Stirling, United Kingdom

Just below our apartment in the Grassmarket (I wonder if they sold grass at the Grassmarket) there is a therapeutic cat cafe. Looking through the window (it costs 7 pounds to enter) it is clear that this is place is cat’s heaven – for those who love cats and for the cats themselves. Soft carpets, scratch poles, hanging baskets, even a laptop computer left open so that the cats can sit on the keyboard (as cats do). Humans may visit, with no guarantee that any cat will acknowledge the visitor. A voluptuous, white, regal looking long haired, fluffed collar blue eyed long whiskered inhabitant lies spread out in the window, ignoring the crazy world going past the window. A young, stripey, very ordinary looking kitten runs through the playground in and out of hiding places entertaining itself. A sphinx like, tiny, hairless sickly looking (which I am sure it is not) rare breed curls up in front of a heater. The poor thing looks desperately naked. The cat cafe is but one of the quirky Edinburgh traits that make it such a wonderful city. Others include lots of tours around witchcraft and ghosts and dead people. The city is beautifully preserved with an eclectic mix of architectural styles – least of which is the parliament buildings designed by a Spanish architect who was obviously influenced by Gaudi (or under the influence of some hallucinogenic substance). I find it interesting that they choose something so quirky for such a serious place, and cannot help wonder if that is part of the reason why the English do not take the Scots seriously. On that note, spending time in Edinburgh and meeting more Scottish people we are struck by their friendliness time and time again. On Saturday we decide to go down to Leith (just outside the city) to a local food and craft beer market. Like the Biscuit Mill in Cape Town, it is in a semi industrial area in the backyard of what once was a biscuit mill! Much smaller than the one in Cape Town, it has a very unpretentious atmosphere (unlike the one in CT), quirky live band playing country music, and jam packed with locals enjoying some great grub. We are chatted up by Mike and Pauline, couple who live outside of Edinburgh and also came to the market for the day. Very soon we are sharing laughs and an electronic cigarette with – wait for it – FRUIT LOOPS AND MILK flavoured vaporizer oil in it! (The electronic cigarette market is booming in the UK). Several beers and some lamb chops and crab salad later, we head off to another pub along the waterfront in Leith. Once the hangout place for prostitutes, Leith is now the new yuppie place to be seen with expensive apartments and pretentious shops. Our new friends are extremely friendly and funny (even though we only understand every third or fourth sentence of the wonderful Scottish accent). Of course the copious gallons of beer that is consumed does not help the articulation (or the walking along cobblestones for that matter). Not quite knowing how we got ourselves into this situation, or how we are going to get out of it again, we make a dash for it when other friends of Mike and Pauline arrive, knowing that if we did not do it at that point the night would have ended in the early hours of the morning. On Sunday we visit the Scottish Portrait Gallery in Queen Street, a magnificent building with strong Moorish influences. Most of the paintings are old masters – pale anemic looking individuals with very bad hair in poses that look as if they might be double jointed. Hunting scenes and landscapes reminiscent of the dullness of the summer weather in the UK, obesely overweight babies with marble white skin and rosy cheeks. All much of a muchness, and what would have made for a deadly boring afternoon if it was not for the photographic exhibition. Winners of some national competition, some striking portrait photographs that cuts to the chase of the full spectrum of human emotions. Again South Africa is also part of the world stage with two striking photographs of children by photographer Pieter Hugo. Born in 1976, living in Cape Town he works primarily in portraiture focussing on African communities. (Worth a google – his photographs are very touching!) Sunday afternoon is spent in the company of Kerry Donaldson, a friend from my UCT days, who now lives in Scotland with her husband Steve and two kids Harry and Alex. Steve spoils us with a braai (can’t believe how we miss braaing…), lots of Prosecco and red wine and really great company! We spend half an hour (the sum total of summer) outside in the garden before it starts raining again. Clearly people here are not put out by the rain, as the braai continues with great success. The party is joined by Wendy, like Kerry in the legal profession, and we have more of the true Scottish humour and hospitality. And get a sense of how different – and the same – lives are in Scotland and South Africa. Poor Harry and Alex wish for a country with less rain and more sunshine. We wish for a country with less violence and corruption. Everything comes at a price. Our last evening is spent recovering from too much food and wine lazing on the couches, reading and listening to Radio 4 (the reception on the television is too bad for Radio 3). Both channels have wonderful classical music and educational programs on music. Today we leave Edinburgh for our last three days in London. Packing is bloody nerve wrecking – in spite of all our good intentions we end up accumulating more and more stuff. The by now already irritating top hat, Stirling the bear, about ten new books, two great tea towels, our pillows and sheets that had to come along, a bottle of Scottish liqueur and a box of very special chocolates (thanks Kerry and Steve) and just as well we bought two new suitcases yesterday. We order an Uber to take us to the station, as I have to go back to Stirling University to talk about a PhD. (Bloody insane, I know). The uber parks across the road from us (it is pouring with rain). I run across the road in my top hat, wave madly at him and he pulls away to what I would assume is making a u-turn to pick us up. He then turns around and drive past us. When he comes back again, I run (in the pouring rain with my top hat) to knock on his window and show him where we are. He gets the fright of his life (must be the beard and the befokte expression on my face), I tell him we are waiting right behind him, and he pulls off again, to what I would assume would be another U-turn to now come and pick us up. And that was the last time we saw him. Needless to say uber charged me for the ride that WE missed. But thankfully they reversed the charges immediately after I sent a complaint. Stirling has a “virtual dementia centre” showing the best in design and technology for people living with dementia, something that perhaps 0.5% of the world population of people living with dementia would ever be able to access (or afford). The conversation with Drs. Jane Robertson and Louise McCabe confirms that I have a good topic, and that it fits well with the universities’ philosophy of exploring less convential discourses in research. So now for a last food meal in Edinburgh and then the overnight train to London…