Traveling to Edinburgh and wondering: “What is the essence of Edinburgh?” We probably need to write a book to answer that in earnest. But if you visit Edinburgh for 3 days or 72 hours (and ideally more), this Edinburgh travel guide shares what you could see, eat, drink and otherwise experience to help you answer that question for yourself.

When I think of Edinburgh, I think moody streets, storied alleys and walls of beautiful stone. Then I pepper in some sights, a dose or two of haggis, whisky, and ale at a couple of pubs. Then I throw in some fish and chips, a few jokes and finish it off by listening to that inimitable accent that leaves one puzzling around the pronunciation of the city's name (it's more like ED-in-bra, ED-in-burrah or Edinb'r'h — not Ed'nBERG).

When I first set foot in Edinburgh, I needed time to “get” it. I gave it that wee bit of time, thankfully. Then I felt it.

Here's why. And how.

Edinburgh Setting and Architecture

Said to be built in and around seven hills, Edinburgh is a city of contours further defined in detail by large blocks of stone cut from the hands of old craftsmen. I don’t mind the new architecture, but it’s this old stuff that I really appreciate. When I’m long gone, storytellers will still be writing books about this old stuff, while the new buildings will sit there, fine enough, wondering when someone will ever weave a tale about them. Cobbles and alleys, carved chunks of medieval and neoclassical Gothic revival — that's Edinburgh's architectural stock in very brief.

It comes as little surprise that J.K. Rowling used the city and its physical surroundings as visual inspiration for the setting of the Harry Potter series. It's an easy look, the sort of place that invites stories and ghosts alike to lurk.

Edinburgh Sites: What to Do and See in Edinburgh

Like any good old city worth its salt, Edinburgh is best consumed by simply setting off on foot and letting your curiosity get the best of you. If you'd like to anchor your visit, here are a handful of worthy usual suspects.

Edinburgh Castle

The castle is the heart (or perhaps the head) of Edinburgh. Everything else developed around it over the last thousand years or more. The courtyard of the castle has some great views of the city, but it’s worth it to venture inside if you have a few hours. It features museums and exhibitions and further views of the city.

Camera Obscura

When I first heard of Camera Obscura, I figured it a cheesy tourist attraction. Instead, it’s a place for you to release your inner child, play with imagery and light installations and get a cool introduction to the city from above via the namesake Camera Obscura tour at the top. And if that doesn’t sell you, the views of the city from the rooftop are hard to beat (see the lead photo of this article), particularly when the weather cooperates. Go when there is good daylight. Details: Royal Mile (just near the Castle), opening times vary during the changing seasons and light, £11.95 for adults.

The Royal Mile

This Royal Mile is the main street that leads you from the castle at the top to Holyrood Park and the Queen’s Palace at the bottom. If the Edinburgh Castle is the head of the Edinburgh old town fish, this is the spine. Yes, there are a lot of souvenir shops on this street, but there are also some great pubs, bits of architecture and photogenic curiosities tucked into various nooks and crannies. Be sure to look up to catch the details.

Closes

As you walk the Royal Mile, you’ll notice signs at archways with the names of “closes”, or traditional alleyways of Edinburgh that led downhill, in the flow of sewage and waste, to the Nor Loch below. People built their homes and shops around closes; they were deep, narrow and often dark. Some were named after the people who lived there while others were named to indicate what sort of goods were sold in the markets inside. For an introduction to the closes and what life was like in Edinburgh hundreds of years ago, check out the Real Mary King’s Close tour.

Random Edinburgh faux-factoid anecdote, the origins of the phrase “sh*t-faced”: During the Middle Ages in Edinburgh, human waste was disposed of twice a day –- 7 AM and 10 PM — by people yelling “Gardy Loo” (perhaps a variation on the French garde à l'eau! or look out for the water!) and dumping buckets of human waste from their windows. Coincidentally, 10 PM also happened to be closing time for pubs. Imagine a poor drunkard hearing someone yell from the window above and looking up, and there you go. How do you like them apples?

National Museums

Do a happy dance. Scotland's national museums in Edinburgh are free to the public. Exhibition spaces are really well done and creative. Be sure to check out the fascinating grasshopper clock in the entryway to the National Museum of Scotland. (By the way, this clock reminds me of the giant talking insect-typewriter in the film Naked Lunch adapted from the William S. Burroughs novel.)

Grass Market

Once the sight of public executions in the 17th century, Grass Market today is home to a string of pubs, restaurants, hotels and shops. Be sure to look up for a great view of Edinburgh Castle above.

Rose Street

This is one of the main streets in Edinburgh’s “New Town” built during the mid 18th – 19th centuries. Rose Street is relatively small, full of pubs and cafes and runs parallel to shop-filled Princes Street. Look up to enjoy the neo-classical stonework.

Edinburgh Whisky Tasting

Whisky novices, it’s worth popping into the Scotch Whisky Experience a few doors down from Edinburgh Castle for a tour and some basic tastings. Be sure to ask the tasting staff any question you can imagine – we found them incredibly knowledgeable and happy to share their whisky wisdom. And if your visit is timed with the semi-annual whisky exhibition, you'll get something closer to an aficionados view of whisky. We tasted eight whiskies at the exhibition and emerged lighter than air in mid-afternoon. It was recommended to us to sample Scottish-style blue cheese with some of the whiskies that are stronger on the palate, like Bowmore. Absolutely beautiful.

Edinburgh Festivals

Hogmanay, Edinburgh’s New Year’s celebration, formed the backdrop for our visit and was a great way to enjoy the city. But Edinburgh hosts twelve major festivals throughout the year, including the famous Festival Fringe each August. Check out the Edinburgh’s festivals calendar to see what might be going on during the time of your visit.

Edinburgh: What to Eat and Where to Eat It

For reasons fried and many, Scotland is not particularly known for its cuisine. Having said that, there are tasty bits and curiosities worth seeking out, trying, and in some cases, absolutely relishing. Note that meal portions in Edinburgh (and Scotland in general) are often quite large. Particularly when a heavy beer or two was involved, we would share one dish or serving between the two of us. This often proved more than enough – better for the gut and better on the wallet, too. If you're still hungry after your plateful of savory, try dessert.

Our first real experience with Edinburgh went to a fish and chips shop. First impression: people are so friendly and helpful. Funny, cheeky, they like to talk, they tell stories, they're gregarious. They exude engaging. I like this.

Fish & Chips:

For perfect batter-fried pieces of haddock the size of an arm and a mountain of freshly fried chips (a.k.a. large-cut French fries), head to Bene Fish & Chips on the Royal Mile. They not only serve up high-quality fish, but they offer one of the best value meals in town: one serving of fish and chips, more than enough for two people, runs £6.50. The family who runs it and the employees? Super sweet.

Details: Bene Fish & Chips, 162 Canongate (on the Royal Mile). This is a take-out place only, but fortunately there are benches across the street near the church (Canongate Kirk) where you can sit and gorge. Wash it all down next door at Tolbooth Tavern.

Fried Mars Bar:

No visit to Scotland is complete without a fried Mars bar. Or two. When we ordered one, we were told: “It will change your life.” A moment or two after my first bite I said, “It still hasn't changed my life.” The response: “Give it time.” Gotta give it the Mars bar frymasters, they've got a sense of humor to go along with that heart attack log. There is something forbidden and evil about it all, like a crack combination of sweet, a bit of salty and fat. You’re in luck in that Bene's above lays claim to having invented the fried Mars bar. An ignominious, if not dubious, distinction.

Haggis Mashed Potato Tower with Whisky Cream Sauce:

An Edinburgh taxi driver steered us in the direction of this haggis refinement. We were sold on the concept and asked just about every local we'd met where we might find the best. Eventually, we hit the jackpot at 1780 Restaurant on Rose Street with their version, the Bard's Haggis. We tried haggis also at Deacon Brodie's, but the 1780 version was our favorite.

Haggis is not something that photographs well. In fact, it photographs as well as it runs off the tongue. Actually, it’s not something that goes down well, either — that is, if you think too much about what it's made of. But, if you just accept haggis in a Zen, at-peace type of way, and ignore that it often looks like poop stuffed innards run through a pencil sharpener, it actually tastes pretty good.

The consistency is that of ground meat. Toss in some herbs and spices and thicken it with something grist-y like ground oats. Together with mashed potatoes, and a creamy whisky sauce, this dish actually turns out to be the ultimate in Scottish pub comfort food. I was happy to have it with a draught Scottish ale (1780 has a decent selection), others drank it with Guinness, and our Scottish go-to gal Kay recommends it with Innis & Gunn bourbon cask-aged blonde. Though the Innis & Gunn rum finish might be a better bet. Gotta go back and get me some more haggis!

Sticky toffee pudding:

The waiter plunked down two plates of this beauty, handed our group six spoons and within about a minute both dishes were stroked clean with an index finger from the mob. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a dessert go this fast. A ball of borderline gooey with a distinct graham cracker flavor, consistency of moist brownie, finished off with a thin caramel toffee sauce and sided with ice cream. It's even better than I've attempted to describe. Where to get whiskey cream haggis and sticky toffee pudding: 1780 Restaurant – 167 Rose Street.

South Asian Curries:

Curry houses have become an Edinburgh (or more like, British) institution.

Zest Restaurant: Unfortunately, Indian restaurants in Europe go too light on the spice thinking that we anglo-euros can't handle it. This is where Zest steps up to the plate and delivers — all the right spices were there, nice Indian flavor separation and proper heat. We highly recommend the North Indian Chilli Garlic Chicken. Address: 15 North St. Andrew Street

Mother India's Cafe: Small plate style eating so you can try multiple tastes in one meal. We recommend the haddock with Punjabi spices and the spicy keema dosa (while not the proper thin dosa consistency, the keema is nicely flavored.) Address: Mother India's Cafe, 3-5 Infirmary Street

Irn Bru

This section was added after commenters pointed out the unfair exclusion of dear ol' Irn Bru.

If our experience is any measure, no Scotland experience is complete without a sip or two of Irn Bru (pronounced “Iron Brew”), Scotland's second national drink (that is, after whisky). Irn Bru is an orangish, rusty-colored cola, once more popular than Coca-Cola. Although it's said that Irn Bru is “Made in Scotland from girders” because of its rust color, some say it tastes citrus-y, others say like ginger. To me, Irn Bru is bubble gum-like, not unlike the Peruvian national soda Inca Kola. Even if soda isn't your thing, have a wee taste of Irn Bru, even if it is only to tell your Scottish friends that, “Yes indeed, I tried Irn Bru.”

Edinburgh Coffee

Flat White (Coffee) Now, we realize coffee may not be considered a meal for some of you but it sometimes is for us, especially when done well. By no means is a flat white, a sort of compromise between a latte and a cappuccino, native to Edinburgh. But there are enough cafes serving it that it seems a fixture of the Edinburgh cafe scene. I should note: Edinburgh was the first time we tried a flat white, a coffee style developed in Australia to be the perfect coffee with just the right combination of espresso and microfoam. Best one we tried (by best, I mean the richest, while being the least bitter) could be found at Urban Angel at 121 Hanover Street (great eggs benedict there, too!). Hat tip to Kirsten Alana for the flat white enlightenment!

Edinburgh Pubs and Beer

The metal tap stem from which Scottish brew pours forth curls up like a punctuation mark. And the sound! Whoosh! Golden. I know Scotland may not be world famous for its beer, but I certainly enjoyed Scottish ales. They are served with a slightly foamy head that doesn't linger quite like a Guinness pour might. An impressive pour, regardless.

Even if you’re not a big drinker, it’s worth visiting a few of Edinburgh’s pubs just to get a feel for the local pub culture. More importantly, they are great places to meet locals — some dressed in kilts, some not — and hear some live music.

Note that there is no table service in a pub; just go up to the bar to order your drinks (and often food, too). On average, a pint of beer will set you back about £3-£4.

Favorite Edinburgh pubs

Tolbooth Tavern: The décor of this place kind of makes you feel like you’re entering the king's drawing room — lavish in a way with chairs whose cushions are luscious red velvet, touched with Scottish accents all around. Come in, get comfortable and stay a while. Tolbooth Tavern offers a nice selection of beers on tap, lots of locals hanging around, and live music some evenings.

If beer is your interest, you are in the right place. Ordering beer was beyond pleasant, friendly. Behind imposing taps, bartenders deliver the goods by pulling foot-tall sticks like a tractor trailer shift. As any good pub in Edinburgh should, they'll allow you to try before you buy. I drank a McEwan's 70 Ale (the locals favorite, they say) and McEwan's 80 ale, both of which I really enjoyed. Scottish ales are slightly foamy off the tap and smooth. These beers are very different from peppier, hoppier Czech and German beers we’re accustomed to.

As heavy as Scottish ales appear to be (they are dark and heady), they go down easy because they're less carbonated. I also noted that McEwan's tasted better at Tolbooth than anywhere else. I attributed this to three factors: my Scottish Ale-in-Edinburgh virgin taste buds, the fact that I needed to wash down my fish and chips from Bene's across the street, and finally to the fact that the folks at Tolbooth keep their taps clean. Try also the Caledonian 80.

Deuchars Scottish IPA: Many pubs, Tolbooth included, carry Deuchars IPA. Not your hipster-neighbor's American-style IPA. Scottish style IPAs are noticeably less hoppy and pronounced. (I don't agree that they are always sweeter, as I've tasted my share of sweet IPAs.) Deuchar's IPA was Audrey's favorite. We both preferred it to others, including the Nicholson IPA.

White Hart: From the moment we stepped into this place on New Year’s Day, we felt welcome. Locals were friendly and very outgoing (some wore kilts, too) as were the bar staff. Good beer, good people. What more can you want? Guinness drinkers: White Hart carries traditional Guinness and also Guinness Extra Cold, if that strikes your fancy. Either way, I found them going down too easily. If forced to choose, I'd choose warmer, particularly on New Year's Day. Address: Grass Market

Stepping back, Edinburgh is a place to wax long and lyrical, stroll slowly, sip slowly. Take it slowly whatever you do, ask questions and allow Edinburgh to reveal itself to you.

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This is a story about making peace with a squishy edible ball of sheep innards, and a song I rewrote to help me through the process.

I have a confession to make. I was afraid of haggis, almost deathly so. You could say I harbored an irrational fear of the stuff. Yes, haggis.

And yes, me. The guy who's eaten a lot of sh*t and then some. The guy who's eaten bugs, balls and innards, tongues, goat jaw bones, and all manner of bits and bobs. And that's the stuff I was aware of. I'm sure I've unknowingly eaten cat and dog and maybe even someone's pet hamster.

But I gotta be honest: before my recent visit to Scotland, the thought of haggis kinda' freaked me out. Culinary fear of the ground unknown.

I'd had bad dreams — bad dreams about haggis. Haggis was a mystery. I was so afraid of it that I couldn't even bear looking up to see what it actually was.

(By the way, the official definition of haggis, if you're wondering: a traditional pudding made of the heart, liver, etc., of a sheep or calf, minced with suet and oatmeal,seasoned, and boiled in the stomach of the animal.)

And all of this made me feel a wee sheepish.

My History with Haggis

Maybe it's the word. Haggis. It just doesn't sound right, does it? Haggis. It's onomatopoetic, like something hanging down, dripping, dragging. Haggis. Like a post-disembowlment draping of innards on a clothesline. I look at the word and it does weird things to me. Haggis. It makes my skin creep, it gives me the willies.

Then there's the silly film So I Married an Axe Murderer. “Harriet, Harr-i-et, hard-hearted harbinger of haggis,” Mike Myers' character Charlie MacKenzie would crow during his stand-up routine.

Haggis, you know there's a problem with you when you have harbingers.

How Then, The Haggis?

Then I visited Scotland. There in Edinburgh, I was introduced to deep-fried haggis logs. Deep fried haggis logs!?!? Why not serve deep-fried antichrist? Actually deep fried logs of just about anything ought to frighten us, but these particular digestive hijackings looked like something we men could never in a million years imagine happening to us.

Yes, that. You know what I mean. And if you don't, may I introduce you to Lorena Bobbit. Yes, that. Haggis.

There's a popular rendition of haggis called Haggis, Neeps and Tatties. Basically a poo-shaped pile of haggis sided with piles of mashed turnips (the neeps) and mashed potatoes (the tatties). Haggis, neeps and tatties. The sound of that dish, at once childlike and pornographic. I pull the blanket up over my head. Haggis.

I was so stricken with fear that I sought to shield myself. If I were to lose my haggis virginity, perhaps there was a preferred method. I would set off to find it, to seek the haggis with which I might make peace.

I asked our first taxi driver in Edinburgh where to eat it. “You could buy haggis at the butcher, but it wouldn't taste like much,” he framed his recommendation. “It's about where you get it and how you prepare it. It's not going to taste interesting to you…“

Sounded fair and balanced, like a good FOX News episode. Innocuous enough. (I kid)

“Hmmm,” I said.

That's when he suggested, “You can get it with a whisky sauce.”

Now you've got my attention.

Later, a friend recommended a restaurant that served something she called a “Haggis Tower.” Haggis Tower? Sounds like an office building crying out for its own demolition. A tower of innards, probably pulsing. The Leaning Tower of Haggis. Why on Earth would anyone want a god-forsaken pile of such a thing? Haggis.

Eventually, after multiple consultations with taxi drivers, tour guides and five-star hotel concierges, Audrey and I opted for the Bard's Haggis at 1780 pub, a mini mountain of the stuff on a pile of mashed potatoes, all drizzled in whisky sauce. I hesitated for a moment, dark bits staring back at me. Then I ate it.

It wasn't that bad.

Honestly, it was pretty good. Actually, Audrey and I scarfed it, devoured it like it was our last meal. (I'm certain there was a drug in it.) Or perhaps the truth: just about anything tastes good with whisky cream sauce, and even better when you wash it down with a pint of freshly-pulled Scottish Ale.

In some parallel universe, haggis is probably even good for you — if you are a shepherd who regularly runs marathons with your sheep in the face of fierce winds blowing across the Scottish highlands.

But enough, I said. There's a lesson in all this haggis. I thought long on it all, and I came to this: It's easy to be hard on haggis. Haggis takes it on the chin. Haggis is the red-headed stepchild of ground offal. But all that notwithstanding, haggis is really not that bad. Most of all, you'll never really know for yourself until you try it.

I registered another life lesson on fear, this time from haggis.

Haggis. Sounds like hell, looks like purgatory, and depending on how its cooked, it can taste like Heaven.

Daniel Noll plans a forthcoming novel about the around-the-world travels with his wife entitled “What Haggis Taught Me”

An Ode to Haggis

Finally, I promised to you, in the title, an ode. I'm not sure if you've heard that song about Alice. We once saw a rather terrible rendition on a ferry from Stockholm to Estonia many years ago; since then, I've never been able to fully purge the tune from my head. (But I digress). Anyway, I decided to rework the song a bit and came up with this. Perhaps you'll want to listen to the original song to get an idea of the tune.

Eating Lotsa Haggis

Haggis called, and we got the word
It said: “I suppose you've heard
– about Haggis”
When I rushed to the counter,
And I looked inside,
And I could hardly believe my eyes –
As a big butcher rolled up
In royal haggis style

Oh, I don't know why I'm heaving
Or where I'm gonna go,
I guess I've got my reasons
But you just don't want to know,
‘Cos for forty-one years
I've been dreaming 'bout eating haggis.

Forty-one years just waiting for a chance,
To tell you how I feel,
and maybe get a second glance,
Now I've got to get used to not eating lotsa haggis

We didn't know each other,
We didn't share a park
I'd like to carve my initials,
Deep inside its bark,
Me and Haggis.
Now it comes through the door,
With its tower high
Just for a moment,
I caught its eye
As a big waiter pulled slowly
up with a haggis pie.

Oh, I don't know why I'm heaving
Or where I'm gonna' go,
I guess I've got my reasons,
But you just don't want to know,
‘Cos for forty-one years
I've been dreaming 'bout eat-ing lotsa haggis.

Forty-one years just waiting for a chance,
To tell you how I feel,
and maybe get a second glance,
Now I gotta get used to not eating lotsa haggis…

And haggis called me back and asked how I felt,
 (urp)
And it said: “I know how to help
Get o-ver haggis”.
It said: “Now haggis is gone,
But we're still here,
You know I've been waiting
For forty-one years…”
And then the tall waiter dissappeared…

I don't know why he's leaving,
Or where he's gonna go,
I guess he's got his reasons,
But I just don't want to know,
‘Cos for forty-one years
I've been dreaming 'bout eating lotsa haggis.

Forty-one years just waiting for a chance,
To tell you how I feel,
and maybe get a second glance,
But I'll never get used to not eat-ing lotsa haggis…

No I'll never get used to not eat-ing lotsa haggis.
(cue the nifty early 70s guitar riff)

(note: For those of you who know the alternative Gompie version, please join with the chorus: “Haggis. Haggis. What the f**k is haggis?!”)

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If dreams really do come true, you could say that the Scottish Highland castle of Eilean Donan is proof.

Aye, the story — it goes something like this.

It was the early 1900s. Eilean Donan castle had been destroyed over 200 years earlier, and nothing but rubble remained on the island where it had once stood. A man named Farquhar MacRae was commissioned to help rebuild the castle, to restore the structure to its previous glory and grandeur. The only problem: there were no plans of the original structure that could guide its reconstruction.

Then, one night, a vision of the original castle in elaborate detail came to Farquhar in his dreams. With the dream fresh, he hastily scribbled and sketched his vision. He eventually completed the plans and the castle was rebuilt accordingly.

Years later, long after the Eilean Donan Castle reconstruction was completed, someone had discovered the original architectural plans for it in the Edinburgh Castle archives. When specialists compared MacRae's dream-vision reconstruction to that of the original plans, they found something quite remarkable: MacRae's dream and the original plans were 98% the same.

The 2% that differed? We don't know. But we'll take 2% as the margin of error on dreams coming true, any day.

The post Scotland’s Eilean Donan Castle appeared first on Uncornered Market.

Never let the facts get in the way of a good story.

— Mark Twain said it. Scottish storytellers live it.

This is a story…about story. Or rather, the importance of stories to the Scottish Highlands.

“There was an unwritten rule in the Scottish Highlands,” Chris, our driver and guide, explained. “If someone came to your house seeking shelter and food, you must welcome them.”

“Just look at it out there. This is a harsh climate and landscape. Hospitality was necessary for survival,” Chris continued, laying the foundation for another tale of woe, a tale grounded in Scotland’s complicated history — one of clans and monarchs, of Scottish independence and English rule, of pride and revenge.

The story turned to the late 1600s, to two notoriously feuding clans, the Campbells and the MacDonalds. England's King William had asked all the highland clans to sign an oath of allegiance to him. By way of unfortunate timing, the oath from the head of the MacDonald clan arrived late and was therefore rejected.

Then one night, a regiment of British forces, including a number of members of the Campbell clan appeared in Glencoe, seeking shelter on the doorsteps of the MacDonalds. Like good Scots, the MacDonalds, abiding the tradition of Highlands hospitality, took in the Campbell-led regiment. For two weeks, they fed, housed and entertained the soldiers, slowly embracing the idea that the relationship between them and the Campbells might be on the mend.

However, more troops eventually arrived, including one with the orders to clear the village. Early the following morning, February 13, 1692, the soldiers returned the favor by massacring their hosts, killing 38 of them in their homes and driving 40 more women and children into the hills to die of exposure.

Our van pulled up to the edge of the valley. “This is where Friday the 13th comes from,” Chris flourished in the final throes of the story of Glen Coe.

It’s no matter that Feburary 13, 1692 was a Wednesday.

Stories, Their Messages and Letting Your Imagination Finish the Job

Embellishments aside, the themes of this story are clear: struggle, character, principle, and betrayal. The massacre of Glen Coe, when you boil it down, is quite literally an object lesson in backstabbing. Such deeds will never be forgotten. Or forgiven.

Later that evening, we dropped in at the Clansman Center at Fort Augustus near the shores of Loch Ness. Ken, our host, regaled us with stories of the Scottish Highlands, including how people traditionally lived, dressed, partied — and fought. He was a perfect fit for the part, his nose bandaged and injured from a recent mountain-climbing accident. This was a man undeterred.

Then came his demonstration of traditional Highlands weaponry – the sword, claymore, shield, and halbard. Like a good storyteller, with a turn of each weapon, Ken related just enough graphic detail to leave us ducking and flinching. He’d motion roundabout with an enormous sword, blade on one side, hook on the other. He’d thrust forward, then upward. Then, he’d stop. He would leave a bit on the table, so to speak — so that our imaginations could finish the story. By that point, the enemy was no more, his entrails dragging.

On our way out of the Clansman Center, we noticed something that looked like a noose hanging by the door. As we inched closer, the sign underneath and message snapped into view: “Reserved for Campbells.”

Though it may be difficult to say exactly why storytelling has survived and evolved the way it has in Scotland — perhaps a distraction from the realities of harsh life, perhaps just a matter of DNA – it’s clear that tales and oral tradition run in the blood.

Stories, particularly those in the way of the Scottish Highlands, weave a connection between the present and events long past. They are shared, passed from generation to generation. They help to form and inform identity and traditions, values and beliefs. They provide context to emotion, they are the bearing of a people.

William Wallace: No Two Stories are the Same

Atop Abbey Craig, the home of the Wallace Monument, Chris gathered us around, his tone solemn compared to his usual pun-filled and bawdy self. At this moment, we were to listen closely, to understand. This was the story of William Wallace, a Scottish hero, the man of Braveheart fame.

Neither of us is certain whether we’ve seen the film Braveheart, either in whole or in part. So when it came to the history William Wallace, we were a relatively blank slate.

But payback’s a bitch. In retribution, Wallace was later dragged away to London and subject to a repeated hanging to near death, drawing and quartering, then a disemboweling so slow that he could witness his torturers cooking his own organs and innards.

Blood and guts, and even bits of stewed tomato.

Apparently, Mel Gibson and company took great license in the telling of this story in the film Braveheart. Regardless, something terrible happened to William Wallace. To what extent and detail, no one but Wallace himself will ever know.

Another guide from Haggis Adventures placed storytelling in its most demonstrative context: “No two people will ever tell the story of William Wallace exactly the same.”

Even when there are no doubts as to the facts, there will always be variation.

Storytelling is theater. The facts they are told, perhaps with a flourish. Beyond that, storytellers weave the rest together based on legend, speculation and intuition.

This beyond — this is the gray area of storytelling. And in this gray area, that’s where storytellers thrive.

Culloden Battlefield: Fallen Armies, Fallen Families

In the telling of his stories at the Clansman Center, between the swings of an axe or two, Ken drew a virtual line, indicating that he was sharing with us “…what Highland life was like before Culloden.”

He didn’t elaborate, except to say that life had changed drastically since. The following day, we would just begin to understand what he meant.

Chris picked up the thread before we’d arrived at Culloden Battlefield. It was 1745, the era of the last of the Jacobite uprisings (attempts by the Scots to restore the House of Stuart to the British throne). Chris told of the self-serving Bonnie Prince Charlie and his ragtag, exhausted, underprepared army of Highlanders retreating north. Their enemy, the English Army, was professional and heavily armed; they vastly outnumbered the Jacobites.

The goal of the English army was simple: crush the Highlanders and be sure there would never be another Jacobite rebellion. That they did. Detailed diagrams of the battle exist and no matter how each is drawn, it tells of a slaughter.

We walked through the battlefield, a vast clearing dotted with a couple of flags to represent where forces had convened. Clouds moved slowly, but perceptibly. There were no mountains to get the in way, no valleys to catch them. They hung like steel wool. To imagine a swift massacre by one overpowering force over another was not difficult. Simple, moss-covered headstones marked symbolic burial plots for each of the clans that fell that day. The Mackintosh clan lay here, the Mackenzies there.

“They tried to gather the dead of the same clan so that they could rest in peace forever…together,” Kay, our other guide, noted sadly.

“Today, this would be considered cultural genocide. But in those days we didn’t have such words to describe what happened,” Chris left us to walk.

The empty field stood not only for the death of several thousand men, but also for the death of a culture.

Populations emigrated in droves, looking for economic opportunities and freedoms elsewhere. And still to this day, the region has never recovered its population. The way everyone tells the story, Scottish Highland culture changed forever on that day in 1745. Though it's impossible to uproot a culture entirely. It lives in the people and the stories they tell.

In all the travel I’ve done, I have found it exceedingly rare to be overcome so emotionally by something so simple: an empty field dotted by stones and flags. I have no Scottish roots that I'm aware of, no family attachment to the place, so it’s difficult to say what prompted my feelings as I walked the fields at Culloden.

Maybe, just maybe, it was the stories.

The post The Scottish Highlands: Tell Me a Story appeared first on Uncornered Market.

Celebrations in the shadow of the Winter Solstice. They help us abide darkness and emerge from the shortest day of the year so that we may carry ourselves through deepening cold and, oddly enough, lengthening days until spring returns a few months later.

In this context, the measure of a place coming forth from this seasonal inflection might in fact be its celebration of the new year, and not only the energy with which it tackles this task, but also the tools it packs to do so. Edinburgh, and its new year's celebration, Hogmanay? No different.

We’d never previously visited Edinburgh, so Hogmanay, its three-day version of approaching and ringing in the new year, provided us with the backdrop to learn about the city. In the midst of the new year run-up, we got a wee taste of the Scottish sense of tradition and legend dosed with Edinburgh's creative spirit and a dash of optimism that better weather is only just over the horizon.

Join us on a visual tour of our three days of Edinburgh's Hogmanay.

Torchlight Procession

Fire. Warmth. Light. Connection. While fire has the power to destroy, it also warms us and often brings us together, binding us in mysterious ways. The first day of Edinburgh Hogmanay begins with an evening fire procession, led by Shetland's Up Helly Aa' Vikings and carried forward by 40,000 locals and visitors holding flaming torches of burlap and beeswax. It's a hearkening to Scotland’s Viking heritage and pagan celebrations of the thankful passing of the Winter Solstice.

Music, Fireworks and Community

One way to guide through darkness: music.

In Céilidh, Edinburgh's Hogmanay pulls a page out of its go-to social book of Scottish Gaelic gatherings and tradition. And while we had joyful trouble with the Céilidh dance steps called out from stage, others in the crowd clearly knew what they were doing. From there, the music torch was passed to the big stage with the indie band The View and something from the recent past in Simple Minds. All energy, all different. All locally grown.

Fire and lights finish off the year with a fireworks display that was so powerful that its final seconds literally shook those of us in the crowd from the inside. That this all took place in the shadow of Edinburgh's medieval castle almost made it too much.

The best moment of all, bar none: the real welcoming of the year as the crowd locks arms and sings Auld Lang Syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne, we'll take a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne.

Unforgettable. Like that song always does, it makes me choke up, especially when the home crowd happens to be singing it. Ah Edinburgh, Robert Burns would be proud. As the last bar echoed, we were greeted with random, heartfelt hugs.

There's a reason traditions like this take hold and never let go.

Culture, Fun and a Little Luck on New Year's Day

Our final day of Hogmanay kicked off with dogs of all sizes and stripes gathered together for games and competitions at the aptly named event referred to as Dogmanay. Bushy-haired huskies dragged their masters on race sleds. One race featured owners leashed to their pets, literally trying to keep up with their hard-charging canine friends. St. Bernards, French Mastiffs, all manner of Terriers, Huskies and Arctic pups were around for some free (two-way) attention.

As the day continued, venues all over Edinburgh were taken over by performances, art installations and lectures. We listened to a presentation from Richard Wiseman of TED talk fame about the science of luck. He offered, often humorously, some level-headed methods to make 2013 a more “lucky” year. Hint: take stock in something good that happens each and every day and you'll be more aware of your good fortune.

The close of Hogmanay events featured a ponderous installment of performance art that echoed Pink Floyd and Cirque de Soleil in turns. In “Big Bang”, colorful, inflatable objects (a lobster, a snail and Saturn to name a few) floated overhead as moody, ambient music (think Enigma) peppered the crowd with meta-bits like “Life eats life” as it traced 13 billion years of evolution.

Our heads were full: full of the past in Edinburgh's history, full of the future in framing thoughts of good “luck.” So we carried ourselves off to a pub with a few old friends. There we met a few new ones, locals in kilts, and shared a couple of pints.

An auspicious beginning to 2013 indeed.

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Edinburgh Hogmanay Practical Details

Torchlight Procession: To walk in the torchlight procession is free, but if you want to carry your own torch, you can buy a voucher for about £7. The money goes to a local charity. The starting point for the procession is at the National Museum (Chambers Street) on 30 December and it ends with fireworks up at Calton Hill. This is the official start to Hogmanay. Expect to get wax all over you, so be sure you wear something that cleans easily.

The Keilidh: If you're interested in Scottish music and dancing, this is the place for you as the fun goes all night from 9PM to 1AM on New Year's Eve. Be sure to buy tickets in advance as this year the festival sold out early. Tickets run around £37; this ticket will also let you into the Street Party so you can go back and forth. Location: Mound Precinct (next to the Gardens)

Concert in the Gardens: This is where the headliners play in a smaller concert venue just below the castle. The music kicks off at 9PM and goes to 1AM with a break for fireworks at midnight. Tickets cost £37.50-£42.50 and will also give you access to the Street Party. Location: West Princes Street Gardens

Hogmanay Street Party: Join 80,000 people to dance the night away and welcome in the new year at one of the Hogmanay Street Party's many music stages. There are food carts all along the way, but beware that they all close at 1 AM. Tickets: £15.

Dogmanay: Edinburgh's new year dog festival is located at Holyrood Park from 12:30 to 3PM on January 1. With dog sled races, dog competitions and dogs of all sizes running around, it's a great time for dog lovers.

Note: The information above pertains to the Hogmanay 2013. Be sure to check out the official Edinburgh Hogmanay website for new information each year.

The post Edinburgh Hogmanay: Fire, Culture and Community Usher in the New Year appeared first on Uncornered Market.