The Good, the Bad, and the Grubby.

We have been in Scotland for a month and ten days now, and are therefore as expert as we are ever likely to be on the subject of this fair land and the great city of Edinburgh. I suspect that as we stay longer, our black and white opinions are likely to soften into shades of grey, so let's get them down while we can still be opinionated about everything.

We love the sense of history and caring for history that pervades almost everything. So many of the buildings are old, and have been adapted for various uses through the centuries. In the land of the brave and the home of the free they would have been torn down and something new built in their place, probably several times over the past few centuries. This may well be a more economical approach, but there is a love of the past here - so many of the elderly buildings have cleanish stone walls and at least semi-translucent windows; keeping them clean is, we suspect neither easy nor cheap, but may well be a labour of love..

The streets, on the other hand, are narrow, crowded and littered. The traffic is rather well behaved overall, so everybody eventually manages to get where they are heading for, even though not quite as expeditiously as they might like.  The traffic circles (they call them roundabouts, but my old South African habits die hard) are a marvel at keeping traffic moving, though it sometimes takes quite a while to get into the circle. What upsets me is the litter. When we spent a couple of days in Paris a few years ago, it took me a while to realise that the ubiquitous greyish blotches that covered the streets wherever one looked - almost round spots, mostly one to two inches in diameter and mostly about four inches apart, that covered the roads, sidewalks and parking lots wherever one looked, were actually discarded and trampled lumps of chewing gum. Well, they are not quite as common in Scotland - some of the chewing gum spots are as much as 12 inches apart. They are still GROSS, though.  There is generally too much litter for my taste. Of course, to be fair, any litter at all is too much for my taste. It hurts to travel out into the beautiful green countryside, with flocks of white or brown or black sheep, (or ships if you prefer) grazing away, and the hedgerows festooned with blown about bits of grocery bag and the verges liberally sprinkled with beer cans and various containers.

Talking of ships (the sailing kind, not the kind that go 'Baaa') here is a picture of Louise at the Ship Inn in Melrose, showing what happens when there is not enough room for pavement (sidewalk) as well as for road.

That tiny bit by her toes is what is left of the pavement. there isn't room for road and pavement so the pavement shrinks to nothing. How, I hear you ask, do pedestrians and mothers pushing babies deal with this? Well, carefully and stepping into the road as necessary. Also cars go in both directions along this road, but not at the same time. Everybody just patiently takes turns.

On the grubby side, there is more litter around than even Richard can pick up, and he is a picker up of litter par excellence! I help, but he is the pro. One of the problems is, once you have picked it up, what are you supposed to do with it?. There are a few trashcans (rubbish bins) in public places, but whereas in Provo you can just pop a piece of stray litter into a neighbor's (or stranger's) trashcan as you walk along the road, here the trashcans are fitted with serious locks, and are mostly kept locked. I don't know if this is to protect the contents from squirrels or the space from the neighbors.

On the brighter side there are wonderful views of the country. Down in the Border area, near Galashiels is a place that Sir Walter Scott was rumoured to linger and gaze. The story is told that at his funeral, (the cortege being over a mile long) the horses stopped right there for a few minutes on the way to the cemetery. Looking out over the valley you can see why men and horses might wish to pause.

We are still very much enjoying the food. We are back in the land of golden syrup, amongst other things. When we were children there was cheap, local Illovo syrup in big red tins, and super expensive "By Appointment to her Majesty, the Queen" Lyles golden syrup in tiny, refined green and gold tins. It was little disconcerting to see this, in that most American of stores, Costco:

Yes, that's Lyles, but in huge catering quantities. With proper respect for tradition, not to mention appetite, we went to a more refined supermarket and bought one of the little tins.

Talking of local flavours we also found potato crisps, or what Americans would call chips, in interesting flavours too:

I can easily see the bacon ones being popular in other markets, but not perhaps the haggis ones.

Tonight we roasted a mixture of carrots, parsnips, tiny potatoes, leeks, red pepper, some celery and mushrooms, and a little zucchini in a hot oven, and thoroughly enjoyed the results. It made rather a lot, even using just one carrot, one leek, etc, but there were no leftovers. We usually are quite tired when we get home, but were determined to cook the veggies because we had intended to prepare them for Sunday dinner and then were not hungry - something to do with getting home from church  at about 3 pm after five hours away, and having a substantial snack at that time.

For the next two Sundays, btw, our ward, Dalkeith, will be starting with priesthood and Relief Society and ending with sacrament meeting and then a feast. Next Sunday is a missionary homecoming and the following week is a baby blessing with lots of guests expected. We have all been invited to bring food, and the bishop warned us to start our fast early so we can end it at the munch and mingle after church. It's a nice way to cater the celebrations without too much stress on the individual families.

I wish to comment on cooking with gas. For years I dreamed of cooking with gas instead of electricity (stovetop, that is) and finally, about eight years ago, Richard said, "let's pipe gas to the kitchen and get you that gas cooktop you want." I instantly retreated to the Internet, and after a few hours of research said, "Hold the gas! I want induction." For the past eight years or so I have used an induction cooktop, always with the attitude that, while induction is perfectly wonderful, gas is only a little less wonderful. Well, I was wrong.  Gas is better than straight electric, but is not a patch on induction. The speed of response and accuracy of induction cooking have been brought home to me these last few weeks that I have been without it. If any of you are thinking of changing your cooktop, do some careful investigation before you make your choice.