First Steps Toward the Castle

After breaking the ice with our first Uber ride yesterday, we had no hesitation about booking another one today. This time, our driver dropped us off slightly lower down than the day before, so we were immediately greeted by a short climb up a set of steep steps.

A few more steps along a narrow street, a turn to the left, and suddenly you are standing on the Castle Esplanade, the large open space directly in front of the entrance to one of Scotland’s most iconic landmarks.

This is the setting for countless ceremonies, military parades, and the famous Edinburgh Military Tattoo, which attracts visitors from all over the world every summer. Rising above it all is Edinburgh Castle.

Massive. Multi-layered. With its pale sandstone near the entrance and darker stone walls higher up on the rock, it looks almost impossible to conquer.

Even though we had admired it from nearly every possible angle the day before, seeing it up close was impressive all over again. The queue in front of it, slightly less so. Still, it was not too bad.

I had bought our tickets about a month earlier through the official website, which has become standard practice for the most popular attractions on our trips. I chose the earliest entry slot available, because it leaves the rest of the day completely open and free from constantly checking the time.

The line slowly stretched all the way to the beginning of the Royal Mile. When I looked in that direction, my eyes stopped on the dome of Camera Obscura, where we had been only the day before.

In the dark room, we had watched through an old optical system as a line of visitors slowly formed below us. Exactly the kind of line we were standing in today.

Up there, it had all seemed quite amusing.

Down here, you do not really care.

Still, the feeling that someone might be watching you from that dark dome above the city somehow lingers in the back of your mind.

This time, we were the ones who had become part of the show.

Through the Gates of Scottish History

At exactly half past nine, the castle gates opened to visitors.

The first thing you encounter is a short bridge crossing a defensive ditch some five meters below.

Above the entrance, I notice a red lion on a yellow background that somehow resembles the Ferrari emblem from a distance.

Of course, it has nothing to do with Ferrari.

It is the Royal Banner of Scotland. Beneath it is a Latin motto that can be translated roughly as:

No one provokes me with impunity.

Quite fitting, really.

Everything here was designed for defense.

Beyond the gate, the path turns uphill to the right. Ahead of you, another wall rises up, blocking access to the inner parts of the castle. It almost looks as if the fortifications are growing directly out of the volcanic rock itself.

Back then, attackers had to fight their way up the slope, squeezed between high walls, with no possibility of retreat or escape.

There was nowhere to go.

Well, today you do have a choice.

You can turn right and visit the gift shop.

But where had we actually entered?

Edinburgh Castle does not stand on an ordinary hill, but on top of an ancient volcano. One look at the steep cliffs below is enough to understand why this was an almost perfect location for a fortress.

Over the centuries, it became one of the most important royal strongholds in the British Isles. It served as a royal residence, a military fortress, a prison for prisoners of war, and a symbol of Scottish independence. Because of its strategic position, it has been besieged more times than any other place in Great Britain.

After just the first few steps, one thing becomes clear. You have not entered an ordinary tourist attraction.

You have stepped into a place where more than a thousand years of Scottish history were written.

Argyle Battery

About a hundred meters farther uphill, another gate awaits you.

This one is considerably more imposing.

The walls are so thick that it almost feels as though you are walking through a stone tunnel. Above your head, you can still see the iron points where the old portcullis once stood, ready to slam shut and seal the passage in an instant.

If you are a visitor, you simply keep walking.

If you were an attacker centuries ago, you had yet another problem to deal with.

Just beyond the gate, you find yourself in the first open space since entering the castle, no longer hemmed in by towering walls.

You step onto the Argyle Battery, one of the castle’s most recognizable gun batteries. A line of cannons stands along the ramparts, once guarding the northern side of the city.

You slowly make your way along the ramparts, looking down at the city through the narrow embrasures. Where a city park stretches out today, there was once a loch that, together with the steep slopes below the castle, formed an additional line of defense for the fortress.

Today, however, most attention goes to the famous One O'Clock Gun. Every day at one o'clock in the afternoon, the cannon still echoes across Edinburgh, continuing a tradition that is now more than 160 years old.

We spent two days in Edinburgh.

Which means the cannon fired twice.

And both times, we somehow managed to miss it.

Or simply not hear it.

Among Barracks and Scottish Regiments

From the gun battery, we followed a steep stone slope down to the part of the castle that once housed soldiers and is now home to the National War Museum of Scotland.

Instead, we climbed up onto the ramparts, where a view over much of western Edinburgh unfolds before you.

We had come across a similar view in Lisbon, standing on the walls of São Jorge Castle and looking out over the old city and the famous red bridge spanning the River Tagus.

But I liked this one more. Probably because of all the buildings surrounding you and the fact that the castle stands on top of an ancient volcano. The sheer cliffs beneath your feet still make that remarkably clear today.

Whoever controlled the castle controlled Edinburgh.

As we continued, we also visited the museum of the Royal Scots Regiment. Its history stretches from the Battle of Waterloo all the way to military operations in the Balkans at the end of the twentieth century.

Considering that even the girls made it through without much complaining, it was clearly interesting enough.

The military section of the castle was slowly falling behind us. Ahead lay the oldest and most important part of the entire fortress, only some fifty meters away.

The final stretch, however, was also the steepest. Today, it is known as Hawk Hill, named after the royal falconry that once took place in this part of the castle.

On Top of an Extinct Volcano

Another gate. Another line of defense. Another reminder that the top of the castle was never meant for everyone.

If you had made it this far as an attacker, the castle was almost yours.

Today, you do not get the castle, but you are immediately greeted on the left by a whisky shop, dedicated to another king of Scottish identity.

Here, whisky is far more than just a drink. It is part of the country's culture, history, and national pride.

But it was still a little too early for whisky.

We found ourselves a bench at the top, enjoyed the morning sunshine, and simply watched the world around us.

Just behind us stood St Margaret’s Chapel. Surrounded by cannons, ramparts, and military buildings, it looks almost modest. Then you read that it is the oldest surviving building in Edinburgh. Apparently, it survived precisely because of that modesty.

Standing in front of the chapel is a cannon.

Mons Meg.

If the chapel is the smallest and oldest building in the castle, then Mons Meg is probably its most brutal resident.

It is one of the largest medieval cannons in the world. Weighing seven tons, it fired stone cannonballs of nearly 200 kilograms and served as a symbol of Scottish military power.

Then you walk to the edge of the ramparts and notice something completely unexpected below.

A small dog cemetery, where pets that once accompanied military commanders and Scottish regiments were laid to rest

There was a place for them too, here at the top of Edinburgh.

Symbols of Scotland

And with that, our tour of the upper part of the castle was almost complete. Only the main section remained.

The Royal Palace.

You pass through a narrow gateway and step into a courtyard enclosed on all four sides by tall buildings. Whether you want it to or not, the place leaves an impression on you.

It was here that an important part of Scotland’s history was written over the centuries. Kings and queens walked across this courtyard, coronations took place here, and decisions were made that shaped the fate of an entire nation.

Given Scotland’s turbulent past, you probably do not even want to know everything this courtyard has witnessed over nearly a thousand years.

Kings. Queens. Coronations. Plots. Wars with England.

And that is why Edinburgh Castle is not just another old fortress.

It is one of Scotland’s national symbols.

We stepped into the Royal Palace. A few steps upward, and new symbols were already waiting for us.

Royal ones.

A crown. A sceptre. A sword.

No photography allowed.

With a steady stream of visitors arriving behind us, we had to keep moving. To be completely honest, I have already forgotten exactly what those symbols looked like. Good thing I had taken a few photos beforehand.

To finish our visit, we stepped into the Great Hall. The royal banquets disappeared long ago, but the walls are still lined with swords, axes, spears, and other weapons, giving the room more the feel of an armoury than a former royal hall.

We passed through a narrow gateway, left the royal courtyard behind, and took one last look back at the castle as we made our way down.

Just under three hours later, we found ourselves once again standing at the beginning of Edinburgh’s most famous street.

The Royal Mile

The Royal Mile is a little under two kilometres long and lined with the city's characteristic stone buildings. It connects Edinburgh Castle with the Palace of Holyroodhouse. For centuries, it was walked by kings, soldiers, and merchants. Today, it belongs mostly to tourists.

Right at the beginning, I stepped into a souvenir shop to buy postcards, something we always send from our travels.

When the shop assistant asked what kind of stamps I needed, I explained that I wanted one for Europe and one for America.

"Okay, two international stamps," she replied.

No, I insisted, one for Europe and one for America.

And again, the same answer.

International.

Right. Of course. Scotland is no longer part of the European Union.

After that brief lesson in political geography, we continued along the Royal Mile, passing our acquaintance from the previous day, the bagpiper, who was once again playing away and creating the perfect Scottish atmosphere.

Slowly, we approached St Giles' Cathedral, its crown-shaped tower rising above the surrounding buildings and impossible to miss.

They say it is the only cathedral in the world to feature an angel playing the bagpipes.

Once inside, though, the church feels different from those we are used to at home. Instead of a long view toward a grand altar, the space opens out around the center of the nave.

As for the angel playing the bagpipes, I cannot tell you very much about it. For reasons unknown to me, the doors to the part of the cathedral where it is supposed to be located were locked.

But apparently, it does exist.

Behind the cathedral stands the Supreme Courts building. With its large columns, it looks somewhat different from the surrounding structures, although after two days in Edinburgh, it felt as though we had already seen every possible variation of a stone facade.

Across the street, we also stopped to see J. K. Rowling's handprints. In stone, of course.

To our biggest Harry Potter enthusiast, Nara, they were almost a perfect fit.

A little farther down, we were supposed to visit a house that promises to take you back several centuries.

John Knox House, one of the oldest houses in Edinburgh.

Its wooden beams, dark facade, and slightly leaning structure are said to make it feel as though time stopped more than four hundred years ago.

At least, that is what the sign said. What we mostly saw was scaffolding.

Somewhere around here, the crowds begin to thin out. Most visitors apparently never make it all the way to the end of the Royal Mile, so we walked the final stretch toward Holyroodhouse almost entirely on our own.

This royal residence was home to Scottish kings and queens for centuries. Mary, Queen of Scots, probably Scotland's most famous monarch, also lived here for a time before a life filled with plots and political struggles eventually led her to the executioner's block in England.

We spent a little more time at the Scottish Parliament on the opposite side of the road.

If, just a few hours earlier, you had been standing in front of a chapel nearly a thousand years old and walking past rows of straight stone facades, what suddenly appears before you now feels completely different.

Curved wooden forms, unusual windows, and irregular lines create a striking contrast with everything you have seen so far along the Royal Mile.

It does not represent the old Scotland of kings and castles, but a modern Scotland that, after almost three centuries, once again makes decisions about its own affairs.

As we stood there, soaking up the afternoon sunshine and looking toward Arthur's Seat, which seems surprisingly close from here, we came up with an idea. After all that stone, perhaps we should end the day a little differently.

Phone out.

Uber.

Booked.

Five minutes later, we were already on our way...

To the North Sea.

Portobello

As you drive along the foot of Arthur's Seat, it feels as though you have left the city somewhere behind you. The wide grassy slopes, rocky cliffs, and open views seem almost rural.

This area was once a favourite hunting ground of Scottish kings and aristocrats. I imagine that riding across these slopes on horseback, with Edinburgh below you and the sea shimmering in the distance, must have been quite something.

Then again, life back then was not particularly forgiving. If you were not a king or a nobleman, you could lose your head rather quickly.

Fortunately, there was no such danger in our Uber.

During the ride, our driver, a Hungarian woman, and I somehow drifted into a conversation about modern European politics. She told us that a month earlier she had returned to Budapest for one reason only: to vote against Orbán. She then spent the night in the streets of the city, waiting for the results and celebrating until morning.

The things you learn in a fifteen-minute ride.

Then she turned into a side street, and suddenly a sandy beach opened up before us.

We had arrived in Portobello.

Our first beach in Great Britain.

It was enormous. It must be several kilometres long.

We arrived at low tide. Whenever we travel, we try to touch the sea or ocean that belongs to the place we are visiting. This time, the tide made us work for it a little, as there must have been some three hundred meters between the start of the beach and the water.

But who would complain about a walk along the shore?

On our way to the sea, the girls collected seashells while Anja and I agreed that an afternoon trip to the coast had been the perfect decision.

By now, we had already touched the waters of the Adriatic, Mediterranean, Baltic, and Red Seas, as well as the Atlantic on both sides of the ocean. Now it was time to dip our hands into the North Sea too.

Besides the sunshine and the relaxed atmosphere, the beach offered something we were not exactly used to seeing on our previous trips.

An offshore oil platform.

Something new. Something completely different.

By then, it was already mid-afternoon, and since we were by the sea, it somehow felt only right to stop for lunch.

Once again, we ended up in an Italian restaurant.

How were we getting back into the city?

Uber, of course.

This time, I booked it a little too early. In less than a minute, it was already waiting for us on the road outside the restaurant. We paid quickly and were soon speeding back toward the city.

This driver was considerably quieter.

But much faster.

After dropping us off, we continued into a shopping centre, which is hardly unusual when you are travelling with three girls.

I am used to it by now.

Fortunately, there were more than enough benches, and I was able to wait in peace.

One Last Time Beneath the Castle

Less than an hour later, we were once again walking along Princes Street. Passing the Scott Monument, we turned into the gardens beneath the blooming cherry trees and ended up at the very same playground we had discovered the day before.

The girls were once again playing with the friends they had made the day before, while Anja and I reclaimed the same bench overlooking the castle.

And so, in our own way, we said goodbye to a city that had captured every one of us.

Tomorrow, we are heading north.

By train.

Four hours away.

To Inverness, the capital of the Scottish Highlands.