The View From Arthur’s Seat
On Tuesday, Nateene, Fernando, and I climbed up Arthur’s Seat. For those of you from Tucson, it’s kind of like Sabino Canyon. For those of you from Amherst, it’s kind of like Norwottuck and the Holyoke Range. Actually, it’s not really like either of those places. Arthur’s seat overlooks Edinburgh, and you can walk directly into its park from the Scottish Parliament, or from the University of Edinburgh dorms. It would be kind of like if there was a mountain and crags in place of Boston Common (at least thinking in terms of a comparable urban area).
Fernando goes up fairly frequently, so he showed us how to get there easily on foot. It turns out that it’s better to get up the mountain from the dorms than from parliament, as it saves the effort of an additional hike. Here’s a picture of Fernando and me in back of Pollack Halls, in the midst of the best weather we’ve had so far.
Just because it was a beautiful day in Edinburgh doesn’t mean the wind went away. Especially around the highest point in the area. Here’s Fernando at the top, being windblown and chilly.
Here’s a picture of Nateene at the top, being windblown and chilly. She was also hanging on for dear life. The disc gives distances and directions to assorted landmarks visible from the peak. It was such a clear day that we were able to find just about everything in view.
And here’s a picture of me. I wasn’t so chilly, for some reason.
Arthur’s Seat has been around long enough, and the top gets enough wind, for there to be nothing but exposed rock at the top. Then again, most of the slopes of the park look like they’ve been mowed. There isn’t the most vibrant collection of vegetation. The view of Edinburgh from all that rock, though, is spectacular.
Here’s a more detailed shot of the old town, including Edinburgh Castle.
The sea and more of Edinburgh is visible from the other side. Just out of the shot on the bottom left is Holyrood Palace and the Scottish Parliament.
Here’s a picture of Fernando and me on the way back down. I found a Scottish flag near the top, and Fernando wanted to bring it back as a souvenir. So we decided to have a few shots of us as explorers.
Winding around the back of Arthur’s Seat, on the way down, we caught good views of a couple golf courses. The view probably couldn’t have been more Scottish, unless there was a great big Haggis pudding smeared on the lens.
Our Trip South to the Shire
Nateene and I returned to Edinburgh last night after spending five days traveling in Shropshire, England. We went down to visit our friend and flatmate, Celia, at her home in Shrewsbury. I had never expected to visit the middle of England before coming here for school, but the Shire is full of beautiful country, good people, and magnificent stained glass. And despite the warnings of the BBC, we even lucked out on the weather!
We left on a train from Edinburgh to Crewe (located in the Northwest of England), and then from took a shorter ride in to Shrewsbury. The weather held all the way down, allowing for great views of wide green spaces, sheep, and the occasional snow-capped hill in the distance.
Due to reflections in the glass, there were also the occasional Lion King moments. Most of the time the reflections were of Nateene and her camera, but we had a few with other passengers or more abstract shapes.
When we got to Shrewsbury, we met Celia at the train station. Her mother, Susie, had made toad-in-the-hole (we’ll post the recipe another time) for dinner. After delicious sausage pastry casserole, we headed into Shrewsbury to the Armory for a drink and a wander. At the Armory, I tried a pint of Shropshire Lad. I initially thought it was Shropshire lag, which I didn’t make much sense (it being an ale and not a lager). Later, Susie informed me that I would probably be killed if I referred to it as Shropshire Lager instead of Shropshire Lag. They’re very big on “real ale” in Shropshire, apparently.
The next day we headed out to see a world heritage site I hadn’t previously heard of, Iron Bridge. It has a very appropriate appellation, as you can see.
That’s Celia, making the face for, “Holy Shit! An Iron Bridge!” Unlike many lesser bridges that are constructed from iron for the mere purpose of transportation, Iron Bridge was the first bridge made from cast iron in the world.
Iron.
Here’s our batch of feet stepping on the very sturdy structure.
The area around Iron Bridge is beautiful. The bridge spans a small portion of Ironbridge Gorge, gouged out long before the industrial revolution courtesy of the River Severn. The river has played a primary role in the history of the region, and was central to why the Roman’s built their fourth-largest city nearby at Wroxeter. According to Susie, “the idea of Wroxeter is more exciting than the place, itself”, but Nateene and I had to get our ruins on. It was a great way to follow up the view, the bridge, and the gargantuan pub lunch that we had in the small town in the gorge.
Here’s a photo of Nateene standing with a bath house wall that’s well on its way towards passing two thousand years in the same spot. The large wall behind her is one of the tallest surviving Roman walls in England.
I decided that some poolside relaxation was in order. Never mind that the Romans themselves probably drained it after a limited period of use. It can be a little chilly for outdoor swimming in Shropshire.
We spent some time with Celia in Shrewbury the next day, and a wonderful dinner that night with some of Susie’s friends. Then, Celia was off to Romania and we were off to check out the glass. Susie had recommended we check out St. Mary’s, no longer in use but still consecrated, and my mom had been enthusiastic about the Shrewsbury abbey. As the town is mostly situated on and around a hill by the river Severn, it was easy to get to both.
St. Mary’s from the entrance. The stained glass is amazing, especially directly in back of the altar.
Shrewsbury Abbey is older than St. Mary’s cathedral by a few hundred years, but has had to endure a lot more.
After that, we had to get on the six hour train ride home. Because we left in the dark, we didn’t take any returning photos of the countryside. The only light we had would have allowed pictures of Wolverhampton… but you don’t want pictures of Wolverhampton. This portrait of us on the train is a much prettier picture.
A haggis recipe for you!
Ingredients:
Set of sheep’s heart, lungs and liver (cleaned by a butcher)
One beef bung
3 cups finely chopped suet
One cup medium ground oatmeal
Two medium onions, finely chopped
One cup beef stock
One teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon pepper
One teaspoon nutmeg
½ teaspoon mace
Method:
Trim off any excess fat and sinew from the sheep’s intestine and, if present, discard the windpipe. Place in a large pan, cover with water and bring to the boil. Reduce the heat and simmer for an hour or possibly longer to ensure that they are all tender. Drain and cool.
Some chefs toast the oatmeal in an oven until it is thoroughly dried out (but not browned or burnt!)
Finely chop the meat and combine in a large bowl with the suet, oatmeal, finely chopped onions, beef stock, salt, pepper, nutmeg and mace. Make sure the ingredients are mixed well. Stuff the meat and spices mixture into the beef bung which should be over half full. Then press out the air and tie the open ends tightly with string. Make sure that you leave room for the mixture to expand or else it may burst while cooking. If it looks as though it may do that, prick with a sharp needle to reduce the pressure.
Place in a pot and cover with water. Bring to the boil and immediately reduce the heat and simmer, covered, for three hours. Avoid boiling vigorously to avoid bursting the skin.
Serve hot with “champit tatties and bashit neeps” (mashed/creamed potato and turnip/swede). For added flavor, you can add some nutmeg to the potatoes and allspice to the turnip/swede. Some people like to pour a little whiskey over their haggis – Drambuie is even better! Don’t go overboard on this or you’ll make the haggis cold!
-Nateene and Don
rampantscotland.com, crispywaffle.com, sausages.co.uk
Read Along With Don!
Getting the reading here can be a little difficult, as whether to put essays online is at the professor’s discretion. I understand the Art History department, at least in the case of one of Nateene’s professors, runs on a sort of totalitarian communist system. In her case, the professor required that each student sign up for a day to go and scan in the readings for all to enjoy.
Most of my professors are not that together. My philosophy of science professor, Alasdair Richmond, is good enough to have a box of photocopies in the philosophy department so that we don’t have to go to the reserve section of the library to make copies there, but he’s the only one. This weekend, though, I’ve been able to find most of my readings online! And so, if you want to read what I’m reading this weekend, feel free to download some .pdfs.
For Advanced Topics in Philosophy of Science:
Phillip Kitcher, “Genes” on JSTOR
Griffiths, P. and Gray, R.D. “Developmental Systems and Evolutionary Explanation” also on JSTOR
For Advanced Topics in Mind, Language, and Embodied Cognition:
Proust, Joelle, “How Voluntary are Minimal Actions?”
Bayne, T. and Levy, N. “Awareness of Agency: Three Levels of Analysis”
Wegner, D. and Wheatley, T. “Apparent Mental Causation: Sources of the Experience of the Will”
Today is going to be fun times. Enjoy!
About Haggis…
… we tried it. It was pretty good. We’ll probably have it again.
There may be more on this later.
-Don and Nateene
On Eating Sushi in a Foreign Country
We’ve had our favorite food, sushi, in Edinburgh, and we brought friends. They had never had sushi before, but were up for (and genuinely enjoyed) everything. In my view, this reflects positively on the state of the world. Things are looking up.
Then again, sushi is a mood elevator par excellence.
As part of the experience, I have a few new rules to follow when eating sushi in a foreign country. This shouldn’t be taken as advice for eating sushi in a place other than America; I intend the following rules to hold for any sushi lover trying a restaurant away from their usual haunt.
Rule 1) Find out what fish is farmed nearby, then order it as sushi. If it’s a small country (and the UK qualifies as small), fish from the whole of the country can be considered “nearby”. If it’s a larger country, think about what is available regionally.
A trip to the grocery can be very informative. One of the things I’m liking best about shopping at a supermarket in Scotland is that all foods, somewhere on their label, list the country of origin. For the UK, the primary farmed fish seems to be salmon. Other types of cold water fish are also caught in regional waters.
Rule 2) Find out what fish is imported from a far away place, then don’t order it as sushi. The tuna we’ve had here was from the Maldives. We didn’t apply this rule soon enough, and had tuna sashimi. It wasn’t very fresh, because (presumably) it was shipped in from somewhere far to the south of here.
Rule 3) Don’t eat what is particularly rare. This rule should be generally applied when eating any fish at all. Again, ordering tuna was probably a mistake. Some tuna is only wild caught and rapidly declining in numbers. Not only does eating such fish have ethical implications, it is also generally true that the less there is of something the more likely it is that it has to be imported. In that case, rule 2 kicks in. The Monterey Bay Aquarium publishes an annual guide to help seafood fans stay current on fish populations.
Next to that, the usual internet surfing for reviews of local restaurants are always a good place to look, as is any local food guide.
To sum up: Sushi in a foreign country is a good thing. Salmon sushi in the UK is also a good thing. Tuna sushi in the UK is not such a good thing. And with the rules we’ve discovered having sushi here, hopefully we can fill in the blanks for what sushi is good in other places around the world.
-Don and Nateene
Sunlight!
Hello! This is mostly a celebratory photo post. Today was one of the rarer sun-filled days in Edinburgh, so Don and I decided to go out be sponges. Or at least to reawaken some of the hibernating melanin in our bodies.
Our stroll took us along the Grassmarket, which led us into an amazing vintage store called Armstrong’s.
After trying on hats and coveting old things that we could not afford we walked back to Tollcross and picked up a few supplies from the Chinese grocery store and discovered a restaurant (also Chinese) that offered a 15% student discount. We took them up on their offer and had fried duck and king prawn in a chili-honey sauce with green peppers over noodles. After that we walked home through the Meadows where we ran into numerous other sponges. It was lovely.
-Nateene
Shrove Tuesday
It is the day of preparation for Lent, when the eating pancakes was made obvious by the need to up the eggs and fat, the eating of which were prohibited during the forty days of Lent.
Pancake races
Holding Pancake races is a tradition in the UK which dates back at least to the 1400s and are practiced in villages and towns throughout the country. It is thought to have originated when a housewife heard the church bells ringing for service whilst in the process of making her pancakes, so she ran out of the house still carrying her frying pan and pancake.
Nowadays, contestants have to carry a frying pan, complete with pancake, and race to the finishing line tossing the pancake a number of times throughout the race. The winner is the one who gets to the end first having constantly tossed their pancake.
-Nateene
recipes4us.co.uk blogs.guardian.co.uk
The Edinburgh Farmers Market and Tollcross
We went exploring today. Through rain, wind, sleet, and oddly rounded pieces of snow, we headed west. We’ve been at least a small distance in the other cardinal directions, after all, and we had found out that the closest thing Edinburgh has to a Chinatown lies at an intersection of five roads, called Tollcross, to the southwest. The first destination in a westerly direction, however, was the farmer’s market. And so we started our morning out walking down the Cowgate to Grassmarket, and then took a winding path up some stairs to the castle terrace.
That’s right. The Edinburgh Farmer’s Market meets directly below the castle. I’ve been to a few farmer’s markets—the ones in Tucson and Amherst, of course, one in Chicago, and ones in Cambridge and Somerville outside of Boston. They all have a lot in common; Good people, good food, and the heart-wrenching choice of deciding whether you want to purchase organic cheese from the stall with the guy with the long beard or the stall being staffed by the woman with the sun hat. They meet in suburban parking lots, at their own swap-meet-like grounds, and frequently on the sort of road that is regularly cleared of traffic for street events. I’ve never been to one that convened directly below a castle. It was delicious. We had a lamb burger, an ostrich burger, and chips that were made in front of us by a really friendly Scotsman who was intrigued by Nateene’s raccoon hat and wondered at length if we had ever eaten Armadillo. We also bought one jar of blackcurrant jelly, one of raspberry, and some locally grown onions to take home. We put off the decision regarding the cheese until next week.
After finding directions to Tollcross from a guy selling fresh shellfish and smoked haddock, we headed south. We were to take a right, and a left, and then another right, and go past a strip club… you know (and here, the man made a brief, clothes-flinging gesture), a strip club, and then keep left, and we would be there. It had started to snow, so we ducked into a bookshop and a few vintage stores between the planned destinations.
Tollcross itself seemed like a pretty friendly neighborhood. There was a Chinese grocery that was a little better stocked and definitely less cramped than the one we’ve been frequenting near George Square and the University. There were also a couple less expensive Chinese restaurants, two theatres (well, one cinema and one actual theatre), and a bunch of cafes and pubs and other stores. We also stopped into an Indian boutique, completing the trifecta of commonwealth languages by hearing some Hindi (we had been speaking English all day, and the people in the Chinese grocery were comfortable with Cantonese). The skyline seems like it opens up a little bit to the west of there, with buildings that are only three or four stories instead of five or six.
After that, we took a different route back towards Bristo Square (where the University Student center is located, just south of where we live and just north of George Square). Along the way, we passed an old, abandoned church, a school that resembled a smaller version of the castle and was on a hill that afforded a clear view of the same castle in the background), and some other sights. Heading to the west really panned out—the way winds just enough to obscure the batch of sights waiting just around the corner.
