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The Scotsman, UK
April 7, 2007, Saturday
1 Edition
Size, beauty and a sense of history are reasons why I call capital
home I have a giddy appreciation of Edinburgh and all it has to offer
by Lee Randall
PEOPLE keep asking: "Now that you're getting divorced, are you
planning to go home?" I always pause, mildly confused, then joke that
with my lousy health I can't be parted from the NHS. OK, maybe it's
not such a joke. I am still paying off the New York hospital that
saved my uninsured self with an emergency appendectomy in 1995 (the
other dollars 20k in doctors' bills I settled by liquidating
retirement accounts). But the reason this persistent question baffles
is because, as far as I'm concerned, I am home.
I was 15 the first time I visited Edinburgh and even then - it's one
of those curious, clinging memories - I felt this was a liveable
city. Yet it seemed inconceivable that such a change of address would
ever happen. When life surprised me by bringing me to Britain to live
after all, I settled in Glasgow and thought, well, that's that. Don't
get me wrong, Glasgow's another great city. Maybe it'll lure me back
one day. Maybe London will call, or my beloved Durham. But, right
now, there's nowhere else I'd rather live - not even mad, magical New
York.
What makes somewhere a liveable city, as opposed to a holiday
paradise or the ideal dirty weekend destination? That's a tough
question and maybe one that can only be answered personally, one
gal's meat being another's poison, and all. Why did a day trip to
Verona leave me with the same sense that a person could easily build
a life there, even though Venice is much more fun?
Partly, it's a sense of scale. Edinburgh is navigable and accessible.
I've not explored it end to end yet, but I've covered a lot of
ground, much of it on foot. While Manhattan's not tremendously large
either, people tend to stick to their neighbourhoods, much as they do
in London. One of the things I loved about living in Hoboken was that
it comprised only a square mile, so you could inhabit it entirely.
Plus, the gossip in me loves the slightly inbred, small-town quality
of such cities. In a good mood, I welcome the sight of the same old
faces at parties and business functions - familiarity that breeds
contentment. In a bad mood, I just stay home.
Then there's Edinburgh's breathtaking beauty. VisitScotland should
give me a commendation for the way I go on about it to anyone who'll
listen. Every morning, crossing the Meadows, I gaze left across the
greensward and then right, taking in Salisbury Crags and Arthur's
Seat, which also forms a dramatic backdrop to our offices, making it
a more looming constant in my life than the equally imposing castle.
And walking home the other night from the National Gallery, I was
struck for about the millionth time by the soft, opalescent quality
of the light. At 8:30pm, the sun was mostly down, but night had yet
to fall. It was the end of a glorious day that had seen the city's
parks buzzing with life (I love parks that are properly used - that's
what they're there for!). Now, the Meadows was winding down, but
there were still bongo players clustered on the grass and some
joggers livening the place up. In the azure sky a single star (was it
Venus?) blazed with a diamond's intensity. Bliss.
Edinburgh is also a city of sly sideways views. Down an alleyway
you'll catch a sudden glimpse of history, an unexpected bow window, a
hidden garden. Walking to an interview in Polwarth I stood on the
canal bridge for ages, entranced by the presence of water, a disused
barge, an old boathouse. On Sunday I entered a building I'd presumed
to be a deserted outpost of Holyrood Palace and discovered Miss
Havisham's restaurant - actually the Armenian Aghtamar Lake Van
Monastery in Exile, populated, for one night, with a marvellous group
of eccentric academics gathered for a plentiful meal and a spin round
the dance floor led by a man in a woolly hat. How does this place
exist? Thank goodness it does!
I haven't even mentioned the festivals or the year-round cultural
feast on offer, the good shopping and dining, the views over the
Firth of Forth, or the psychedelic blast when you're on the Mound
overlooking the blaze that is Winter Wonderland lit up at nighttime.
Nor have I described the absurdity of fuming in a slow Tesco queue,
only to feel my anger dissolve when the cashiers and customers
spontaneously broke into song. It was Yellow Submarine.
I suppose in spring a (not so) young woman's fancy turns to thoughts
of love. In this transitional phase of my life, those twitterpations
are finding an outlet in this giddy appreciation of my home. And
that's Edinburgh.
April 7, 2007, Saturday
1 Edition
Size, beauty and a sense of history are reasons why I call capital
home I have a giddy appreciation of Edinburgh and all it has to offer
by Lee Randall
PEOPLE keep asking: "Now that you're getting divorced, are you
planning to go home?" I always pause, mildly confused, then joke that
with my lousy health I can't be parted from the NHS. OK, maybe it's
not such a joke. I am still paying off the New York hospital that
saved my uninsured self with an emergency appendectomy in 1995 (the
other dollars 20k in doctors' bills I settled by liquidating
retirement accounts). But the reason this persistent question baffles
is because, as far as I'm concerned, I am home.
I was 15 the first time I visited Edinburgh and even then - it's one
of those curious, clinging memories - I felt this was a liveable
city. Yet it seemed inconceivable that such a change of address would
ever happen. When life surprised me by bringing me to Britain to live
after all, I settled in Glasgow and thought, well, that's that. Don't
get me wrong, Glasgow's another great city. Maybe it'll lure me back
one day. Maybe London will call, or my beloved Durham. But, right
now, there's nowhere else I'd rather live - not even mad, magical New
York.
What makes somewhere a liveable city, as opposed to a holiday
paradise or the ideal dirty weekend destination? That's a tough
question and maybe one that can only be answered personally, one
gal's meat being another's poison, and all. Why did a day trip to
Verona leave me with the same sense that a person could easily build
a life there, even though Venice is much more fun?
Partly, it's a sense of scale. Edinburgh is navigable and accessible.
I've not explored it end to end yet, but I've covered a lot of
ground, much of it on foot. While Manhattan's not tremendously large
either, people tend to stick to their neighbourhoods, much as they do
in London. One of the things I loved about living in Hoboken was that
it comprised only a square mile, so you could inhabit it entirely.
Plus, the gossip in me loves the slightly inbred, small-town quality
of such cities. In a good mood, I welcome the sight of the same old
faces at parties and business functions - familiarity that breeds
contentment. In a bad mood, I just stay home.
Then there's Edinburgh's breathtaking beauty. VisitScotland should
give me a commendation for the way I go on about it to anyone who'll
listen. Every morning, crossing the Meadows, I gaze left across the
greensward and then right, taking in Salisbury Crags and Arthur's
Seat, which also forms a dramatic backdrop to our offices, making it
a more looming constant in my life than the equally imposing castle.
And walking home the other night from the National Gallery, I was
struck for about the millionth time by the soft, opalescent quality
of the light. At 8:30pm, the sun was mostly down, but night had yet
to fall. It was the end of a glorious day that had seen the city's
parks buzzing with life (I love parks that are properly used - that's
what they're there for!). Now, the Meadows was winding down, but
there were still bongo players clustered on the grass and some
joggers livening the place up. In the azure sky a single star (was it
Venus?) blazed with a diamond's intensity. Bliss.
Edinburgh is also a city of sly sideways views. Down an alleyway
you'll catch a sudden glimpse of history, an unexpected bow window, a
hidden garden. Walking to an interview in Polwarth I stood on the
canal bridge for ages, entranced by the presence of water, a disused
barge, an old boathouse. On Sunday I entered a building I'd presumed
to be a deserted outpost of Holyrood Palace and discovered Miss
Havisham's restaurant - actually the Armenian Aghtamar Lake Van
Monastery in Exile, populated, for one night, with a marvellous group
of eccentric academics gathered for a plentiful meal and a spin round
the dance floor led by a man in a woolly hat. How does this place
exist? Thank goodness it does!
I haven't even mentioned the festivals or the year-round cultural
feast on offer, the good shopping and dining, the views over the
Firth of Forth, or the psychedelic blast when you're on the Mound
overlooking the blaze that is Winter Wonderland lit up at nighttime.
Nor have I described the absurdity of fuming in a slow Tesco queue,
only to feel my anger dissolve when the cashiers and customers
spontaneously broke into song. It was Yellow Submarine.
I suppose in spring a (not so) young woman's fancy turns to thoughts
of love. In this transitional phase of my life, those twitterpations
are finding an outlet in this giddy appreciation of my home. And
that's Edinburgh.