Daytrip to Kirkcaldy and The Links Market

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

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

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

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!