Short Thoughts on Arriving In Edinburgh

The following is an excerpt from my journal three days after we arrived in Edinburgh. . . .

And then finally, the descent into Edinburgh, and looking out over the left wing of the plane and seeing in the distance all the landmarks we’ve read about and studied for so long: the great fortress on the Hill (castle Edinburgh) and Arthur’s Seat, the volcanic leftover that heaps above the town. Walking through customs and not having to do a thing. . . . incredible surprise and joy! Whatever we had to do was done in Dublin when we entered. Catching two taxis because we had so much stuff, and the warm welcome we got from the elderly taxi driver who wouldn’t leave the girls in the rain with the luggage until I got there with the keys for the apartment (I had to stop at the housing allocations office). He then proceeded to tell us over and over that he thought we should not go to IKEA tonight because it was already getting late but that there were other stores in the area that we could get a few things at until tomorrow.

Of course, there’s no stopping Janette, who once she’d put her feet down in the flat, moved a couple of beds into different positions and smelled the air and declared it needing some freshener led us down the street to the bus stop and with Jodi’s help found the bus to IKEA that sits 20 miles south of town. We were in—wandered around like rats in a maze, following arrows, is this the right way honey?--and back home in a four hours with bedding and necessities and fell asleep at 9PM Edinburgh time. I’d still be sleeping if Lily and Janette hadn’t conspired together to rise at 3 AM!

The city: how best to describe it? We have spent days looking at it online and in guide books preparing to be here. We knew the names of streets and buildings and neighborhoods and even some of the history before we ever got here. But then, on the ground, its entirely different. The weight of the centuries and the heaviness of the cobbled streets and the soaring steeples and chimneys and gables give the entire city a presence like none other I’ve been in.

It’s a tangible weight that envelopes you, and you realize you’re finally IN the city--but its getting IN to you. Every street you look down is a vast treasury of beauty. Every where you look you’re utterly surrounded by curves and angles and shadows and stone and depth and this great weight that a mighty city carries like a heavy mantle, a personal presence. THAT’s my first impressions.

The brogue? I’m already starting to sound like them, my African ears catch the tones and ups and downs of the speech, but I have to admit its more musical than any language I’ve heard so far. Reminds me of the James Taylor line from one of his songs: “to me the words are nice the way they sound.” I catch myself not listening for content but listening instead to the rise and fall and harmony of words in the native Scots.

Dust