Morningside, Bruntsfield and Fountainbridge. It proved to be just as uplifting and inspiring as it always does.

For example, I like to look for buildings that I can imagine being haunted. I have certain criteria that must be satisfied, including stones which are at least slightly blackened, and preferably as dark as a crow’s wings.

Church steeples with either very small or boarded up windows also causes a delightful shiver to slink down my spine. Or in the case of the church in Polwarth, some jaggy gothic spires and ghoulish gargoyles does the trick.

Being of German heritage, when it comes to potentially haunted houses I am admittedly drawn to a bit of symmetrical architecture.

Giant bay windows through which I can imagine some shadowy figure lurking behind heavy curtains is also a plus.

Of course I am not alone in my deep and complex love of a nice old fashioned turret.

Even better is a turret with either shuttered windows or dusty slats that you know would cast the most brilliant lines of light on the inside walls. Top the whole thing off with a creaking weather vane and I couldn’t be happier.

But the house-of-the-day was one I couldn’t even get to properly in order to photograph it.

All around it there were high stone walls and hedges, so I had to stand across the street just to get this photo.

Quirky window accents, vines climbing up the walls and gnarled mushroom-top chimneys made the building look like something from Grimms fairy tales. I bet the floorboards are wonderfully uneven and squeak in that slow-motion way like they do in horror films.

It was a good day. I’m looking forward to a lot more aimless wandering as the spring slowly (very slowly) begins to emerge.

Salute to The Black Watch Museum

2011-03-11T19:52:00.000Z

The kilt in the glass case looks heavy, a sleeping pleated quilt. The mud that is crusted in large smears and droplets has faded to the hue of desert sand.

A black and white photo of Captain WD MacLean hangs on the wall above the cabinet.

In the photo he is seen in the same kilt, which he was wearing when he fell in Flanders in WWI. High on another wall is a cross that bears his name.

Of the ten rooms which tell the chronological story of The Black Watch, Scotland’s oldest regiment, it is this room which holds my fascination the most. I think it is the multitude of personal touches which makes the difference.

While you look around at the artefacts, the voice of veteran Gilbert Crossland follows you, his stories of life in the trenches bringing to life the silent relics of his dead comrades.

Just outside the room a life-sized model of a WWI soldier stands in a sandbagged trench, his gun poised and ready to fire. The frozen look of worry on his face and the fine details of his hands around the rifle add a sense of distant sadness to the scene. It is like a postcard for so much human regret.

The Black Watch Museum is housed in Balhousie Castle, which itself has a long and varied history, from its start in the 15th century to its use as a convent in 1926 and later as the Auxiliary Training Service as officer’s quarters during WWII. Located just outside central Perth, the grounds of the castle roll close to the banks of the River Tay.

For those with a penchant for facts and a fascination with military history, The Black Watch Museum is a gold mine of information. Starting with the regiment’s formation in 1739 through to modern warfare in the Middle East, there are endless lists of battles and dates, rows of medals and military equipment on display.

But while it may be easy to appeal to those who could happily absorb every strategic battlefield manoeuvre, it can be difficult for historical attractions like this to attract those who find it harder to maintain attention through reams of dates and facts. Most teenagers for example. Or (and I have narrowed this down in order to avoid casting any vast generalisation on my gender)…me.

What is necessary in these situations is the inclusion of story fragments. Take one day, one hour, one person, and pluck them out of the quagmire of history. Hold the spotlight on just that one moment and you will find you deepen people’s understanding of the wider narrative.

So when you sit down to view the model street scene set on the Dutch-German border in February 1945, a recording will talk you through a one-day experience of the 5th Battalion Black Watch, the sound of gun fire and small glowing lights moving your mind through the action. Small details, like the tiny burned bike leaning abandoned against the charred building, will stay with you as if they were life-sized.

Sometimes a single item is the loose thread from which a timeline of history can unfurl. On one floor a model of a piper holds a set of bagpipes that were played by Piper Smith of the 42nd Battalion The Royal Highlanders of Canada during the Retreat to Mons and at Vimy Ridge during WWI.

Later in WWII it was Canadian officer Jack McBride who played these pipes when he served as a Canadian Loan Officer with the 7th Battalion The Black Watch in Northwest Europe.

In another room behind the glass of a simple frame is the cracked black and white photo of a smiling Private W Lambton, MM 1st Battalion The Tyneside Scottish. There is so much innocent pride in his expression, telling the story of so many young men with grand ideas of war and glory.

Perth is famous for its natural beauty and outdoor lifestyle, but this unique museum offers a new understanding of Scottish history.

For £4 you can wander the halls of a castle and either pour over dates and facts or lose yourself in the stories of the men and women whose own histories are forever entwined with this famous regiment.

For more information on The Black Watch, visit the official website. Undiscovered Scotland also features an excellent article about the museum.

A touch of Italy in Perthshire

2011-02-26T17:34:00.001Z

There are ways to will spring to arrive in Scotland. One way is to turn the consumption of ice cream into an event. Yesterday we did just that when we hopped in the car and drove more than an hour to Perthshire.

Down a beautiful country road between Perth and Dunkeld, a bright pink and white sign advertises a café and ice cream parlour built in a converted farm building.

The ice cream in Scotland is staggeringly good. Plentiful rain makes for rich grass for the cows and this translates into the high quality of the milk and subsequently, the ice cream.

The Stewart Tower Dairy is the kind of place that can make a day trip feel like a holiday. This is due to the obvious nature of their business; it is first and foremost a farm, with wide fields stretching out to the horizon, a tractor waiting in the yard and hay bales stacked in an outbuilding across the road.

A bit of family friendly charm comes in the addition of small pens containing a group of mischievous goats, who hop onto boulders and even a feeding trough between nibbles of hay.

Despite being just on the cusp of the lunch hour, miles from a main town on a weekday, there were already several cars in the parking lot when we arrived. Within 15 minutes of taking our seats in the café three more groups joined the growing throng of the hungry.

After years of dessert-eating practice, I have come to understand that I cannot dive straight into the sugar. The trick is to have a little something savoury before you begin your homage to glucose gluttony. Queue a lovely bowl of leek and sweet potato soup and some homemade herby scones.

Now that we can prove to our mothers that we’ve eaten our vegetables, let us move on to the main event.

Using milk from their herd of Holstein cows, the ice cream at Stewart Tower Dairy is inspired by Italian gelato, which is frozen quickly in a batch freezer and mixed while it freezes, giving it a smoother texture than ice cream that has been frozen assembly-line style.

When you enter the building you immediately find yourself looking through a wide window into a room where one of these machines is at work. (Don’t lick the glass - they don’t like that).

Their website lists more than 40 flavours of ice cream, 16 flavours of frozen yoghurt and 13 flavours of fruit ices. A small rotating selection of these is on display in the café.

Alas neither the chilli chocolate nor banoffee were available during our visit, so I went for a double scoop combo of rum raisin and creamy hazelnut. Of the two the creamy hazelnut was particularly glorious, not too sweet and also wonderfully smooth.

The menu also lists a selection of more dramatic ice cream desserts, and my beloved went for the Chunky Toffee Fudge: vanilla and toffee ice cream, clotted cream, fudge cubes, covered in toffee sauce and finished with fresh whipped cream and a toffee finger.

The toffee cubes and sauce made this much sweeter and I loved the addition of the clotted cream. However, one of the biggest pleasures of this ice cream is the texture, so in some ways all the little extras are in danger of hindering the experience. On the other hand, you can’t have an ice cream parlour without the option of those great 1950s sundae-style desserts.

Before you leave make time for a wee wander around their farm shop, which has everything from local eggs to made-in-Scotland jams and salad dressings. Next to the door is a freezer highlighting the Stewart Tower Dairy's other passion of ice cream cakes. If our car had a mini-freezer I would have had to take this one home:

I still regret not being able to sample every other flavour which taunted me with obvious deliciousness, particularly the strawberry cheesecake and the raspberry and white chocolate. I can’t imagine visiting Perthshire in the future without stopping here for ice cream. Somehow I will manage to work my way through the entire selection, even if it takes me years.

Our ice cream adventure has obviously tricked spring into showing its face, because today the sun shone strong between banks of high cloud and the breeze had lost its icy edge.

So I’m dying to know, if you had a larger selection to choose from, which one would you not be able to resist?

Inside Edinburgh University's Anatomy Theatre

2011-02-20T18:39:00.001Z

I am under strict instructions not to tell you about what went on during Saturday night’s Edinburgh Secret Society event.

But I can say how remarkable it was to sit in Edinburgh University’s Anatomy Lecture Theatre, with steep rows of red seats curved around where the old dissecting table once sat.

Back in the late 1800s and early 1900s, cadavers were wheeled out before an audience of young medical students and taken apart in full gory detail. This is a building that is not often open to the public, a silent bowl of history that our secret group had the opportunity to fill for a few hours.

Upon departure from our “evening of death” (additional details are forbidden), I was wowed by the elephant skeletons in the lobby of the anatomy museum. The stone surroundings and the subtle lighting brought out the shadows in the room.

What a strange place and an exceptionally strange evening. I know I’m sworn to secrecy, but perhaps just one photo from this sold-out event? I’m sure this shot will cast aside the veil of mystery. Excellent.

The Saturday pleasure report

2011-02-12T17:00:00.000Z

I have been remiss in my blogging duties. Each day the amount of light stretches itself a little further and I hope this will bring me out of the shell that is still cupped around my creative self.

Today I did wander far enough to pick up one of the best desserts I have sampled in a very long time. I present the remarkable, smooth-as-a-dream creation that is the white chocolate and passion fruit mousse from Edinburgh’s Patisserie Jacob. Wishing cake lovers everywhere a delicious weekend.

A Royal oops (instert scone photo here)

2011-02-02T21:48:00.001Z

Has this ever happened to you? You visit a tourist attraction and the thing that remains burned into your memory is the very thing you neglected to photograph when you had the chance.

For example, imagine being chilled to the bone, your fingers raw and aching. Just as your mood is about to tip towards grumpy, you enter a blissfully warm room and sit down to the most splendid cup of tea with a fresh, perfectly fluffy scone with jam and clotted cream. It is the best scone/cream/jam/tea combination you have ever experienced. Ever. And the moment you finish your last sip you suddenly rouse from your blissful state to realize your camera is still in the bag.

This happened to me when I visited the Royal Yacht Britannia, which is permanently moored in Ocean Terminal in Leith in Edinburgh.

The yacht is an Edinburgh must-see for anyone with a fascination with the Royal Family. You get to wander the entire ship, from the deck to the crew’s quarters and the polished-to-a-shine engine room. It’s a strange combination of rooms that feel frozen in time and areas which are just holding still between corporate dinner parties.

I enjoyed the small flourishes best, such as the portholes, the gleaming drinks cabinet and the single button from Admiral Nelson’s coat in the Wardroom. Also, the recording I listened to as I walked from room to room informed me that one small area near the kitchen had once been the place there the “Royal children’s jellies were stored.”

The era of Britannia is long past, a jigsaw piece permanently separated from the rest of the puzzle which is the Royal Family.

There are paintings of the yacht at sea, surrounded by lively waves. Now it is frozen, a funny-shaped apartment just kissing the water. The captain’s quarters harks back to the 1950s. Charles and Diana honeymooned on board, their early life together now broken off and sewn hastily into history. For me this leant a slight eeriness to the experience.

As I mentioned, my favourite place is the café. Even though Britannia is permanently stuck to the wharf, the café can only be accessed once you have paid for your tour.

Perhaps it was that feeling of exclusivity, or perhaps it was the idea that I was eating something so quintessentially English while aboard a Royal vessel. Maybe I was just plain cold and so relieved to be warm again. But it really was the most splendid scone and cup of tea. I would happily skip the tour just so I could eat there again. I want another scone!

In some ways the memory serves me better than a photo could. It has allowed me to mythologise this small meal in a way I never would have otherwise.

Has anyone else had this experience? Forgotten to take a photo of what would become the most important element of the holiday?

Haggis overload: A Burns birthday special

2011-01-25T21:55:00.003Z

Around the world tonight, people are tucking into Scotland’s national dish of haggis, accompanied by some piping hot neeps and tatties. But not us at chez Gorgie. No, we opted for something a little less traditional.

But I’ll get to that. In truth we have had haggis for our tea three nights in a row. That’s a lot of haggis. Somehow I got it in my head that I wanted to try three new recipes as quickly as possible. They simply got more eccentric as I went on.

We must start with the haggis itself, which I bought from Edinburgh’s wonderful Findlay’s of Portobello. The shop was so busy on Saturday morning I could barely squeeze in the door, and I regret not taking my camera because I missed a beautiful photo of a long wooden shelf that was weighed down with dozens of fat haggises (I had to look up the plural of haggis).

Behold, a haggis!

My first dish was the stodgy and Moorish haggis pie, cooked like a shepherd’s pie but with crumbled haggis on the bottom of the dish instead of beef, and a layer each of mashed neeps and mashed tatties on top.

Baked covered for about an hour and consumed with great vigour. This was easy because I didn’t have to cook the haggis first, and not as heavy as I thought it would be.

Monday night was toastie night, for which I had to cook the haggis first. Findlay’s traditional haggis cooks up nice and dark with just enough peppery bite.

Using a recipe I found in Sue Lawrence’s A Cook’s Tour of Scotland, once the haggis was cooked I cut it open and mixed it up with some dark beer. On this occasion I used Inveralmond Brewery’s rich and malty Lia Fail.

The trick is to leave the haggis in the beer for a few minutes to let it really soak in. But don’t put in too much or else it will just be soggy.

Quality haggis, quality beer, and finally quality bread. The recommendation was for a brown bread, so I went for Pattiserie Jacob’s brown sourdough, but the bread itself is very flavourful and I found it competed with the haggis a bit. Overall a tasty but extremely weighty meal and afterwards I felt as heavy as if I had eaten a sack of wet flour.

Finally, Burns Night arrived. It was time to go where no Burns Supper had been before. It was time for Asian haggis wontons with whisky mayonnaise. You will find the recipe here, although they call them samosas. To me samosas have a different outer texture. I used the wee wonton wrappers you can buy in Chinese grocery stores.

For the whisky mayonnaise, which also includes a bit of wholegrain mustard, of course we used the official Robert Burns Blended Malt Whisky. I didn’t add enough for it to make any real impact on the flavour, but from what my beloved Scotsman tells me, it is not the kind of whisky that would have a lasting effect anyway. He describes it as “inoffensive and unremarkable, with vague hints of vanilla.”

In true Scottish fashion, once the wontons are stuffed with haggis and the grated neeps and onion which have been previously cooked, they are fried in oil. Lots of oil. And since I didn’t think ahead for something to accompany them, we ate them with - what else? - fat chips from the fish and chip shop down the street.

Now that I have finished my meal of fried haggis wontons and chips, how am I feeling? Like a ball of grease, of course.

But of all three meals, this was the best. Crunchy wontons, spicy haggis and the cool creamy texture of the mayonnaise with the sharpness of mustard. But I would certainly make it as a starter and not a main dish. You wouldn’t want your guests thinking you were trying to kill them off with a heart attack.

Anyone else have a Burns Night adventure to report?

If you can’t get enough Burns, there are a few things I found around Internet-town that you might enjoy:
-The Robert Burns' Birthday flash mob which took place on Edinburgh’s Royal Mile
-The new (free!) Burns Iphone app, so you can carry Rabbie with you wherever you go

Now, someone please get me a salad!

One wee spa escape

2011-01-23T20:43:00.001Z

The haggis pie has finished cooking. A simple dish like a shepherd’s pie but using haggis. I still have two more dishes to try before Burns Night on Tuesday. Although many people have been celebrating over the weekend, I am holding out for the 25th.

I have been looking for anything that might help pull me out of this lingering heaviness and feeling of disconnection with the world. In Scotland in the winter, the damp cold pushes through the stones of the buildings and into our joints. People so often think of Britain as a green place, but where I am living now is at a similar latitude to where I once lived in northeast British Columbia.

I understand now why so many Scottish people take sun holidays in the winter. But for those who can't afford that kind of a getaway, there are other small ways to splurge in order to acquire that warmed-to-the-bones feeling.

Thanks to a windfall of two free vouchers, last week I got to take a friend to Edinburgh’s One Spa for a three-hour “Escape at One,” a chance to use their various pools and saunas and just indulge in some serious warmth (I’ve borrowed all these photos from their web site but I was told they won’t mind).

This spa includes a hydropool, which would normally be my favourite because it is an outside heated pool that includes a curved metal rack of bubbly wonderfulness, set beneath the Edinburgh sky.

But with the frosty temperatures and the wind whipping over the water, the heat is simply sucked away and if you stay out too long you can get a chill. I still managed to amuse myself by sitting up tall to bare my shoulders and arms in the cold air until I couldn’t take it anymore and I plunged back into the suddenly blissfully balmy water.

My favourite rooms were the saunas, particularly the hammam with the warm tiles to sit on and all that heat to ease through my body until I could feel a little button of warmth pulsing in my low belly. I just sat there breathing in the steam and trying not to think of how quickly the feeling would evaporate as soon as I was back outside again.

If you’re visiting Scotland in the winter, try to work in a visit to a spa. And if any Scottish spa owners require a sensualist writer to peruse the pools, send me an email.

Dreaming of spring in Rob Roy country

2011-01-16T18:03:00.001Z

Thank you for the many kind suggestions on how to beat my winter blues. I am slowly starting to feel settled again, but one suggestion in particular has rooted itself in my mind. Wayne suggested posting some photos of Scotland in the spring, which is exactly what I have decided to do.

So let’s fast forward through the rest of the dark season and walk out into the new fresh world of spring, returning to Balquhidder Glen in time to see the daffodils blooming next to the gravestones in the churchyard.

This small churchyard is where Rob Roy is buried, along with this wife and two of his four sons. Their graves are alongside the gravel path and are surrounded by a metal rail with markers of their deaths (though I have read that the age of Rob Roy’s death shown on the marker is wrong, and that he died at the age of 63, not 70).

Rob Roy’s life has been extensively romanticised over the centuries, starting with his first appearance in Daniel Defoe’s “Highland Rogue” which led to a royal pardon for the famous cattle rustler. After his death, Sir Walter Scott’s novel “Rob Roy” brought the story to a wider audience, and Hollywood has gone on to cement his fame.

Compared to the rest of the churchyard, which contains the ruins of the original church and old gravestones surrounded by swathes of lush green grass, the burial site of the MacGregor family seems run down and somewhat sad.

If you are intrigued by the Rob Roy story, it is understandable you would want to see the place where he is buried. But I would encourage visitors to the Trossachs to avoid the trap of just stopping by the Balquhidder churchyard as a way to check something off a “to see” list. The experience of Rob Roy country (as the Trossachs are often called) is to be had by getting out in the countryside that MacGregor would have spent much of his life.

Even a short walk on the trail that leads off behind the church will get you beneath the trees with the sound of the river over rocks. Or if you have time you can create a more intimate holiday experience by walking the 79-mile Rob Roy Way.

This was just what I needed. I can look at these photos and almost believe that the next time I walk outside I will see the trees sporting swollen buds and be able to smell that sweet, new-life scent in the air.

If you could wake up anywhere in Scotland at the height of spring, where would you choose?

When it snows in Gorgie

2011-01-11T06:37:00.000Z

It’s not actually snowing in Gorgie. That was on the weekend. At the moment, it’s raining. If I peer out my window I can see the drops salsa dancing on the puddle that resides on top of the phone box next to the bus shelter.

Since we have been back from Canada I have been laid up with a cold/flu, combined with a dreary state of melancholy that I am having a difficult time shaking. I’m finding it hard to throw myself into winter topics like heavy root vegetables and haggis, when all I desire is anything that reminds me of spring.

Something is bound to inspire me sooner or later. If you were in the mid-Lothian area in the middle of a grey Scottish winter, what would you do to pull yourself out of a dip of sadness?

A sensual top 10 for 2010

2010-12-16T22:53:00.000Z

The year is not so much drawing to a close as it is spinning like a bolt of ribbon that has been dropped and is now rolling down the stairs. I feel like I am running after the countless things I have to do before we are away, flying on a plane to Canada.

It has been a good year. We travelled as much as we could around this wee country, and my senses have often been superbly spoiled. Looking through my photos and posts, I have come up with 10 of my favourite sensual experiences of the last 12 months. I hope you enjoy them.

In no particular order…

Balvaird Castle. This out-of-the-way castle just inside the boundary of Perthshire, is like a pop-up hideaway on a rural hilltop. I loved the silence, the views, the sombre, stately stature of the castle itself. Would it have been the same without those gorgeous gnarled trees? I don’t know.

Traquair House. One of my nose’s most beloved encounters of 2010. It was like every room was telling a different olfactory story. If only I had a way of unravelling the aromas and finding the words that fit with them, how even more remarkable this house would be.

Millport harbour on the Isle of Cumbrae. I was amazed by the extent of my feeling of escape in such a short jaunt from the mainland. I was there on Easter Sunday, but the way the sun shone and glimmered off the waves, and the way the people walked the shores and bought fish and chips and hired bicycles, it could have been high summer. I would love to holiday here and take my time walking the whole island.

Alloway. Good old Robert Burns Country. This small town has so much genteel romanticism packed into it, especially in high summer when the sunlight is streaming through the trees of the old kirkyard and the river looks so gentle as it runs beneath the Brig O’Doon. My only regret is not taking the time for a leisurely lunch near the riverbank. We walked a lot but didn’t stop enough to just enjoy and take it all in.

The gardens of Culzean Castle. They just go on and on, from lush forest walks to the walled gardens with high flowers on either side of long grassy paths. There are winding paths down to the water and wide open park spaces and romantic ponds. The highly manicured gardens in front of the castle itself are best seen first thing in the morning before the crowds start rolling up.

Scottish mussels. One of my favourite food discoveries this year. There wasn’t much fish in our diet when I was growing up, so living in Scotland I find I have to get over feelings of intimidation when it comes to trying new seafood. Now I know that one of the best things in the entire world is Scottish mussels in a white wine and cream sauce, eaten with fresh crusty bread. Oh my.

Autumn heather in the Pentland Hills. This was a case of seeing just the right thing at the right time. After a hectic and stressful summer, being able to escape to these kinds of views so close to Edinburgh just brought me back to life. I find the deep purple of blooming heather mesmerising. Lucky me that I later found this colour beautifully captured in a bar of soap.

Dollar Glen. For that luxuriant, surrounded feeling, this place can’t be beat. A river on one side and tall trees on another, soaked green moss clinging to dark grey rock, the quiet drip-drip-drip between the constant rush of river water. And to emerge through it all to see a castle and the glorious Ochil Hills behind, what more could you want?

Rumblethumps. A rustic foodie surprise. I had expected this simple recipe to be something to check off a list and file under “comfort foods,” but it was so much better than that. More like COMFORT FOOD, heavy and creamy with the mildly bitter taste of the cabbage and the salty tang of melted cheddar cheese. Definitely the cheap and cheerful dish of the year.

Ossian’s Hall at The Hermitage. Chosen for the wonder of those glass doors and the feeling it gave me to walk out over that rushing water, the rising mist cooling my skin while the shadows of towering firs fell over me. Perthshire holds so many tourism gems, but I think The Hermitage is one of the best.

So there you have it - my list of highlights from 2010. Where there any posts I have done this year which you particularly enjoyed? If you could travel anywhere in Scotland in 2011, where would it be?

That only leaves me to thank you for joining me on my random adventures and food experiments. There will be much more to come next year. With the madness of December I haven’t managed to organize a giveaway this month, but I have some ideas for January.

There is another Scotland blog giveaway going on at the moment however. Up for grabs over at Scotland Here and Now is a copy of Roddy Phillips’ new book The Familiar, so hop over to get your name in the airmail friendly hat.

There may be a baking post cropping up while I am across the pond, but in case I can’t manage it, I wish a Merry Christmas and Happy Hogmanay to all you Scotland loving beauties.

Awe-struck in big tree country

2010-12-07T21:03:00.003Z

Back before the snow fell and the temperatures plummeted, when the last of the autumn leaves were still clinging to the trees, we visited The Hermitage near Dunkeld in Perthshire, a place that had long been on my “to see” list.

We are going to go for a walk, but first I would like you to take a moment to think about the last time you felt a genuine, giddy sense of awe.

Today the senses of an average person living in even a semi-urban environment are bombarded by a steady stream of electronic data. We text and listen to our Ipods while we are cooking, we play pc games while chatting online with friends and watching clips from Youtube.

After awhile the mind builds a filter, weaving all of the clutter together and holding it just far enough away from our consciousness that we can reach out an pluck something out should it intrigue us enough.

With all of that in mind, imagine what it would have been like to step out of a carriage in the early 18th century and stand beneath the looming Douglas Firs of the Craigvinean Forest, while the River Braan booms next to the path which leads off into the shadows.

As you walk, the forest becomes darker and the river louder. Filled with a sense of anticipation you round a corner and see it, the squat grey building with its peaked roof. You catch your breath, already hearing the roar of the falls pushing on your ears.

Built in 1757 as a viewhouse meant to amplify the sound of the falls, in 1783 it was re-decorated as a shrine to the blind bard Ossian and dubbed Ossian’s Hall.

The insides were covered floor to ceiling with mirrors, so visitors would see the Black Linn falls before the full sound reached their ears. Everywhere they looked the moving bulk of waves and mist would surround them, and when they finally stepped out onto the platform it was like an explosion of power threatening to sweep them away.

Vandals partially destroyed the hall in 1869. A hundred years later the area was given over to The National Trust for Scotland and the hall was rebuilt, albeit without the mirrors.

What is still magnificent is the set of glass doors that lead onto the platform, so visitors can experience the moment of rising vapour and roaring waves that occurs when the doors are first pushed open and you step outside. Inside there are tarnished romantic scenes of nature and snippets of poetry that are meant to further inspire. In this instance however, I think nothing can replace the reflected reality of all those mirrors.

Beside Ossian’s Hall is a stone bridge, curved like a stretching cat over the river. Bright green moss clings to every jutting rock, making you half believe that it has never known human hands, that it has been here forever, grown from the banks to join in the middle.

A narrow muddy trail leads down to the side of the bridge, where a small entrance emerges next to black rock and rushing water. The only purpose of this had to be aesthetic, a way to get visitors closer to the force of nature.

Like the moment of opening the doors of Ossian’s Hall, moving beneath that stone arch and into the open feels like an initiation of sorts.

Awe comes with feeling vulnerable to the elements, yet just far enough away to still cling to a sense of safety. If we experience these feelings now, imagine the reaction of visitors in Victorian times.

Across the river stands Britain’s tallest tree, a 209-foot Douglas Fir. The path to it was blocked so we didn’t attempt to venture closer, but with all the other towering giants looming just overhead, I wasn’t disappointed.

We wandered on but the weather closed in before we could visit Ossian’s Cave, an artificial cave near the end of the valley walk that was built in 1785. I imagine the darkness falling around a lone figure who had agreed through some adolescent bet to spend the night in the cave, the sound of bird song fading with the light while the river roared louder and the damp crept in.

I had never been anywhere like The Hermitage and can’t wait to go back. I want to see it again in the height of summer, all that green against the river and the stones.

Do you see what I mean by awe? Do you think we still have the same capacity for wonder as we did hundreds of years ago? Or has electronic influences dulled our ability to experience nature as anything but just another pleasant distraction?

Dear Scotland: A love letter from an immigrant

2010-11-30T19:56:00.003Z

Dear Scotland,

Each day around the world there are millions of people who pine for you. Not a wistful, day-dream pining but a yearning that lives low down in the belly. They take your name with them everywhere they go as if the letters were part of the landscape: high proud S, rocky and round c-o, mountainous tl, and the final whispering a-n-d…flowing out to sea.

I am trying to think of another country into which so much longing is poured. It is a never-ending stream, like all the pieces that were first taken away during the clearances have been melted down and are trying to be put back again. To go back, come back, go home.

A vast fabric of clichés has been woven over the centuries and a roaring business has been built upon it. Bagpipes, kilts, haggis and tatties, See you Jimmy. But these are like playthings that are tossed around the high street, and are not the threads which bind people to you.

Move beneath that false blanket and you will find it. It is the subtle combination of ancient stoicism and a myriad of windows though which a collective sense of mourning shines through.

It plays out in the far-away sorrow that takes over people’s features when they hear a slow lament on the fiddle. In that moment they are recognizing an ache from so long ago that the words to the story has been lost. All that is left is the feeling of it, like a old yet still contagious wound.

This is what people catch when they come here. It’s like you reach out and put a little scratch on them without them knowing. Even if their ancestors are not from this country, still you cause them to feel a little snag in their chests whenever they think of you.

It is what I caught, long before I moved here. Perhaps it is the Celtic influence that seeps through so much of Canadian folk music. However the seed was planted, a sense of relief has draped around me during the five and a half years I have walked this patch of the earth. From time to time things have been difficult, but always I have rested back on the grateful knowledge that I am here. In Scotland. Each and every day.

My only wish would be to speak with a Scottish accent. If my mouth could make the sound of this language I would speak poetry all day long, rolling vowels like marbles over my tongue and up the insides of my cheeks, and hurling my jaw forward with every ch like I was remembering some long-ago battlefield charge.

So this is it. My wee immigrant thank you for welcoming me like I was just the right cog needed to keep this mystery wheel moving. I can never repay you. But I promise to live my life here as an expression of joyful curiosity. Whatever I learn, I will tell the people who are reading this now. Because they love you, too.

Happy St. Andrew’s Day.

Book winner and winter adventures

2010-11-28T17:39:00.000Z

Sometimes the strangeness of blogging drops into my mind and stays for tea. For example it strikes me as bizarre that while the snow is falling and the temperatures in Scotland are below freezing, I will soon be posting a book about Edinburgh buildings all the way to Brazil, where it is currently 30C in Rio de Janeiro.

More than 30 of you lovely people put your names in the hat for the copy of David Torrance’s new book: Inside Edinburgh. I have loved reading the descriptions of the buildings around the world that have inspired you.

Nathália was the lucky winner chosen at random from the magic number thingy I found on the Internet. Nathália listed Brazil’s Imperial Museum as the building that most inspires her. I’m not surprised; I took the virtual tour on the museum’s website and I nearly swooned.

Parabéns, Nathália! (That’s congratulations Nathália in Portugese). Thank you to everyone who shared stories, and again to Birlinn Publishers for sponsoring the giveaway. For those who have added Inside Edinburgh to their Christmas lists, it is also available on Amazon.

Now we leave the comfort of warm interiors behind and we venture out to where Scotland’s capital city is blanketed in a fresh layer of snowy white. The Christmas markets opened last week and this afternoon my beloved and I went for a wander through the mayhem.

From some angles the gothic spires of the Walter Scott Monument look to be caught in the spokes of the massive Edinburgh wheel. But turn towards the old town and you could be convinced that nothing has changed in this city for centuries.

Dotted here and there around the market, standing to attention in the middle of the pavements or propped precariously on handrails, are the snowmen. By the time we were leaving some of them were already starting to melt, taking on that drooping demeanour that will eventually spell their doom.

We spied one woman who was engaged in creating what turned out to be her first ever snow sculpture. Using branches for antlers, she lovingly shaped the body of her snow reindeer and its frozen cartoon grin.

When it is cold and dreich like this, it is the people who keep the warmth flowing through the cold air. The weather can be as bitter as it likes, but you will find no shortage of cheer as you make your way past the wee huts selling everything from glassware to a seemingly endless array of Scottish and German food treats.

Hot spiced wine? Check. Excellent selection of winter hats on display at the beer garden? Check. The happiest pretzel sellers in the land? Double check!

My favourite photo of the day is the simplest. Perhaps I love it because it makes me feel quiet and at ease. While walking home we saw a bush of ice-covered berries outside of St. Mary’s Cathedral.

The plump buttons of warm flamingo pink against the backdrop of ornate stonework was the perfect ending to a day in Edinburgh in the snow.

Stay warm, everyone.

A rather luscious book giveaway

2010-11-23T21:19:00.002Z

When was the last time you were passing a bookshop and a title in the window made you stop in your tracks and gasp? It happened to me a couple of weeks ago when I was heading home from work. I gawked at the book in the window and I think I may have audibly moaned with longing.

From the first glance I already knew the smooth feel of the cover, the way the deep brown of old wooden banisters would seem to leach through full-page photos. I knew the clean lines that would surround succinct descriptions to compliment the images. And I knew just how each page would fall open with the tiniest whoosh and come to settle with a sigh against its neighbour.

It was the most beautiful book I had seen in a long time. It was this book:

David Torrance is an Edinburgh-born freelance journalist who roped photographer Steven Richmond into undertaking the mammoth project of capturing the intricate interiors of Edinburgh’s most stunning buildings.

The front cover, which features The Dome, gives you a sense of what is to come inside. The book is split into sections, covering shops, restaurants and hotels, clubs and societies, domestic interiors, banks, schools, colleges and institutions, government and civic buildings, and churches.

David credits his mother “for unconsciously giving rise to this book by dragging me around stately homes as a child.”

For me, this book fits perfectly with the sentiments of this blog because it goes against our modern-day rush-around natures and invites us to slow down and take deep pleasure in our surroundings.

From the plush red and pink tones of Leslies Bar, to the chocolate coloured panelling at the Library of the Royal College of Physicians, or the gold-panelled ceiling of the Advocates Library, this soft-bound tomb is a reminder that books are more than just forms of entertainment or escapism. They are also beautiful objects, and often downright luxurious.

Inside Edinburgh has been published by Birlinn, Scotland’s Largest Independent Publisher. I couldn’t resist asking them if perhaps they could sponsor a copy for one of my Edinburgh-loving readers to win in a giveaway. They said YES! In thanks, please take a moment with me to send them page-turning sensual vibrations.

So yes, I have a copy of Inside Edinburgh to send to one very lucky person.

To enter to win this 200+ page dream book:

Leave a comment below about the interior of a building that has inspired you. Any building, any country - just something that fills you with pleasure and awe that you would recommend to others to see.

If you don’t have a blog to link back to, you can email me your inspiring interior comment to scotland4thesenses@gmail.com Please include “Inside Edinburgh” in the subject line.

Deadline for entries is Saturday, 27 November. I shall draw the name and announce the winner on Sunday 28 November. Also, if you would like to peruse more of Birlinn’s titles, you can visit their website. They have a write-up about Inside Edinburgh on their blog.

A seat at Charlie and Evelyn's Table

2010-11-21T17:09:00.001Z

When it comes to food, never (well, maybe sometimes) be afraid to try something new. On Saturday night I attended a dinner with a difference. Edinburgh’s first private dining club has been running for nearly a year, and since all of the weekend events are sold out until 2011, I feel lucky to have gotten a seat (thanks to a cake obsessed friend with her pulse on any eccentric foodie events going in Edinburgh).

This is Charlie and Evelyn’s Table, run by husband and wife team Chris and Rachel. Charlie and Evelyn are Chris’ grandparents. They are the ones who bought the table at which the guests dine and Chris and Rachel have named their food-loving venture in their honour.

I love the concept of two people who love to cook wanting to share their passion with others. Even more I love how they don’t let the lack of a grand kitchen or restaurant seating stop them from getting their dreams off the ground.

I always look to restaurants to inspire my own cooking. This was an opportunity to see how Chris and Rachel would interpret seasonal cooking in Scotland (and look for ideas I could nick).

There were wee canapés served on homemade oat biscuits and a little mug of mushroom heavy soup, which made me think of how versatile simple foods can be.

Later there came the potato and cabbage pancakes to accompany the pheasant (November is pheasant season in Scotland), and my mind swirled with ways to give that refined edge to my own rustic style of cooking.

Some may think it odd to go to dinner in a stranger’s home and sit at a table with even more strangers. At the start, it was. But by the time the main course was served the conversation was flowing easily.

Because the room was subtly lit, taking photos was difficult so it was decided I would turn the main light on momentarily. This brought on a good natured chorus of “aaaahhh” and “my eyes,” which broke the ice a little further.

The dessert was a melting chocolate risotto. Melting. Chocolate Risotto. Served with this was a shot of melted white chocolate goodness, to pour over the melting chocolate risotto. I don’t know what country this comes from. I don’t care. All I know is I never used to like risotto and now I think it is marvellous.

It was a unique and memorable evening. I had gone there hoping to be inspired and I certainly was. I also got a chance to peruse their collection of cookbooks and have added a new title to my wish list. I shall have to have a word with Santa…

Bookshop heaven in Perthshire

2010-11-20T16:41:00.007Z

We arrived at The Watermill bookstore in Aberfeldy just as it opened. The sun was glaring off the sheen of fresh rain and a chill hung in the air, the kind that digs into your bones if you don't keep moving.

The door handle creaked as we went in and the first thing that hit my senses was the scent of wood smoke from the stove in the café downstairs. Right away I knew that this was my kind of place.

Before it became a bookshop, The Watermill, which is on three floors, was restored from a derelict state by a miller who used it to produce oatmeal in the traditional way. When he died the mill was put up for sale and was reinvented again as the bookshop.

Shelves and tables have been constructed around the dark sturdy beams and machinery from the old mill. This gives much of the main floor the kind of intricate clutter that book lovers adore, because we can get lost in it and still feel completely at home.

The feeling of contentment continued as we went upstairs, which houses an art gallery. I loved the sparse display of art books among the steel gears or propped against the stone wall.

The occasional white wall and the peaked ceiling with a well-placed skylight helped to give the space a gentle glow.

I could hear the intermittent murmuring of voices from downstairs, but as there was no one else in the gallery it seemed a world apart. Great moments of silence pushed against the walls.

Whoever designed this bookshop is a retail genius. For example, the children’s section on the main floor is reached by going through an open doorway that leads into a long, enclosed room with shelves right to the floor a high number of books facing the viewer.

It is the modern equivalent of walking into a painted cave. What imaginative child wouldn’t want to spend an entire afternoon tucked into one of those corners with some magnificent tale propped up on her knees?

Another brilliant move was deciding to house the travel section downstairs next to the cafe.

Think about it: there you are in your wee world of escape, sitting on a big sofa with your coffee and your fresh scone. Surrounding you are stacks of books tempting you with tales of even greater escape and adventure.

Every element of this bookstore has been planned with the pleasure of the customer in mind, using many of the structure’s original features. I like to think it was in honour of the miller who first lovingly restored the unique historical building.

Perhaps you have a love of old stone buildings. Perhaps you also enjoy bookshops. Or cafes. Well this is a gorgeously designed bookshop inside of a quaint stone building in the middle of stunning Perthshire, with a café (with a woodstove)! I think I may have to move in. Who’s coming with me?

To read more about Scotland’s unique bookshops, check out this list in the Guardian. The Watermill's own site is http://www.aberfeldywatermill.com/

Winter is here with a cuddle and a quiz

2010-11-17T21:28:00.002Z

The cold is drawing in. It’s like we skipped autumn and have gone straight into winter, complete with biting winds and the feeling that at any moment it could start to snow.

Some time ago I was visiting a art exhibit and fell in love with two teddy bears which sat sturdy and cozy in their full-body woollen jumpers. This was my first introduction to Burra Bears, a small company started 13 years ago by Wendy Inkster.

It all began when Wendy decided to salvage the fabric of a worn-out, hand-knitted Fair Isle patterned Shetland woollen jumper and turn it into a bear for her sister. The response she got from the people who saw it was so dramatic that Burra Bears was born.

They come in three sizes: original Burra Bear, the Peerie Burra bear (Peerie means small in the Shetland dialect) and the six-inch high Peerie Oolet (Oolet means naughty - a small naughty one). No two bears are the identical and they are all given names inspired by Shetland.

I find this to be such an inspired way to recycle and celebrate the heritage of Shetland wool. Do I want one? Oh yes.

To learn more about Burra Bears you can visit Wendy’s site here.

Quiz time: How much do you know about Edinburgh?

Now, if you are also feeling the cold and can do what a lot of folks do during the dark season and stay in playing quiz games. And wouldn’t you know it, I happen to have one, particularly if you're an Iphone user. It was sent to me by Dan, an iPhone software developer with GPSmycity.com, which focuses on self-guided city walking tour applications.

One of their more recent additions is a tour guide application for the city of Edinburgh and they are sponsoring a wee quiz for Scotland lovers. Quiz masters who email correct answers to quiz@gpsmycity.com will be awarded three city walk iPhone applications to cities of their choice. At the moment there is no deadline for entries so no need to rush your answers.

Here we go…good luck!

1.Scotland has some 790 islands, from which 130 are:

A. Haunted
B. Inhabited
C. Slowly sinking

2. Edinburgh ws the first city in the world which had its own:

A. Police Department
B. Beauty Parlor for Pets
C. Fire Brigade

3. One of the most popular cures for baldness in the 17th century Edinburgh was the application of the burnt excrements' ashes of a:

A. Cat
B. Dove
C. Rabbit

4. The first animal to be bought by Edinburgh Zoo, which now appears on the crest of the Royal Zoological Society of Scotland was a:

A. Gannet
B. Pinguin
C. Racoon

5. A difficult time for dogs in the 1700s came as the result of an Edinburgh butcher’s dog going mad. Magistrates ordered then all dog population be:

A. Slaughtered
B. Burned to ashes
C. Stuffed and displayed for the public

6. General John Reid tried to combat the stress of military campaigns in the 18th century by:

A. Dressing in women's clothes
B. Composing flute sonatas in his tent
C. Hiring a French cabaret

7. In the 16th century, a disease raged in Edinburgh which was mysteriously called "The New Acquaintance". Now thought as an old acquaintance, the mysterious disease is nothing else but:

A. Pneumonia
B. Tuberculosis
C. Influenza

8. Edinburgh minister Rev. John McQueen caused a scandal in the 1600s when he became so besotted with local beauty Mrs. Euphame Scott that he stole her undergarments from the washing line and had made from them:

A. A waistcoat and drawers
B. A robe for his mistress
C. A dress for his little niece

9. Crowds lined the streets of Edinburgh in 1650 to see the arrival of Oliver Cromwell, victor of the Battle of Dunbar. The talk in the High Street hostelries was predominantly about the size of his:

A. Ears
B. Feet
C. Nose

10.Which was the the most popular sport in Scotland in the 18th century, especially knowing that it was banned from the streets of Edinburgh because huge crowds were bringing traffic to a halt?

A. Kickball
B. Cockfighting
C. Cheese rolling

The lonely legacy of Birnam Wood

2010-11-12T16:40:00.001Z

Be lion-mettled, proud; and take no care
Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are:
Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be until
Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill
Shall come against him.

(Macbeth, Act 4 Scene 1)

In 1589, a company of English strolling players were permitted to put on a play in Perth. Although no names were recorded, tradition holds that William Shakespeare was among the actors and that his visit to Birnam Wood inspired him to write his famous tragedy.

Today a gentle trail leads from Birnam village centre down to the banks of the River Tay, where the ancient forest’s last surviving oak still lives.

In the play, it was from Birnam Wood that Malcolm III’s army cut branches to conceal their attack on Dunsinane Hill. In reality their target would have been more than 15 miles away, but once we are near to the river with the cool autumn air surrounding us, theatrics win out over geographical facts.

First we have to find the tree. Luckily some kindly volunteers have erected helpful signs to keep over-excited visitors from posing beside the wrong friendly giant. “It’s not me, I’m a sycamore,” says one. A little way down the path another notes: “Not me either…keep going."

Finally it is there, so apparent in its gnarled frozen dance, like a disco-loving octogenarian whose arthritis medication has worn off. Crutches have been placed to hold up the weak lower branches, giving the tree an appearance of weary grace. Bright green moss carpets most of the branches and wide sections of the trunk, while mushrooms sprout from between the crusted lines of bark.

A nearby information board provides details of the tree’s girth (7 metres) and facts about the tree as a habitat for wildlife (“A mature oak is home to around 300 different insects and provides food and shelter for more living creatures than any other European tree”).

The hollowed core of the trunk creates a musty cave large enough to crouch in during a storm. When the rain has passed the drops from the branches create a slow, irregular percussion on the forest floor.

Macbeth is set in the 11th century but it is unlikely the tree is quite that old. But it is still wondrous to imagine what the woodland would have looked like when it was a Royal Forest belonging to Duncan, Earl of Fife, who received it as a wedding gift in 1160.

It is even more wondrous to think that Duncan was a descendant of Macduff, who in the play had been “from his mother’s womb untimely ripped,” thus upending the witches’ prophecy that “none of woman born” could defeat Macbeth.

The Birnam Oak is one of those sights which draws out gratitude and sadness in equal measure. Gratitude that it is still here, a capsule of natural, social and theatrical history. Sadness at its frail and solitary state.

Between the grandiose tourist attractions that can be hurridely ticked off a to-do list, a visit to Scotland is enhanced when it is peppered with stops at places like Birnam. And if you are so inclinded, imagine taking with you your copy of Macbeth, and reading aloud in the shadow of these twisted brances.

Remembrance Day: Black Watch Memorial

2010-11-11T17:53:00.000Z

Gazing out over the Perthshire landscape next to where Wade’s Bridge crosses the River Tay, the stone monument of a Black Watch soldier stands on the outskirts of Aberfeldy.

Unveiled in 1887 at Taybridge, it had been intended to be erected on the other side of the river, the actual site of original mustering of the regiment’s troops. However with the fields prone to flooding, the closest practical spot was chosen instead.

In 1910 a lightning strike split the monument from top to bottom and repairs included the addition of a lightening conductor.

The monument depicts a soldier wearing the old regimental uniform. The companies wore dark tartans in order to distinguish them from the “Red Soldiers” and this led to them being known as “Freiceadan Dobh” or “The Black Watch.”

Away from the lights of the town centre, dusk descends like a blanket around the monument. The small green space that surrounds it descends to the river bank and draws the eye towards the stunning view of the snow-dusted hills.

If you don’t already know it is there, you have to be quick to turn off before you are already over the bridge. If you have a chance, it is a perfect spot to stop and enjoy a moment of reflection, looking over the fields where those men would have first gathered all those years ago.

A rainy day visit to Craigie's Farm Shop

2010-11-09T16:40:00.001Z

The cold and damp have crept in and are hugging the world around Edinburgh. With the rain lashing and the last of the leaves clinging precariously to their branches, I want to go somewhere I can feel warm and surrounded by a sense of bounty.

Because Craigie’s Farm is located between Edinburgh and South Queensferry, tucked away up a narrow road, I hadn’t expected it to be as busy as it is. But with the weather so dark and gloomy, it seems there are many others who felt the need to escape.

The first thing I notice are the wooden crates and wheel barrows that are piled high with root vegetables and apples. There are huge leeks and carrots, ropes of garlic and massive sacks of potatoes. It is like a shrine to the harvest.

Inside looks like a mini supermarket, complete with meat counter, cheese, eggs, preserves and bread. But here you can buy things like local rabbit, pheasant, homemade sausages, breaded veal schnitzel, and beef strips marinated in Mexican spices.

There is one section dedicated to Craigie’s own jam kitchen range. The shelves are loaded with selections of marmalades (thick cut, three fruits, grapefruit), vinegars (raspberry, blackberry, redcurrant), chutneys (Beetroot and Horseradish, green bean relish, plum chutney, green tomato and chilli), jellies (mint and apple, Scottish grape, Rowan berry) and of course - jams (blackcurrant, gooseberry & elderflower, rhubarb and ginger, and the shop’s most popular, raspberry).

Foodie Hint: Plan your arrival at Craigie’s for 11.45 am. Lunch will just be starting and if you are very lucky there will be steak pie on offer with roasted potatoes sprinkled with rosemary and seasonal veggies including the sweetest butternut squash, which will wash together with the steak pie gravy with such perfection that you will be able to do nothing else but smile vacantly at those around you.

There are no paintings on the walls of the Craigie’s Farm Café. Talking to Kirsteen, who owns Craigie’s with her husband John and their family, I learn that the lack of artwork is a purposeful omission in order to focus people’s attention out of the huge picture windows that look out over the farm and beyond to the Firth of Forth.

As you sit there with your lunch or your coffee, you cannot help but feel wrapped in the landscape.

If the weather was better I would delight in walking some of the nearby trails around the farm. Dog owners can even treat their beloved pet to a meal at the “canine café.”

Shops like Craigie’s are my favourite places to treat myself. You can feel the time and energy that has gone into all the products and the food that is served, and even into creating the atmosphere of continual attachment to the natural world. I would go there again (and again and again) just to eat lunch and take it all in.

I just had to take home a couple of items from the jam kitchen: a bottle of raspberry vinegar and a jar of raspberry jam. Sampled on some good sourdough bread, the jam is the finest raspberry jam I have ever eaten. Honestly, if I think about it too much I may swoon. I have yet to try the vinegar but I've opened the lid to have a sniff and it is heavenly.

Farm shops and local produce of all kinds are featured in the new edition of The Larder, which I shall be picking up this week. Do you have a favourite farm shop or farmers’ market in Scotland? What do you think are Scotland’s greatest strengths when it comes to food?

Photo of the day: Charlotte Square

2010-11-07T20:03:00.000Z

On a bright cold day, Edinburgh seems to glow with charm. We went for a long walk this morning but I only took one photo, between the heavy wrought-iron fence that locks the public out of the Charlotte Square Gardens. The only time we are allowed through is after the marquees go up for the Edinburgh Book Festival in August.

I love the way the Albert Memorial is centred between trees that are scattering their leaves around the gentile lawn. This wee patch of green is one of my favourites spots in the city.

Keli Clark card winners

2010-11-01T19:28:00.002Z

I was surprised by the wide range of favourites that people had of Keli's work. I hope you all enjoyed perusing the paintings of this most talented Scottish artist.

Not only have the clocks now gone back, but a storm is raging outside, perfect weather for letter writing. I'm happy to announce the names of the card winners. They are:

T in Washington, who chose Highland Croft and Lady Kitty Doocot, Haddington
Shirley in Edmonton, Alberta, who loved the Gifford and Aberdour Clock cards
Scotland-dwelling Dancing Beastie: Ring of Brodgar and the Storr (Isle of Skye)
Janet in Nova Scotia: Burntisland and Eilean Donan Castle
And finally, Karen S from Gloucestershire, who emailed her favourite cards among the bird and animal cards: Moon gazing and All Ears

Would all the winners please email me with your mailing addresses so your presents can be posted to you.

Thanks so much for your enthusiasm for Keli's work, and thanks to Keli for sponsoring this giveaway. If you haven't had a chance to see Keli's paintings, you can visit her site here.

All Ears

Haunted Edinburgh: Greyfriars Kirkyard

2010-10-31T18:18:00.000Z

The following is my fictionalized version of the true story of a homeless man falling through the floor in Lord George Mackenzie’s tomb in Greyfriars Kirkyard in Edinburgh.

Edinburgh. December, 1998:

He was soaked through four layers, his body aching from an epicentre in his belly. At any moment it felt as if all of his insides would abandon post and blow up, crash through his bones and skin and splatter into the cold air. Anything to spread a little warmth.

It is easy to stay to the shadows in a graveyard. Greyfriars must breed half of Edinburgh’s winter gloom, a parade of silhouettes slithering out from the womb of stone and moonless sky.

All the same he kept to the sides, trying the gates of each tomb as he went. Finally, one tomb so black it could have blended into the night. But the gate had not been locked, and inside the cold seemed at least to be holding still. It would do.

With palms flat against the stone and eyes wide open like funnels sucking in the darkness, he made his way towards the back of the tomb, to find a quiet corner and wait out the storm.

Clunk. His foot moved from the earth to what felt and sounded like wood. Impulse made him lift his left boot and bring it down three times, like a knock on a door.

Knock knock kno…

And he was gone, his mouth opening in a silent cry as he fell through the rotten floor, taking damp earth and stones with him. A moment of chaos and clamber, then nothing. He retched himself up to sitting and breathed into the ballooning silence.

He had fallen onto uneven ground, which poked into him and made it difficult to find his balance. His hands slipped around, trying to make sense of it all.

Even in the dark, there are bones the shape of which are so familiar that we can build the picture in our minds of their place on the skeleton. Now he was surrounded by them, his fingers moving over skulls, over the linking charms of finger joints and the batons of fibula. His imagination doused the scene in the green slime he knew was there, because he could feel it clinging to him.

He screamed as he reached up and through the jagged hole where he had broken through, his dirty hands emerging into the gloom like a shock scene in a horror film. Two hard pulls brought him back to the surface, and as soon as he found his feet he began to run. He hurled straight through the graveyard this time, towards the nearest lamp which illuminated the falling rain. A light to erase the shadows, the rain promising to wash everything away.

Did you like that? Since that fateful night, Greyfriars Kirkyard has never been the same. Because you see, it seems that someone, or something, was unleashed when the man fell through. The unfortunate man claimed it was the evil ghostly energy of none other than Mackenzie himself.

The reports began almost immediately. People visiting the area told of how they were attacked by something they could not see. Often their hair was pulled, or they suddenly lost consciousness, despite having no history of such occurrences.

Scratches and bruises appeared on their arms and legs the day after visiting the site. An exorcist even had a go at ridding the place of what had become known as Mackenzie’s Poltergeist. The exorcist said it was not possible - the energy was too strong, and he feared for his life. A few weeks later he died of a heart attack.

In this age of concern for public safety, Edinburgh Council thought it best to close off the area entirely, until a ghost tour company convinced the council to let them lead small groups of people into the tomb while telling visitors the history of the area. (Mackenzie’s tomb is on the left down past the locked gate. There is no way in now without an official guide).

Now I’ve been on the City of the Dead tour, and it was, as JP would say, wank. They stuffed a dozen of us into the black mausoleum and made us wait there in the dark to see if anything would happen.

We all stood in silence, some of us hoping, willing this demonic ball of energy to graze our necks with icy licks. Nothing. Well, until one of the tour guides jumped out like a bogeyman in an attempt to illicit some screams. Talk about ruining the vibe.

Never mind. The story -and all the unanswerable questions - are what matter. For example, why Mackenzie? Was it because during his years as a lawyer he so mercilessly persecuted the Covenanters, who chose Presbyterianism over the crown’s favoured Episcopacy?

His relentless cruelty toward them is why he became known as “Bluidy” Mackenzie. How high and mighty of him - sending down all those poor folks for their beliefs. How very awkward for him then to eventually be buried in the same ground as many of those who died as a result of his prosecution. Perhaps that is the cursed friction that keeps him spinning out of the grave.

Greyfriars Kirk is my most beloved graveyard, simply because it is so creepy. I love the dancing skeletons and the giant tombs. I love the gravestones that look to be slowly sinking into the mud.

I should add that the reason there were so many bones under the floor was the churchyard was apparently the home to many unregistered burials during the plague. The number of headstones in the graveyard is estimated to be just a fraction of the number of bodies underfoot.

If you fancy reading more about the ghouls and ghosts of Scotland’s capital, pop over to Edinburgh’s Dark Side.

I’ll haunt you later…(oooooh...chocolate eyeballs!)

A giveaway for letter writers

2010-10-28T21:53:00.003+01:00

Ring of Brodgar

Halloween approaches. In the old Pagan Calendar, Samhain is the symbolic crust of the year, cut off with the end of the growing season. The old god will die and will not be born again until the solstice. Until then we will hang in the shadows, watching the plumes of our breath.

With the Dark Season falling on us like a book that is slowly closing, we await the hush that winter will bring. This is the favourite season for creative introverts, the time when our desire to wrap ourselves up and tuck ourselves away is perfectly justified.

For many of us, the long nights by candlelight bring a desire to write. Not the clatter of fingers against the keyboard, but the smooth flow of pen against paper, thoughts and stories strung together to those we love.

We are the ones who, in this time of electronic domination, still swoon over the idea of a new pen or the crisp flick of a fresh sheet of paper, the delicious crack when the spine gives on a new notebook.

Castle Stalker

Edinburgh Victoria Street

We also know that a beautiful card can be a gift in itself. We approach those two small pages as if we could fit an entire world onto them, scrunching up our handwriting so it looks like a maze.

All of this to announce my delight in this month’s giveaway. Ever since I moved to Scotland I have loved the work of painter Keli Clark, having first been drawn in by her images of witches soaring across a moonlit sky and cats curled in front of a roaring fire, a fat-bellied cauldron bubbling nearby.

Keli is kindly sponsoring 10 of her gorgeous cards. It is my wish to divide these cards between five winners, two cards each.

The Watchers

Entering this giveaway is very easy. First, visit Keli’s Web site and browse her selection of lovely cards. Perhaps you will love the one of the shaggy Highland Cows, or maybe the one of Edinburgh’s Victoria Street in the winter. There are several sections to choose from, so follow the links at will:

Edinburgh Cards
East Lothian
Scotland Cards
Fife Cards
Animals and Birds
Pagan & Wicca
Magic & Mystery
Faerie Cards
Christmas Cards

Highland Cattle

The Green Witch

After looking through the selections, choose your two favourite cards and write them as a comment on this post. You can also email me with your choices at scotland4thesenses@gmail.com, including “Keli Clark artist” in the subject line.

The deadline will be that most glorious day of the year, 31 October. I will announce the five winners on 1 November.

Wishing you a happy Samhain.

****Update**** This giveaway has now finished. Congratulations to the winners!

A tale of two Smokies

2010-10-26T22:20:00.001+01:00

The first time I ever ate an Arbroath Smokie, I had just spent hours walking myself into a tired but content stupor at the Royal Highland Show. I emerged from a path onto a large open green space, where a long queue of people were standing in a continuous billow of the most aromatic smoke I had ever smelled. It was sea and charcoal, salt waves and wood and the drawn-out ache of an almost-fire that is never allowed to catch.

Sometimes in life you come across a scene that just draws you in. As soon as you see it you can’t imagine not being a part of it yourself.

Immediately I made my way to the end of the queue and stood in the wafts of smoke, watching with watering eyes as a man lifted a jute sack from one of the barrels where the fish were hanging and with an expert eye, hoisted them up in a silent declaration that these Smokies were ready to eat.

A Smokie was handed to me in a paper wrapping and immediately the juice began to ooze through my fingers.

I knew the smoke smell would be in my skin for hours, but I didn’t care. I just sat myself down on the grass and used my wee wooden fork to flake off big chunks of haddock flesh, chewing slowly to match the rhythm of the long summer afternoon.

The second time I tried an Arbroath Smokie, it was a bit of disaster. After visiting Arbroath Abbey we couldn’t leave town without a wander down to the harbour. Go to Arbroath without buying a Smokie? The word sacrilege comes to mind.

At one of the smokehouses we bought two Smokies, sold cold. When we got home I set to work attempting to resurrect the pleasure I had experienced in June. I wrapped the Smokies in foil and put them in the oven to heat them and within minutes the signature heady scent filled the flat. Except this time the smell seemed to press against the walls like it was trying to be absorbed so it could seep out again later.

It just wasn’t the same. The flesh wasn’t as moist and flaky and eating it inside just didn’t fit for me. It was too heavy, too rich for indoor consumption.

For me Smokies feel like work food - wholesome outdoor fare that you eat after you have exerted a lot of energy and need to power up again. Also, for the same reason that I have never made Cullen Skink, I just don’t like my home to smell of smoked fish.

The next time I get a chance to be outside and eat a freshly cooked Arbroath Smokie, made by people with years of experience, I will happily stand in a long queue to partake in the deliciousness. This is one Scottish delicacy I am content to leave to the experts.

For more information on Arbroath Smokies, Iain R. Spink’s site gives insight into the history and cooking method.

***A wee note...If there are any Scottish bloggers out there who fancy trying their hand at guest blogging, the lovely Melissa at Smitten by Britain is looking for writers to add some Scottish flair for her readers. :)

There's a Rumblethump in my kitchen

2010-10-24T17:11:00.003+01:00

I had planned to write about Arbroath Smokies, but with the news this past week focusing mainly on the dramatic forthcoming budget cuts throughout Britain, my mind has been swirling with ideas of traditional Scottish foods that tick all the boxes of taste, practicality, nutrition and economy.

Smokies certainly tick all those boxes, but they aren’t something I would toss together for an evening meal (for reasons I will explain in a later post).

Flipping through a couple of my Scottish cookbooks, I happened upon recipes for a dish called Rumbledthumps.

Similar to the English “bubble and squeak” recipe, Rumbledthumps may sound like the name of a goofy and loveable cartoon character, but is actually Scots for mixed (rumble) and mashed (thump), and combines mashed potatoes with onion and cabbage to make what was traditionally eaten as a meatless main meal with oat cakes.

After making your mashed potatoes (King Edward is nice and floury), the Maw Broon cookbook suggests frying off the onions and boiling your chopped cabbage (savoy cabbage is great) in a separate pot. However I used Catherine Brown’s method of sautéing the onions for a few minutes then adding the cabbage until it had wilted, thus avoiding the extra washing up.

I didn’t have the chives that both recipes asked for so I added some chopped spring onions. Everything is mixed and smashed together really well (don’t forget to season!), loaded into a buttered baking dish, topped with strong grated cheddar (I used Isle of Arran, one of my favourites) and baked in the oven.

Catherine Brown actually suggests just putting it under the grill to brown the cheese, but Maw Broon says to bake it for a half hour, which is what I did.

After it has been in the oven just 15 minutes, the pervading scent of “something is cooking which will make the world okay“ was already hanging heavy throughout the flat.

Overall, this is easy to make, flavoursome, comforting, Moorish, nutritionally dense and so very cheap. The cabbage lends texture and a slight sweetness and the melted cheese makes it seem richer than it is.

We ate it alongside a beef stew but I found that the stew overwhelmed the flavours of the Rumbledthumps and I wished I had made something a little plainer in order to enjoy the simple goodness of it. I think eating it with oatcakes would leave me feeling too full, but it has been suggested to me to try it with some Lorne sausages, which I think would be perfect.

Final verdict: This is one traditional Scottish dish I will be making again and again throughout the winter.

Have you tried Rumbledthumps? What is your favourite “cheap and cheerful” Scottish dish?

The broken splendour of Arbroath Abbey

2010-10-18T22:39:00.000+01:00

Arbroath Abbey is a field of massive stone shards, rusted dominos that rest together like old men who have known each other for more years than any of them can remember.

At one time the abbey was one of the most impressive buildings in medieval Scotland, 90 metres long with a trio of towers meant to inspire awe and reverence.

Today the grave of the abbey’s founder, William the Lion, lies exposed among the ruins of the nave, the carved words “King of Scots” flecked with fresh grass clippings.

But the gaze will always be drawn towards what it finds most beautiful, stopping there to help the imagination rebuild what time has torn away.

At Arbroath it is what the locals call “The Round O,” a large circular window in the gable of the south transept. At one time light would have poured through stained glass, and even today the afternoon sun seems to target the orb, producing a lighthouse-like glow through the empty eye.

For those with a love of doors, you may stare longingly at the one on the other side of the south transept.

With its hinges and handle still intact but its stairway long gone, this door in the sky looks like something from a fairy tale.

If we could just climb up to open it, perhaps a mysterious rush would fill our ears and we would find ourselves in 1233, listening to the murmured echoes of the monks preparing for services in the sacristy.

The sacristy is the only part of the church which remains roofed. It is closed to the public, but it is said to have some of the best acoustics of any building in Scotland.

The guest house and the abbot’s house are squat and sturdy, having survived much of the deterioration suffered by the bulk of the abbey.

Inside the guest house is a copy of the Declaration of Arbroath, when the Pope was asked in 1320 to recognize Scotland’s independence from England and to acknowledge Robert the Bruce as the King of Scotland.

Push a button on an interactive exhibition and a sombre voice will fill the room with readings from the famous document.

“As long as but a hundred of us remain alive, never will we on any conditions be brought under English rule. It is in truth not for glory, nor riches, nor honours, that we are fighting, but for freedom - for that alone, which no honest man gives up but with life itself.”

A short repose in the graveyard is necessary before any visit to the abbey can be considered complete.

Tall trees nestle against high stone walls, buffering external noise and filtering in a sweeping calm through the gravestones. Walk the rows searching for names and dates, tributes to lost love or the stamp-like skull and crossbones that seems to say “death was here.”

One special gravestone has been taken inside the abbey’s modern visitor centre, where it is protected from the elements and perched on a wall at eye level. On the left, an old woman leaning on her stick, and on the right, Death holding an arrow or “sting.” (1 Corinthians 15:55 “O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?”)

Even in the bright sunlight, no church or abbey that I have visited has made me feel as sad as Arbroath. Only because I know how beautiful it would have been, once upon a time.

I yearned for the walls to reappear, to grow out of the ground, perfectly carved stones clicking together. I wanted to see long shadows forming over the gravestone slab of William the Lion, blanketing him in cool calm, an offer of long, nourishing rest.

However a gentle smile reappears when I cast my mind back to the Round O and the strange trick of the light through its invisible lens. Glowing hot and vibrant as it always has, as if it has never realized it is broken.

Recycled Coo of mystery

2010-10-13T20:50:00.005+01:00

Many months ago during the Royal Highland Show, I stopped by an art stall which featured sculptures made entirely from recyled materials.

I was smitten by the following small figure of a highland coo. His horns look to be made from bendy straws and his fringe uses the prongs of a plastic fork. Don't you love him?

At the time I took the art's business card so I would not forget his name, but of course I lost the card. I tried every google search I could think of to track him down but haven't had any luck. So if anyone out there has seen this artist's work and recognizes his style, please leave me a comment. Of course even if you don't know, feel free to praise this mystery artist's take on a Scottish icon.

Imagination reigns at Inverlochy

2010-10-09T18:12:00.000+01:00

The squat ruins of Inverlochy Castle lie about a mile away from the centre of Fort William.

Unlike many of the other castles around Scotland, Inverlochy does not sit on a rocky perch from where it can still cast a shroud of majesty. Instead it crumbles like an ancient frown against the banks of the River Lochy, its once grand moat grown in with grass and curled like a sleeping cat around the castle’s outer walls.

Dotted at the corners of the vast inner courtyard are the jagged remnants of the towers, which resemble hastily opened soup cans.

But its riverside location gives a sense of what an industrious place this would have been during the height of its use. An information board has been posted at the castle’s entrance to demonstrate the scale of trading operations that would have gone on here when rivers were Scotland’s highways.

You also have to imagine your visit here as if you were a child let loose in the ultimate creative playground. Run up the path and through the courtyard, straight out towards the river.

Zoom around the moat yelling orders to your comrade, who peaks through the gap in the stones from his strategic position in one of the towers. The enemy has been spotted - prepare the defences!

When the battle is over, sit down next to the water or beneath the trees, gaze up at the stones and think back on your adventures.

Inverlochy may not be one of grandiose castles that is a destination in itself, but its unassuming charm and quiet location so close to the town make it a perfect spot for a picnic.

Does anyone else have a favourite historical spot in Scotland that they feel may be underrated?

Slimming, shopping, soaps and seduction

2010-10-04T21:16:00.003+01:00

I have once again been remiss in my blogging duties. This past week I have been without my beloved Scotsman as he has been on holiday in Wales following golfers and getting rained on. In his absence my focus has been mainly on jiggling my curves like a crazy woman in a bid to lose some weight, and I am happy to say I have managed to lose a few pounds in just a week.

I have read that curvy creatures attempting to slim down should reward themselves with treats other than food. So I did, in a mighty big way. Through the magic land of the Internet I managed to order myself a small mountain of Scottish soaps.

I started with the Highland Soap Company, where they have soaps like Scottish Honeysuckle & Milk Thistle and Hebridean Seaweed. By the time I was finished I had cyber basket full of other goodies, including the following soaps: Wild Nettle & Scottish Heather, Sweet Orange & Cinnamon, and Scots Pine with Orange & Patchouli. As well, I couldn’t resist the Hebridean Seaweed Conditioner and the Lemongrass & Ginger body scrub.

So you’d think I would be finished, wouldn’t you? But no, because I accidentally discovered Applecross Aromatics, which sells things like Heather and Bracken soap, as well as Honey, Milk and Oatmeal soap and Raspberry soap. They even threw in a wee sample of Grapefruit & Bergamont soap for fun.

Today it all arrived in the post, one day before my Scotsman is due to arrive home. My goal, to make myself smell so delicious that he will immediately forget about the small fortune of future froth cluttering our bathroom.

First to study the prettiness of all my lovely new soaps. I love how Applecross have added a rustic quality to their heather and oatmeal soaps by layering the tops of the soaps with heather buds and pinhead oatmeal.

I bought two versions of the Highland Soap Company’s Hebridean Seaweed soap, one a traditional soap with added water mint, and the other a glycerin soap, also with water mint but with a weaker potency. I don’t usually buy glycerin soaps but I love the dreamy quality of this one, almost like a bit of the ocean has been frozen, pieces of seaweed locked inside.

Hands down the prettiest soap is the Highland Soap Company’s Wild Nettle & Scottish Heather, which is gloriously purple and textured with flecks of nettle and heather to give an almost bruised look.

Now for the all important sniff test. As my friend Linda says, Oh when will they invent the smell-a-blog?

I opened the lid of the lemongrass & ginger body scrub and my first whiff made me think of those cintonella candles my mother used to light to keep mosquitoes away, so I don’t know about that one. The water mint comes through really strong in the seaweed conditioner, and I can’t wait to smell my hair once I’ve used it.

The Applecross raspberry soap is a bit heavy on the fragrance which makes it smell unnatural. (My ultimate desire for a raspberry soap: that some perfumery genius could find a way to turn the Bouvrage drink into a soap. I put this to the universe and await the results).

The other two Applecross soaps smell wonderfully earthy and the Honey Milk & Oatmeal soap has a surprising undertone of dark ale, which I think my Scotsman might enjoy.

Breaking down the remaining Highland Soap Company Soaps on Sophia’s smell-o-metre:

Sweet Orange & Cinnamon: Reminds me of moist cake. I want to eat this soap. Perhaps not the best thing while attempting to lose weight.

Wild Nettle & Scottish Heather: Heather flowers bloom from this, like high summer in love, with tiny stinging dots of nettle which makes it smell just a little spicy.

Hebridean Seaweed with water mint: I am going to save this for the spring. I don’t get much of the seaweed but the mint is soft and warm, perfect for a wee energy boost, a bit of regeneration in a bar.

Scots Pine, Orange & Patchouli: Causes a pleasant light sting in the nose when inhaled. The pine comes in first and is quickly stirred around by the citrus and wrapped up with that lingering warm scent that clothing gets when you hang it in a room with incense burning.

Scottish Honeysuckle & Milk Thistle: Very gentle and aromatic, like one of those bouquets your grandmother keeps in her drawer to keep her clothes smelling lightly perfumed. The honeysuckle flowers and a whisper of orange are held in an invisible, distant basket of jasmine.

Top prize in my very first bulk soap buying experiment goes to The Highland Soap Company’s Wild Nettle & Scottish Heather, which wins on sight as well as the wild summertime scent.

In second place is the Scottish Honeysuckle & Milk Thistle, which is beautiful and feminine and makes me feel gorgeous just to smell it.

Finally, third place is the Applecross Aromatics with their Honey, Milk and Oatmeal soap. With that delicious whiff of ale that skims off the top, this shall hence be the soap I use when I am feeling naughty.

There we have it. With so many soaps to choose from my Scotsman will surely be helpless to resist my beautifully perfumed self.

Which of the soaps would you have chosen?

The simple extravagance of Scottish mussels

2010-09-21T20:58:00.000+01:00

You know when you eat out at a restaurant and one course is so good it almost causes you to stop breathing? My Scotsman and I recently enjoyed an overnight stay at a hotel in the highlands, where he ordered Scottish mussels in a white wine and cream sauce.

We loved it so much that once we were home we couldn’t stop talking about it and decided to have a go at cooking mussels ourselves.

Yesterday we bought a wee bag of mussels that had been grown in Loch Roag in the Outer Hebrides. JP lifted a recipe from the Internet for a white wine sauce and went for it.

In a word: exquisite. And with buttered crusty bread to sop up the aromatic sauce, this is definitely a meal to make again.

Scottish mussels are a treat not to be missed. Wild mussels are in season between September and March and are at their best in February. Whether you are making them yourself or out at a restaurant (have a read through The List’s Eating and Drinking Guide for recommendations), Scottish mussels just feel like an extravagance. Yum.

To learn more about Scottish mussels, visit Eat Scotland.

Sand, sea and history at Lunan Bay

2010-09-20T14:42:00.003+01:00

Driving towards Lunan Bay on the Angus coast, there are glimpses of the beach stretching out from Boddin Point to Lang Craig. But this doesn’t give you the real sense of scale.

This only happens once you have parked the car and are making your way up over the dunes. Distracted by the sand already pouring into your shoes, you hit the crest of the hill unprepared for the two-mile smile which suddenly glows up at you.

Despite being named one of Scotland’s best beaches, there are so few people around that you feel a bit like an intruder. But once you step onto the beach itself, this feeling changes and suddenly you are a part of the scene, one of the pieces moving inside the painting.

If you had the magical ability to move through time, you could tug yourself back a thousand years and watch Viking ships coming ashore here before the marauders are beaten back by King Malcolm II’s army.

Move a hundred years or so into the future and you could see the slow and steady construction of Red Castle, which today resembles a giant stone Tetris piece.

Like any beach, Lunan Bay invites exploration. Stand still and almost breathless until the seabirds forget you are there and resume their shallow water puttering and their sudden, mad squabbles over scraps of food.

Spend time walking with long, slow strides, casting your eye over the barrage of pretty pebbles in search of the agates and gemstones that often reveal themselves here.

As the sun creeps out once again from behind a bank of cloud, leave the Red Castle behind and head north towards the crumpled cliffs that wear green hats and crusty patches of yellow over their faces.

As you draw closer your heart begins to race as the word “cave!” bellows in your mind.

Yes, you are a pirate, come to seek the treasure you have heard was hidden here hundreds of years ago.

Moving into the shadows you study every inch, imagining how you would tuck yourself in during a storm and whether the tide would reach the tiny ledge in the very darkest corner.

By the time you head back there will be so much sand in your shoes there is no point in fighting it. Instead, climb around the dunes and watch the wind carve grandiose shapes from the sand, one grain at a time.

Finally it’s time to go. You have only be gone a few short hours, but it feels like days. Does it get any better than that?

Calendar winners!

2010-09-19T12:13:00.000+01:00

Ben Buie, Scotsman Calendar (June)

This has been the most fun I have had with a giveaway so far. The responses to where you would most like to set up your cameras around the country has really inspired me.

I think between us we’ve covered the country coast to coast. If you haven’t had a chance to browse the comments, I encourage you to do so.

I have given up cutting bits of paper for the hat of treats, and have succumbed to using random.org to select the winners. However I still get my Scotsman to press the magic button!

Thanks to everyone who shared their stories and ideas. Also thank you to the Scotsman for sponsoring these gifts.

The three winners are:

Gabrielle, who sent in this answer by email: "I would set up my camera in Edinburgh, high enough to capture the quaintness of the city, and well as the beautiful and stoic Edinburgh castle."

Maybelinne in California who would love to travel in time in order to photograph her grandparents' Edinburgh home in 1965.

Julia C who emailed: "I would set up my camera on top of the Wallace Monument in Stirling. When I was there, the sight I saw in front of me was stunning. I could see all of Stirling, with Perth in one direction but seeing it made me realize just how vast Scotland is but at the same time, how small it was. I could see the hills and the energy windmills from far away. There were clouds behind the hills but there was also sun. Every time I think of where I stood, I get teary eyed and would love to take pictures of it again."

Hooray! I shall gather the snail mail addresses of our winners and send off the calendars this week.

Don’t forget, the Scotsman gives away free calendars every month so if you haven’t entered their giveaway already, click here to put your name in the hat.

The 2011 Scotsman Calendar is here

2010-09-15T22:21:00.002+01:00

Every year for 79 years, the editorial team at the Scotsman has poured over photographs from around the country, whittling down hundreds of options to just 12 magnificent images that highlight the diversity and beauty of Scotland’s landscape. These calendars are sold around the world to people eager to keep a bit of Scotland close at hand.

The 2011 Scotsman Wall Calendar has just been released and I’m bursting with excitement because they have just become my first giveaway sponsor!

The folks at the Scotsman have provided me with THREE beautiful calendars to give away! There are gorgeous photos from all over Scotland, including Glamis Castle in Angus (March), Ben Buie on the Isle of Mull (June), and Arrochar Alps in the Trossachs (November). The photos I've posted here are the ones used for the 2011 calendar. You can see them all on the Scotsman Calendar Web site.

This is an airmail friendly giveaway so anyone can enter. The only person who is not eligible to win a calendar is the winner of last month’s giveaway (sorry Pat!).

To enter, please answer the following question: If you could set up your camera anywhere in Scotland to take a photograph, where would it be? You can leave your answer in the comments or by emailing me at scotland4thesenses@gmail.com and including “Scotsman Calendar” in the subject line.

The deadline for entries: Saturday 18 September. I shall announce the three winners on Sunday, 19 September.

Along with this blog giveaway, anyone can enter to win a free copy of the calendar through the Scotsman’s Web site (10 winners are chosen each month). Click here for more information.

Try one pie and you'll want Mhor

2010-09-14T22:18:00.000+01:00

If you are ever driving through Callendar in the rain, find a place to park and wander the high street until you find Mhor Bread.

If you are packing for a picnic (it can’t rain all the time) pick up a loaf of their artisan bread. But if all you want is something tasty to take away, allow yourself to be drawn towards the pastry case where a small tower of savoury pies are waiting.

The steak pie comes highly recommended by the staff, but Mhor Bread has also won awards for their traditional Scotch Pie. This will make your decision more difficult, however if you are lucky the lovely Sally will help you make your selection.

I went for the scotch pie and am delighted to report a peppery filling and crunchy pastry. Next time I will sample the steak pie and perhaps a loaf of olive and rosemary bread.

Also, do not leave the Mhor bakery without a package of buttered bannocks. JP didn’t enjoy the way the flavour lingered between that of a biscuit and an oatcake but I absolutely adored them, finding them extremely moorish and perfect with a sweet cup of tea. I can’t wait to make them for myself.

Anyone have a favourite grab-and-go Scottish food?

The many rewards of a hike in Dollar Glen

2010-09-12T21:17:00.001+01:00

I have dozens of failed photos from our visit to Dollar Glen. There seemed no way to capture the depth of the place, the layers of green.

Massive ferns brushed our skin as we walked under tall trees, the rustling leaves constantly shifting the light at our feet.

The moss, sponge-like and dripping, clung in vast carpets over sheer rock faces and wrapped itself like a sleeve around fallen logs.

Everywhere around us the sound of streams and waterfalls added to the Glen’s atmosphere of luxurious clutter. Not surprisingly, Dollar Glen is one of the most popular walking destinations in Clackmannashire, Scotland’s smallest historic county, which borders Perth and Kinross, Stirling and Fife.

The relatively easy uphill climb is made all the more wonderful when you emerge at the top to see a ruined castle rising up through the trees.

Originally known as Castle Gloom, the land and castle were taken over in 1465 by Colin Campbell, 1st Earl of Argyll, and it has been known as Castle Campbell ever since.

After being destroyed by royalists in 1654, it was left to fall into ruin, but today it still makes an impressive sight, nestled as it is among the forests at the top of the Glen.

Castle highlights include the cobbled entrance into the gardens, where the last of the summer roses still blooming against the high walls.

The trap door leading to the pit prison has been propped open so visitors can gape down into the cold, dirt-lined space and imagine what it would have been like to sit there alone in the dark for days or even weeks.

But the thing I adored most of all had to be the two carved masonry masks in the top floor ceiling.

At one time oil lamps would have hung from their mouths and I couldn’t help thinking that modern light fittings simply do not compare.

The castle’s tower can still be climbed and offers spectacular views over the valley below and over to the Ochil Hills behind.

The lure was too great and despite the threat of rain we couldn’t resist a hike up to Bank Hill. We had only just hit the bottom when the wind started to howl and the rain swept over us, but there was no stopping.

Nearing the top of the steep slope, my clothes wet, my chest heaving and my legs rubbery with fear as much as exertion (for I am a supremely lacking in confidence when it comes to climbing), I looked up to see my beaming Scotsman, engaged in an enthusiastic rendition of the Rocky dance.

It is easy to see why hill walkers around the country are drawn to this area, where even a short hike can reward visitors with dramatic views and the sense of being blissfully alone in the world. It is places like Dollar Glen and the Ochil Hills that make me all the more passionate for Scotland.

We are finally off to the Highlands for a couple of days - what a way to start the week!

Edinburgh's ancient outdoor fitness mecca

2010-09-08T22:45:00.001+01:00

This is the perfect time of year to get out for a hike after work, to stretch out those hours of daylight as far as they will go.

In Edinburgh the hills around Holyrood Park are slowly changing from summer green to autumn gold. In the late afternoon of a sunny day, Arthur’s Seat looms above the city like a gentle giant.

One of the things I love about Arthur’s Seat and the entire landscape of Holyrood Park is it is a place for everyone, whatever your fitness level.

There I was, lumbering slowly upwards, stopping again and again to catch my breath and take photos, while members of the super fit clan ran past us up the hill and other returning walkers meandered back to the city.

I couldn’t help wondering who would want to spend time in a gym when an extinct volcano is available and free for anyone to use. Aside from the cardio (wheeze, wheeze), the hike can also be filed under strength training and even balance work as you (carefully!) traverse some of the more uneven sections of trail.

Even at my snail’s pace it only takes about 45 minutes to get to the top. Along with the views of the city and the beautiful undulations of the hills, there is the added bonus of people watching.

I love how people interact with this place and the strange sense of community that takes over me when I am there at the top with others who have made the climb.

Grinning tourists, out-of-breath dog walkers, artists hunched over sketch pads - everyone apart but together in this moment of being on top of the world.

I have never been at the top during the summer solstice sunrise but it is something I would love to do because I think the feeling of kinship would be intensified when everyone has gathered there for a single purpose.

If you are visiting Edinburgh you cannot miss the chance to walk the hills of Holyrood Park and climb Arthur’s Seat. There is something magical about the place and it is sure to give you a whole new perspective on Scotland’s Capital.

Rediscovering the Pentland Hills

2010-09-05T16:41:00.001+01:00

I’m back. Once again it feels like I just blinked and now summer is over. However I’m looking forward to feeling like my sensual self again just in time for my favourite season, when the earth slows down to my built-for-comfort speed.

For more than a month I have been desperate to escape the city, but our plans for a trip to the highlands have been put back a week. Still craving a bit of space and quiet, I turned to the Pentland Hills just outside of Edinburgh.

All of my previous attempts to hike the Pentlands have started from Hillend, near the Midlothian Snowsports Centre. Right from the start the gradient is steep which I hate because I’m one of these people who needs to warm up slowly. In fact, I like to do most things slowly. It is my way.

I didn’t want to have the same daunting experience, so we chose a different route, starting in the village of Balerno and hiking towards the Harlaw reservoir, Threipmuir Reservoir and Black Hill.

This was more like it. Good, easy to navigate paths with gentle gradients, all in an idyllic setting. Unlike Hillend, there was no view over the city, which gave me the blissful feeling of being much further away from things than we were.

Highlights from the afternoon included the graceful sight of man fly fishing, the slosh of water inside an old pump house at the base of Black Hill, and the remaining purple patches of blooming heather over the landscape. We sat for some time looking out at the world, wishing we had had the forethought to pack a picnic.

I have no poetry in me today, so the photos will have to tell the story. I have to thank my wonderful blogger friends who send me encouraging comments and emails (and sometimes even snail mail and treats!) throughout the festival season.

Now here we are on the cusp of a Scottish autumn. I’m loving Visit Scotland’s Perfect Day campaign, which helps people plan their ideal autumn holiday. Trossachs Beer and Mushroom festivals anyone?

Incredible Edinburgh skies

2010-08-15T22:51:00.000+01:00

A friend of mine took these wonderful photos of Edinburgh over the past week from the top of the Tattoo stands. We have had some incredible dramatic skies this month, although I’ve not been able to get to enjoy them due to extremely long work hours.

I have two weeks to go before the festival season is over for me. Already I am looking forward to getting out of the city and heading north for a weekend, and also just taking more enjoyment in this fantastic city, which currently is overrun with visitors and performers.

Another pleasure that has to wait until the autumn: braving sections of the glorious Edinburgh Spotlight cake trail.

I’ll be missing from the blog world for another couple of weeks at least, but I can’t wait to start experiencing and writing about Scotland again.

Pipes and Drums on the poetry bus (giveway winner!)

2010-08-04T07:02:00.000+01:00

The names were added to the hat, my Scotsman gave them a swirl and has plucked the lucky winner of the Edinburgh Tattoo's new Pipes and Drums DVD.

It is...Weaver of Grass! Perhaps seeing and hearing the massed pipes and drums will inspire her regular poetry bus blog posts.

Thanks for all your great comments about your favourite pipe music. If you're still interested in the Tattoo there are a list of their available DVDs online here.

The Tattoo for this year is about to start on Friday. 1,000 performers have arrived and are rehearsing daily and 217,000 people will see the show over the next three weeks. If you love the Tattoo you can become a fan on Facebook and keep up with all the news.