There's still a holidayish, between-lives feeling to things, even for us whose whole lives, potentially, are holidays. Yesterday we took ourselves for a walk in the New Town (as we still call it, though it was begun in 1760), just down from the main shopping streets. I always try to imagine what it was like before there were cars. It must have been stunningly beautiful. Though I suppose there would have been carriages and lots of horse droppings around the place.
The ground slopes down towards the sea, with views over to the other side.
Here's a lane down to Stockbridge. Edinburgh's a hilly place.
The streets are wide and there's little traffic. Mr L was slightly anxious about my standing in the middle of the road. However, nothing came along.
Behind the houses built for the rich there are mews, originally stabling for the horses and rooms for the servants who looked after them. Now these are houses, offices and garages. I love the way that people make tiny gardens by lifting occasional paving slabs. You wouldn't think this was a ten-minute (uphill) walk from the main street of a capital city.
There's that chap again; the one I'm stalking.
There are lots of private gardens in the middle of crescents and squares, such as this one.
You can get a key only if you live in the adjacent street. As can your dog.
And then we walked, puffing somewhat, back up to Princes Street. On the way, we looked into Queen Street Gardens - again, for resident keyholders only (and their dogs).
Raise your eyes and you get a carless view of the Georgian architecture. Once this sandstone was golden, though it's dirtied down over the years.
We tend to take living in Edinburgh for granted. But for a city, it's a lovely place.
