Previously by Evan Fleischer: This Is and Isn’t About the DC Punk Archive
“Edinburgh is a mad god’s dream,” Hugh MacDiarmid’s eponymous poem states (MacDiarmid himself described by Burns Singer as having hair that “curled up … like the grey-brown smoke of a volcano”), a poem amongst many carved into the gray granite of Scotland’s parliament, the entrance to the building that has as its immediate backdrop Arthur’s Seat shooting up green and tall behind it, an unnecessarily giant period stamped at the end of a cobblestone cowpath of a sentence, as if the world’s last medieval monk had wanted to emphasize how thoroughly done he was with writing and illustrating manuscripts after churning out The Book Of Deer, The Book Of Durrow, The Aberdeen Bestiary, and rendering Limmy’s bus capable of flight.
I went to Edinburgh to work on a sketch comedy show with Frances Bell for The Edinburgh Fringe Festival. Frances said hello and Edinburgh said hello with ocean shore glass train station roofs lapping beneath North Bridge, and the laughter of Edinburgh said hello, too, with a back-and-forth set of slowly accelerating ideas pinging back and forth between the two of us — like, What about a sheepdog herding sheep who’re frozen head to hoof in giant blocks of ice? What about a sketch where Bob Dylan’s band is actually infinitely smarter than Dylan? By miles and miles.
I visited Edinburgh in the middle of February partly to start getting a sense of the city and to look at potential theaters and venues in person. Why? Shows are fun. I’m a writer, but I’m very much at home with shows, too. I once saw a theater for sale in Exeter, New Hampshire, a phone number listed on the marquis, and I gave the number a call, hoping I’d be able to buy the theater outright, move in to some sort of loft on the premises somewhere, and spend my non-writing days putting on and facilitating shows. (It was the same theater I’d visited as a teenager when Wesley Clark was running for President and an aide instructed everyone to remove their winter coats because they were also shooting an ad that would air in the South, because that is how you win votes.) Like Camus, I enjoy both the back-and-forth between the adventure of being a writer — Scott of The Blank Page Antarctic — and the camaraderie, solidarity, and community of the stage.
Frances and I walked to Pleasance Courtyard up near what once was the old wall of the city and into one theater there where a rehearsal of some kind was in progress, the sound effects of gunfire and exploding glass standing at stark odds to the distinctly mermaidish stage design. (“Annie Get Your Mermaid,” a distant cousin of The Valley of Gwangi?) Before that, we’d taken the curving stairs and high-ceilinged windows and rooms of Summerhall. A ceilidh was on. We danced. Other dancers locked arms and swooped on over us and the otherwise traditional line of men and women like screaming seaplanes. We danced some more.
Scotland small? Our multiform, our infinite Scotland small?
Only as a patch of hillside may be a cliché corner
To a fool who cries ‘Nothing but heather!’ where in September another
Sitting there and resting and gazing around
Sees not only the heather but blaeberries
With bright green leaves and leaves already turned scarlet,
Hiding ripe blue berries; and amongst the sage-green leaves
Of the bog-myrtle the golden flowers of the tormentil shining;
And on the small bare places, where the little Blackface sheep
Found grazing, milkworts blue as summer skies;
And down in neglected peat-hags, not worked
Within living memory, sphagnum moss in pastel shades
Of yellow, green, and pink; sundew and butterwort
Waiting with wide-open sticky leaves for their tiny winged prey;
And nodding harebells vying in their colour
With the blue butterflies that poise themselves delicately upon them;
And stunted rowans with harsh dry leaves of glorious colour.
‘Nothing but heather!’ –How marvellously descriptive! And incomplete!
–Hugh MacDiarmid, “Scotland Small?”
When Frances and I were visiting two friends of hers at The Ubiquitous Chip in Glasgow, one of them asked me what I thought of Scotland, and I duffed it. I garbled the answer when I wanted to drag a whole proscenium out of me and shove different actors and actresses out onto it — get a lookalike of myself and shove him out into a crowded Edinburgh kitchen with two couches and shagworm lime green chairs, watch him ask everyone to introduce themselves to him all at once, and explain how — even though he’d been in the UK for less than six hours and in the apartment for less than five minutes — someone who wasn’t Frances already knew he was somewhat allergic to eggs and pointed him in the direction of food he could eat. I wanted him to talk about the American-sized bowl of vegetable curry one could slowly spoon one’s way through at Tchai Ovna while working through an amazing cup of Moroccan Apple and Mint tea, or tell them how there was more than one occasion where people in Scotland couldn’t understand his accent; or how he tried to describe an Edinburgh winter sunset as ‘Cuban light having a yawn’; or how — on the way up to Oban — he saw spread out safari branches of seagulls hovering over a full paddock of sheep, and a rainbow dipped into a West Highland loch. Or how he thought of going over to The Scott Monument and recreating the beginning of Wings of Desire, but with Batman looming adventuresomely and sulkily in it, too.
The Fringe Festival was born when eight theatre troupes showed up invited to The Edinburgh Festival in 1947 and put on shows all the same. Cook’s, Moore’s, and Bennett’s was yet to come. Angela Bartie’s book on the subject, The Edinburgh Festivals, describes reactions to the first festival being akin to reactions to the festival today, i.e., as one singer described it: “Plays and ballets by the finest artists were being performed, literally morning, noon, and night, and hospitality was being showered upon guests and visitors….” In Wesley Shrum’s book on the subject, “The dress rehearsal of Michael Green’s Coarse Acting Show in 1977 was stopped by the police when the neighbors complained of noise, so the rehearsal was continued in mime.” When August rolls around, these are some of the things I’m going to be keeping in the back of my mind.
Work on the show continued apace. Sometimes Frances and I would stumble across an actual headshot of an actual academic, dub him “a calcified wizard,” and then find ourselves unable to do anything for hours, as we were crying with laughter (“You’re a calcified wizard, Harry!”). And sometimes idle thoughts occupied us, like, “Do you think we’d be able to get Diefenbaker from Due South for the show? Could we interview him onstage?” Sometimes we read sentences out loud to each other, like this: “The Vegetable Orchestra (also known as Das erste Wiener Gemüseorchester, The First Vienna Vegetable Orchestra or The Vienna Vegetable Orchestra) is an Austrian musical group who use instruments made entirely from fresh vegetables. They are the world’s foremost exponents of this rare genre” and debate for hours about whether or not we should hire them as an in-house salad and/or band.
It wasn’t August yet. Frances and I sat outside The Scottish Parliament. We’d missed First Minister’s Question Time, but that was more than okay, as we would catch up on it later while making dinner. And over a bowl of miso soup crossed with rice crossed with steamed kale crossed with tuna crossed with soy sauce, we mixed together Black Books, Father Ted, Due South, Dara Ó Briain, Look Around You, old episodes of Mystery Science Theater 3000, and someone running around The Ed Sullivan Theater in a full-body green suit liberally distributing baskets full of peas, and tried to eat that, too.
So it wasn’t August, and I was watching Arthur’s Seat. Arthur’s Seat watched back. I looked back to where I’d seen the MacDiarmid etching and turned round again. “Where to next?” Frances said or I said or someone during the last night of the future show at the end of August said, and we started to giggle, potentially even waking the monk, and, the answer — as answers always do — came.
Tags: edinburgh, edinburgh fringe festival, evan fleischer, scotland, travel, writing
Any other Toasties going up to the Edinburgh Fringe this year?
I can’t really afford it but I expect I’ll go for a couple of days anyway, having successfully talked myself out of going to MachFest this weekend and regretted it!
My company is doing a show there! But sadly I don’t get to go, as I’ll be in Canada with one of our other shows.
I shouldn’t go, but I’m already in the UK for a wedding this August, and my old theatre group will have some floor space, so I can’t imagine not going for a few days.
Edinburgh is definitely the weirdest place I’ve ever been. No matter where you are in the city, you feel like you’re at the bottom of a chasm.
sidenote THE CHIP. WHERE I HAD THE BEST MEAL OF MY LIFE.
Edinburgh is one of my favorite places in the entire world. Last time I was there I went hiking on Arthur’s Seat and didn’t realize the heavens were about to rip open and I got soaked. Fringe has been a dream of mine to attend – maybe someday, I hope.
I had a similar experience and thought it’d be a good idea to hike up in a cotton jacket, shorts, and shoes with no socks. It actually wasn’t terrible but I immediately ran to Tesco afterward and bought the thickest black tights they had, which I promptly changed into at National Museum’s toilets.
This is so vividly alive and wonderful. As much as Edinburgh, however much I might love it, is rather austere (and yes, almost everywhere in it is in a chasm, or at the top of a windblown hill)
Edinburgh is probably my favorite city ever. I went there once when I was supposed to be doing this graduate extension class in England (some class run AT Oxford but BY Indiana Univeristy of Pennsylvania, so the scenery was nice but the class was garbage). I ditched it halfway through and took a bus to Edinburgh.
When I got there I didn’t know what to do, so I hiked up Arthur’s Seat. When I got back down I looked over my shoulder and it was on fire!
I assume that’s not normal, but it was still pretty amazing.
I want to go! *pouts* I’ve never been to Europe, not any portion of it.
I am planning a trip to Edinburgh for this summer, August 23rd through September 6th! I just bought my plane tickets last weekend. Please share your suggestions for cool things to see/places to eat/etc etc! I am thinking I’ll spend a week in the city itself, and then do a tour trip to the Orkneys – this is one I’ve seen that looks good. (I’m bad at planning itineraries/figuring out logistics on my own, so I figure this will help.)
I lived there for six months and my expertise is (cheap) food, since eating is one of my favorite parts of traveling. My favorite Scotland-y restaurant there was Mum’s Kitchen. It’s where I took everyone who visited me- good food at reasonable prices. And I actually liked the haggis!! Other popular foods in the city worth experiencing: Indian food, seafood (so much ocean around them!!), and baked potatoes from a baked potato shop. There was one near Edinburgh University called “Rotato” and literally last week I had a dream about their potatoes.
Hike up Arthur’s Seat and/or Calton Hill if you can. Carlton Hill is a nice quick walk with great views.
I’m not much of a going out person, but if you want a nice low key night out and like jazz, The Jazz Bar will be a good destination.
https://www.edfringe.com/ has a few suggestions!
(Seriously, you’ll be there for the last week of the Fringe; it’s AMAZING, but if you just want to do normal city visiting stuff, maybe switch your weeks around and do the Orkneys first? Hotel rooms are hard to get and more expensive, and it’s hard to express just how crowded the city is.)
There are many great museums, and just walking around both the Old and New Towns is cool.
you should go up arthur’s seat. I’ve lived here for years and I still haven’t bothered because I’m terrible, but I’m assured it’s well worth it!
Go to the modern art gallery for cake (there’s also art there, which is probably good). My favourite bakery is the Manna House, but it’s a bit out of the way on easter road. Madeleine’s in stockbridge does french patisserie and is SO GOOD. If it’s a nice day, head to the beach at portobello. Try to be in edinburgh for the end of festival fireworks, they’re usually good.
For bars, I recommend Tuechters Landing and the Jolly Judge. Have a drink for me.
Mother India’s Cafe was one of the best meals I had in Edinburgh. It’s a lot of small plates, so great for sharing with a group of people. Also seconding the rec for Mum’s.
Definitely hike Arthur’s Seat if you can! The views are really great.
When I went last month, we did a bus tour through a company called the Hairy Coo–for their main tour route, they have a pay-what-you-want policy, which I thought was quite reasonable. (They do charge you a fee if you book a seat and don’t show, and if you show up late they WILL leave without you.) We had one of the owners as our tour guide; he was very cheery and gave an enthusiastic, if somewhat idiosyncratic, overview of Scottish history in between stops.
I don’t if you’ve booked a place to stay but we stayed here and it was really lovely. http://www.hostelworld.com/hosteldetails.php/46-P…
I studied abroad in Italy in college and spent like three days in Edinburgh over my fall break. I had just been in Spain, where it was about 75 degrees and sunny, and arrived in Edinburgh to near-freezing temperatures and driving rain. I promptly came down with a horrific chest cold, and I couldn’t really afford anything because the dollar was majorly sucking ass at the time.
It is still probably my favorite place I’ve ever visited. There was some sort of seriously primal shit going on, because I should have had the worst time and instead I was like “YES PLEASE LET ME MOVE TO THIS BLEAK SUNLESS WITCH CITY.”
Edinburgh is my favorite place in the world. My heart hurts, I want to go back so bad.
Yep. It kills me basically every time I see pictures because I want to live there again soooo badly. Stupid American passport.
Yep. It kills me basically every time I see pictures because I want to live there again soooo badly. Stupid American passport.
I’ve been living in Edinburgh for 12 years. I’m still amazed every single dayby how beautiful everything is. The winters are really rough though.
I shouldn't go, but I'm already in the UK for a wedding this August, and my old theatre group will have some floor space, so I can't imagine not going for a few days.