The long walk of foodie torture

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

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

Sights and sounds along the Union Canal

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!

Not quite starstuck on Blackford Hill

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

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!

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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.

Steeples, stones and a bit of imagination

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.