Edinburgh, here, then gone
The soul of a city in 1 hour
Scotland in 24 hours
On a whim, ticket bought, I am going to visit Stanley Lewis's daughter, Alyssa with bags of stories and the exciting news about her father’s exhibition in Canada. Stanley is a dear friend who encouraged me in my early days in Montreal's film school, and with whom I began my passion for documentary film.
I have not seen Alyssa since 2008, and have only been twice to Scotland. Once to Glasgow on an Iggy Pop tour, May 1st, 1979 where I was selling T.shirts. He played the Apollo. The most amazing of all the shows I have ever seen with him, wild, rough, manic, all an Iggy concert should ever be. The other time, as a young girl, when we camped in a cold damp field in the middle of nowhere with my family; mum swore she would never set her feet back to Scotland in her life.
A furtive dash 24-hour dash across an invisible border which pivots somewhere between the North Sea which crashes close to the train carriage and the sandstone homes on the other side. The Anglo-Scottish border - Crìochan Anglo-Albannach. Suddenly we are no longer in England, but in another world where the mists pour forth from the skies, and the sea is just a touch wilder, greyer, forlorn. I think of Mary Queen of Scots, porridge oats, heather and Robert Burns.
Yes, this is a new land.
How can I grab the soul of somewhere in just one hour, as that is all I have between stations, Edinburgh- Stirling. I will do my best, my utmost to get the feel.
Railway stations are the first impression we get when arriving or departing from a city. Kings Cross lived up to its name this Saturday morning when I left at 10.00 am. Cross and grumpy and overpacked with people, never seen so many people since the lockdown ended in London. A surge of frantic, also cross travellers. It was not a pleasurable experience. I felt disappointment, and for one second wished back the silence of empty streets. I thought of a friend who once told me of a man who wouldn’t stop moaning about life, ‘his face is like King’s Cross Station.”
However, now, there are other stations…
Perpignan station which Dali called Le Centre del Mondo, has, for me, a forever charm. It is a border station in a border town. Spain is only 30 kilometres away. It teams with life. People coming to France, leaving France, running from the south to hide in the north, or visa-versa. It represents the bi-bop humming of mixtures, the pepignan gypsies of St. Jaques, the Catalans, moors, and Africans. Sitting at the foot of the Pyrenees, this city has seen invasions, defeats, conquests and glory. It was for many years the capital of the Kings of Majorca. The gateway to Catalonia, Spain and further down to the vibrant burst of African colour. Dalí' created a painting, La Gare de Perpignan. The inspiration came on 19 September 1963, when standing in the railway station at Perpignan: “I had a precise vision of the constitution of the universe." He said": Le journal d'un génie.
Qingdao railway in China is magnificent, built of yellow brick and red-roofed. It has polished marble floors and high ornate ceilings. Built by the Germans in 1899, it is classified as heritage. When you arrive outside, the courtyard is vast, spacious, and almost regal. There is calm, and as you turn your head the sea is at your feet.
Back to Scotland. The train has now stopped in Edinburgh.
Stepping into Waverly Central, the second busiest station in Scotland, to take the train to Stirling. I am surprised by the lack of people and the satisfying hum of gentle business. Nothing uptight nor irate and certainly not cross
The sun pours through the glass roof dome built-in 1897. Speckles of light as if coming through a prism. I have a buzz of excitement rush through me.
I had one hour before my next train. What to do?
Certainly not sit and drink a coffee. “
Go out there, turn right, then left. Up some steep stairs, turn left again and you will feel the heart of Edinburgh, we are situated between the medieval old town and the 18th century New Town.” A lady told me. “You’ll have time.”
I run, bag pulling over cobbled stones. I am dyslexic, so turned left instead of right. But does it really matter I thought when I realised and didn’t want to turn back?
Running.
In the distance, I could hear some drums.
Drumming.
First view
55 minutes till train goes
See a pub where two mates were having a natter. The street silent of cars and people.
50 minutes left
See some stairs, drag bag up 200 steps old and worn. This must be part of the medieval town and drums are beating louder. Still no people. Just graffiti and the smell of long ago, dampness, moist houses and sea brine.
Then in the distance, I see two lads walking up behind me. I wait for them to amble by, they don’t, they sit in an alcove to gossip.
I ask them if I can take a photo. They smile happily into the lens. Jake(to the left,) and Joe to the right. Sunday strollers with lots of time on their hands. I ask them if I can publish this photo. “Sure,” they say.
35 minutes left and the drumming is louder
I bade them goodbye and get to the end of the narrow street. I later find out it dates back to 1521, and is famous for its band of drinksters named the Crochallan Fencibles who’d meet up at the 'Anchor Tavern Howff.’
Finally I get to the drums
I can’t say it.
I just have to show it
Then I run, bag falling in behind me, down the steps, past the lads who wave me off, me shouting, “I love you Edinborough,” turn right, then left
Yes, I get it right this time,
back to where I started one hour ago.
Yet everything is different and alive, for I have tasted the kindness and colour of this place.
Oh, yes. Alyssa (being Canadian), had the best surprise for me. Waiting.
Montreal bagels with locks and cream cheese, for our Sunday brunch!
Thank you for following me on this Sejour.
And thank you Alyssa and Dave for your incredible kindness, and to your floating cats
All four X
If any of you are interested in film production go to my website at scatterflix where you will find tips for making your first documentary, scrapbooking and digital storytelling.
Coming soon a Udemy course in “how to get started making your first documentary EVER”
Have a great, great, great WEEK
Dampness and sea brine...Mon Dieu, c’est evocatif!
I don't know if I'd follow film workshops some day, but I'd sure like to learn writing blogs with you ;) They're so film-like...