The artistry of Edinburgh

The wee lad -- not more than 8 years old -- caught my eye. In kilt and tam, huffing on his bagpipe, he charmed onlookers on the Royal Mile, a cobblestone thoroughfare stuffed with musicians, acrobats, jugglers, silent human statues and brash hustlers hawking their shows in the Festival Fringe. As if this street needed further adornment, colors tumble from woolen yarn shops and pubs spill their human scenery onto the sidewalk. If there was nothing more to do than walk down the hill and breathe in the scene, Edinburgh would be worth the effort.

The Fringe, though, is but a piece of Edinburgh's singularly cultural summer. I was in town for the International Festival of music, dance and theater -- which long ago spawned the Fringe. There was also the Book Festival to visit in Charlotte Square and the Military Tattoo up in Edinburgh Castle. From June through mid-September, several million tourists descend on this lovely Scottish city for a cycle of spring and summer festivals centering on the arts.

"There are people who flee for the countryside when the festivals start, and there are people who love it and plunge in," said Rhoda MacKenzie, a Minnesota native who has lived in Edinburgh since 1971. She counts herself among the latter.

In my two nights at Edinburgh, I heard the Minnesota Orchestra in Usher Hall and watched Meredith Monk Dance Troupe at the Royal Lyceum Theatre. I caught a couple of small shows in the Festival Fringe (the world's oldest and largest), browsed the Book Fair and jumped into the current of pulsing street performers and traditional Scottish shops that flow along the Royal Mile. The stern visage of Adam Smith peers down on the street, and one wonders if the father of capitalism might be smiling at the frivolous horde exercising its free-market rights and filling the pubs, the craft shops, the squares and side streets.

When the urban thrum became a tad much, a city bus took me to the foot of the Pentland Hills and soon I was alone on a hilltop, deafened by the quiet.

Edinburgh has a distinct Nordic cock to its tam -- clean, cobbly streets that jut around medieval architecture dense with history, an intimacy with the sea and a constant whiff of brisk, fresh air.

"It's a city so laden in history and people," said Mackenzie, sipping coffee before catching her home-state orchestra in concert. "When Garrison Keillor was here, he said he comes from a place about the same population as Scotland, with two cities -- neither of which waste much affection on the other -- and the kind of climate that keeps out the riffraff."

That describes Scotland.

Walking is easy

After chasing around London for three days, Edinburgh felt like a trip to the country, even though it has 600,000 vigorous souls. If you are fresh to the city and need to set your bearings, look up. From almost any vantage point, your gaze will rest on Edinburgh Castle, an imposing fortress etched on a hilltop, a stone's throw from the epicenter of the Edinburgh International Festival, the Festival Fringe and in season the Military Tattoo -- a pageant of bands and drum corps.

For breakfast, I ducked into the Deacon House Cafe, named for notorious thief Deacon Brodie, immortalized by Robert Louis Stevenson in the 1885 ballad. After a bacon double-egger and coffee, it was time to stretch my legs through the real-life carnival on the Royal Mile. Reuben Dot Dot Dot was working at West Parliament Square, drawing about 200 curious folks. An acrobat originally from Melbourne, Australia, Reuben worked with Cirque du Soleil and now lives in London. At the Fringe, he does at least one show a day.

"They run a beautiful festival. It's the only thing like it in the world," he said while packing up his guy wires and balancing posts. "I've been working the streets for a long time."

How much does he make, when he passes the hat at the end of the show?

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you," he says. "You really can't talk about that."

Any surefooted tourist should make a zigzag descent through the gorgeous West Princes Street Gardens, which embrace the Royal Scottish Academy and the National Galleries, the Sir Walter Scott Memorial, which boasts a 360-degree view of Edinburgh and beyond from the top of a tall steeple, and the elegant churches of St. John's and St. Cuthbert's. I headed a few blocks to Charlotte Park, a charming green space that hosts the Edinburgh Book Festival, a 17-day event that recognizes Scotland's prime role in the history of literature. Last year, 750 authors from more than 50 countries were represented, including 10 of the 13 authors listed for the Booker Prize.

"There's an interest in nurturing talent," said Frances Sutton, a press representative at the festival. "Salman Rushdie read here when he was unknown. J.K. Rowling read her first Harry Potter book here to about 30 people."

Not so in 2006, when Rowling returned to read her fifth book in the series. A lottery was needed to allocate tickets to the 570-seat theater on the park grounds. For a browser, the festival is like a state fair of books. You take it at any pace you wish.

Get out of town

As comfortable as the city is, the nearby hills called shortly after midday. Thanks to a great transit system, the No. 10 bus will take you within a short walk of Bonaly Country Park and the Pentland Hills. A city bus is always a grand way to take your own unguided tour -- not through touristy attractions, but through economically diverse neighborhoods redolent of real life. We passed both Starbucks and Savebucks coffee shops, the guest houses on Polwarth Crescent, Edinburgh Napier University, the Royal Scots Brigade at the Redford Infantry Barracks and up Bonaly Road to a small convenience store where the driver announced we were at the end of the route.

"Catch the bus back into town here," the driver said.

For the next 90 minutes, it was just me and nature -- and a few German tourists lunching in the park.

The Scottish hills really are as lovely and accessible as they appear in photos. Sturdy shoes and strong lungs are all you need to hike the paths through woods and above to hilltops thick with heather. "Keep your dogs tightly leashed," reads a sign along the path, warning that a nearby farmer will take action if mutts disturb his grazing sheep. Torphin Golf Club, one of the seemingly countless links around town, beckoned from a distant hillside. Maybe next time.

After a late lunch, it was time to visit a Fringe show. Called the Festival Fringe -- because it grew up on the fringes of the more prestigious International Festival -- this event dates to 1947 and routinely draws more than 15,000 performers. Quite often that number includes Minnesotans. I didn't search very hard for local acts mostly because it would have been akin to the proverbial needle in a haystack.

"The Festival Fringe is everywhere," Mackenzie said. "You will find a gents' toilet with a festival event in it."

Young English actors did a fine job with Margaret Edson's "Wit." But I felt the Fringe vibe, from the audible coughs backstage, to the thumping bass line coming from a production of "Grease" ("Tell me more, tell me more, did you get very far?") elsewhere in the building. Still, the five other people in the audience and I liked it.

The sun was showing its late August effect as I walked back down the hill toward my hotel. The Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra was playing at Royal Usher Hall and Meredith Monk was next door at the Lyceum. Having witnessed the Minnesota Orchestra the night before, I decided to catch some dance. But the point is, that's a pretty impressive choice to be able to make.

And none of this includes the countryside tours, the trips you can take up into the Orkneys or the Shetlands. "Up north," as the Scots call it. The festivals brand this lovely city as a major artistic player, a destination worth the trip.

Graydon Royce • 612-673-7299