Autumn colors in Scotland

Okay, okay, it's no longer autumn. I get it. It's the winter solstice, and I've dawdled too long on collecting all these photos for a post.

And now we're all in the mode for winter and the holidays. It's time for pictures of snow, colorful decorations, beautiful families gathered 'round a roaring hearth.

Too bad, dagnabbit. These are some pretty pictures, and that's what counts, right?

We had a fairly cold and wet summer in Scotland, followed by a relatively warm and sunny autumn. According to the never-wrong internets, these are good conditions for a colorful fall display. Where the autumn colors on America's east coast tend to get a dazzling fall display, the usual colors in Scotland seem drab by comparison.

Not this year.

Abbotsford, the home of Sir Walter Scott.

Generally, in the Scottish lowlands the leaves don't start to change colors until late September. Many trees don't give a hint of turning until well into October. Here's a waterfall on the River Clyde, the Corra Linn (in Scots, "linn" means waterfall), and the nearby UNESCO World Heritage site of New Lanark, at the end of September:

The Corra Linn falls, at 84 feet, rank as Scotland's fourth highest.

New Lanark, a UNESCO World Heritage site, is just a short distance downstream from the Corra Linn waterfall.

I mentioned we enjoyed a healthy dollop of sunshine this fall. Here was a sunny day in Edinburgh in mid-October:

Not every autumn in Scotland gets much blue sky. But this year blue skies made some starring appearances, like this day over Arthur's Seat in Edinburgh.

A vibrant day around Craigmillar Castle in Edinburgh.

And of course our autumn showcased a smorgasbord of color:

I loved the contrast of Abbotsford's gray walls with the color-dripping flora surrounding it.

I shot this glorious sunset from our house in Glasgow.

Without many trees, the ground cover in Glencoe takes on a starring role.

Kate organized the British Society of Veterinary Pathology's annual meeting, and snagged her former professor from NC State as the headliner. His visit was a great excuse to take one last jaunt into Glencoe — here at the Three Sisters — and the highlands before we moved to Bristol.

As you can see, not every day was sunny with blue skies. Gray, cloudy, and ominous are more frequent autumn descriptors. One day in October, I tried to visit Inchmahome Priory, a ruin on an island in the middle of the Lake of Monteith. (Incidentally, here's a great trivia question for you: What is the only lake in Scotland? The Lake of Monteith. Everything else is called a loch.) It was so foggy that the boats wouldn't take me to the priory. I had to come back later in the week.

Fog, like here at the Lake of Monteith, is a regular morning feature of Scottish autumn mornings.

Never fear, however. Blue skies made sure to blast through on other mornings:

Dunfermline Abbey holds the tomb of Robert the Bruce. Note the "King Robert" carved into the central tower.

Melrose Abbey, one of the glorious Border Abbey ruins, is gorgeous at any time of year. But I think it's at its best in autumn. Take a gander at the fall colors around the abbey:

Melrose Abbey with scattered autumn leaves.

Kate and Jackson share a giggle on the abbey's grounds.

Fall colors surround Melrose Abbey.

One of Edinburgh's best places for autumn leaves is the Princes Street Gardens, which provides a buffer between Edinburgh's Old Town and New Town. I strolled through at the tail end of October, a bit after the fall peak but nonetheless still vivid:

Above the gardens looms the Royal Mile, with the tower of St. Giles' Cathedral piercing the skyline.

A section of Edinburgh Castle peeks through the fall foliage.

In early November, I made a last few excursions around Glasgow before we moved to Bristol. These final two photos I took with my old iPhone:

Colorful trees surround the River Kelvin in Glasgow. By this point of fall, we had used up all our blue sky.

I love the rich color of the Kelvingrove Museum, especially in autumn.

And that was our third and final autumn in Scotland, definitely the most colorful of the three. While I'm looking forward to new places to explore here in southwestern England, I'm bittersweet about leaving beloved Scotland behind.

It'll be hard for next autumn to compete.

Spine-tingling tales from Scotland

Scotland delights in its tales of misery, mystery, and misfortune. Some tales are historical, like the 15th century "Black Dinner" which inspired Games of Thrones' famous "Red Wedding." Some are mythical, such as the elusive Loch Ness Monster or the dangerous kelpies. Others are fictional, like the Gruffalo.

And some are ghostly and macabre. Trickster faeries. Cutty Sark and the hellish legions. Damn near any Scottish castle worthy of its name has at least one ghost. You might spot the Pink Lady of Stirling, the harpist of Inverary, the handless ghost of Cawdor, a pacing William Wallace at Ardrossan, or perhaps Moaning Myrtle of Hogwarts.

Last year, I collected a few of my favorite stories. As Halloween approaches this year, here are some Scottish tales to get your spine tingling:

 
    Old Man of Storr and the faerie king




 
         Tam o' Shanter and the Brig o' Doon





 
    The ghost piper of Edinburgh Castle




 
         The devil plays cards at Glamis Castle

Monday Exposure: The ghost piper of Edinburgh Castle

Torches blaze in front of the gatehouse of Edinburgh Castle.

It was already disquieting to toil below the castle amidst the dolerite rock where the volcanic plug resisted any repairs, lanterns feebly seeking to dispel the nearby shadows, shuffling under the weight of their tools, the dust puffing into a haze around their calves like the night mists in highland glens far far far away from the constricted wynds and closes of the city with its stench and rats and desperate hunger, where help seldom came and in bygone times buboed plague sufferers despaired as the guards bricked them tightly within their homes, and it was down there the tunnel headed, they had not been searching but only stumbled upon it, the faintest wind emanating an earthy smell, no one had ventured within the passage in living memory as the only footprints were those of the master mason, and he tread only so far as he could still discern the others back at the entry, their voices muffled, and when he could no longer hear them he strode back, twice as quick as he had reconnoitered.

They debated ignoring the tunnel, pretending they had not found it. The steward, however, would inspect their work and know where they had labored, spot the footprints in the tunnel. He would be displeased with their answer.

A tunnel into darkness within the dungeons below the castle.

That the junior apprentice volunteered made it easier, in the beginning. Made it harder in the end, because they should have done more, someone should have gone with him, he was too ill-equipped too young too foolhardy      too alone. But in the beginning it was easier; he seemed to want to prove his mettle. Perhaps he knew they eventually would have settled on him anyway.

His plan was ingenious, they admitted. He would proceed down the tunnel with a lantern and his bagpipes. It would make a fearsome noise in the narrow passages, an unrelenting drone and skirl. As in war, he would advance with the pipes. Their wail would succor him, he would not be bereft of courage.

As he played, they followed the wail from above ground. A martial air at first. The music pulsed, piercing the ground from below. With their heads cocked and ears attuned, they trailed the piping as he forged on. Out of the gatehouse they followed his music, across the flat esplanade. Less jaunty than before, though still he played. Onto the cobbles of the road as it descended, the sun sunk behind the rooftops, the king's mile a-clatter as merchants shuttered for the day, a horse and cart rumbled past, the piper blew a lament now (or perhaps that was only as they remembered it later), he piped unrelentingly, a burst of skirl through some unseen crack, they were halfway to the palace now, and then the piping  .  .  .  stopped.

They never saw him again.

When, finally, a search party delved into the tunnel to look for him, they returned ashen and empty-handed. The lone piper had vanished. No lantern, no bagpipes. No body.

Soon afterwards, at the steward's instruction, they bricked up the tunnel. He paid them for their work, more than they were owed. Enough to build homes in their highland glens. As for the young apprentice's family, the steward said he would make arrangements, which they did not question. They left the city and, as agreed, did not return.

Yet not all trace of the lone piper was gone. Though centuries have passed, on quiet nights, from beneath the castle and its royal thoroughfare, careful listeners occasionally hear faint melodies floating up from the earth, the remote echoes of a solitary piper.

In the depths he plays on, searching the catacombs, endlessly wandering in the dark.

In the rock beneath Edinburgh Castle twists a warren of storerooms, dungeons, and tunnels.

The Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo

The Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo in August 2014.

Celebrating its 65th anniversary this year, the Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo is one of Scotland's premier annual cultural events. Music! Spectacle! Dance! Fireworks!

And bagpipes.

{Ed.'s note: Umm, that's only one piper.}

Lots of bagpipes.

{Ed.'s note: You said "lots." That's only two.}

No, truly, lots and lots of bagpipes.

{Ed.'s note: Better.}

Over three weeks in August, the Tattoo presents approximately 1,000 performers each night from all over the world. Military bands, tribal dancers, precision drumlines, dancers, soldiers, and fiddlers parade through in a smörgåsbord of bite-sized entertainment. They even throw in a Shetland pony.

The Royal Regiment of Scotland's mascot, Cruachan IV, a Shetland pony. His predecessor, Cruachan III, is a favorite of Queen Elizabeth II; she visits with the pony whenever she's in Scotland.

The twenty-four annual performances draw a cumulative crowd of more than 200,000. Typically, roughly one third of the crowd hails from Scotland, another third from the rest of the U.K., and the final third from around the world. Tickets for the event are sold months in advance and this year is the Tattoo's 16th consecutive sellout. The BBC films five of the evening shows, then condenses its footage into one representative broadcast each year. It's shown in more than 30 countries and draws millions of viewers.

So, what exactly does "Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo" mean? It is "Royal" because Queen Elizabeth II bestowed that title in 2010 to celebrate the 60th anniversary. "Edinburgh," of course, because that's where it's held. "Military" because the performers are primarily, though not exclusively, members of military regiments around the world.

{Ed.'s note: No shit, Sherlock. We figured out those parts ourselves. What does tattoo mean?}

Glad you asked. The etymology of "tattoo" derives from beer drinking. No joke. In the 1740s, during the War of the Austrian Succession (though at least one source asserts as far back as the early 1600s) British troops were garrisoned in Belgium and the Netherlands. Every evening, drummers from the military garrisons were sent out to alert the soldiers to return to their barracks. The drumming signaled the barkeeps to doe den tap toe (Dutch for "turn off the tap") and send the soldiers home. Drumming continued until curfew. "Toe" is pronounced "too" in Dutch, and English speakers gradually morphed "tap-toe" into "taptoo" and then "tattoo." As the years went on and the military gained full bands, the "tattoo" became a type of evening barracks entertainment.

(Used with permission from https://www.cartoonstock.com/directory/m/military_tattoo.asp)

The Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo's lineup changes annually, though the British Army, Royal Air Force, and Royal Navy and Marines take turns as the "lead" service each year. At the end of the show, the massed pipes and drums join the massed military bands for a finale, which generally includes the national anthem and Auld Lang Syne, a flag lowering, and a lone piper on the castle wall playing a lament. Then the pipers and bands march out of the stadium and down the Royal Mile.

For your viewing pleasure, here's a bootleg version of the 2011 march out of the stadium. The song played at the beginning is probably the most-recognized bagpipe tune ever. For your edification, it's called Scotland the Brave, one of Scotland's unofficial national anthems. You can certainly find BBC versions of the finale on YouTube, but I think the bootleg copy has its own charm:



Besides a few weekend afternoon shows, the Tattoo starts at 9:00 pm every night. Around 8:00 pm, the crowd of ticket holders shuffles up the hill to the esplanade in front of Edinburgh Castle. A temporary arena is erected each year on the esplanade. With a cost in 2011 of £16 million (~$26.8 million at current exchange rates), the current arena is a substantial structure which takes about a month to set up and to take down. Most summertime tourists tour the castle with an empty arena in front of it. But since the Tattoo brings in around £100 million every year for Scotland's economy, the arena has earned its keep.

They call this the "queue" to enter the stadium, but it's really just a horde of ticket holders inching their way up the hill.

View of the Edinburgh Castle from the esplanade.

The temporary arena erected each summer.

The Tattoo has a different theme every year. I suspect that some years the theme dictates the performers involved, and some years the theme is created after they see who is available to travel to Scotland for a month and perform. For 2014, the Tattoo's theme is The Year of Homecoming — Our Home, Friends and Family. It includes multiple pipe bands from Scotland, with evocative names like the Royal Dragoon Guards, the Queen's Royal Hussars, the Black Watch, and the Royal Highland Fusiliers, among others.

Massed pipe bands — roughly 250 total pipers and drummers — with drum majors in the lead. {Ed.'s note: Yes! More bagpipes!}

As always, the Tattoo features several groups from around the world, a mixture of military ensembles and native cultural organizations. This year's groups included:

• the Band of the Armed Forces of Malta;
• iNgobamakhosi Zulu Dance Troupe (South Africa);
• the Shetland Fiddlers — Hjaltibonhoga;
• the Nagaland Folkloric Group (India);
• Scottish highland dancers;
• the Singapore Armed Forces Central Band;
• Te Wake Huia and Te Whānau-ā-Apanui (Maori dancers from New Zealand); and
• the Trinidad and Tobago Defence Force Steel Orchestra.

Interspersed with these groups were more interludes of massed military bands and massed pipes and drums.

Although the show starts at 9:00 pm, it's still fairly light outside.

The Zulu dance troupe from South Africa.

The Zulu dancing squeezed in amongst the stiff military bands brought to mind the Monty Python phrase, "and now for something completely different."

Shetland fiddlers, ranging in age from 14 to 60, and wearing traditional Shetland wool sweaters.

They tried to do a little marching, y'know, for the Tattoo, but it was a challenge for them.

The Singapore Armed Forces Central Band was among the most impressive groups this year, musically and visually.

The group included its Silent Precision Drill Squad . . .

. . . and its Music & Drama Company.

Maori dancers performing a haka, a war dance.

Trinidad and Tabago's Defence Force Steel Orchestra is the world's only marching military steel band. So they have that going for them.

The 2014 Tattoo also marked the centenary of World War I, as well as the 350th anniversary of the founding of the Royal Marines.

The Royal Marines Bands.

Royal Marines demonstrated a nighttime raid.

A perennial favorite of Tattoo audiences is precision drumming. There always seems to be a feature for the snares, quads, and basses to dazzle the audience.

The bass drummers for the Royal Marines wear (faux?) tiger fur.

Snare line company front.

A particular crowd favorite is the Top Secret Drum Corps from Basel, Switzerland. Though neither a military ensemble nor a group from a Commonwealth country, the drummers have already appeared four times at the Tattoo and generated tens of millions of views on YouTube. The video below from 2012 gets pretty amazing around the three minute mark: sword fighting, stick tosses, strobe lights, and more:



Here's an SAT question for you: If the Top Secret Drum Corps has previously appeared at the Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo in 2003, 2006, 2009, and 2012, it likely will appear again at the Tattoo in the year _____.

Lest ye think the Military Tattoo is all marches, pomp, circumstance, and ceremony, which might sound a bit heavy, it also includes numerous lighthearted touches. There are big dance numbers, fireworks, a sound and light show, and popular music. This year, the music and dance included Michael Jackson's Thriller (complete with zombie dance movies), Happy by Pharrell Williams, Glenn Miller's In the Mood, and Can't Buy Me Love by the Beatles.

Dancing to Cole Porter: "In olden days a glimpse of stocking / Was looked on as something shocking, / But now, God knows, / Anything Goes."

All evening shows have fireworks, but the Saturday night shows have an extensive fireworks display.

Highland, Zulu, Maori, and Caribbean dancers.

For its first five decades, the Tattoo used Edinburgh Castle mostly as a dramatic backdrop. But starting in 2005, it has been utilized as a screen to display still or moving images in a son et lumière show. The castle facade is lit up by various emblems, flags, and images in relation to the performers.

Lions rampant and to sinister guard the gatehouse.

Commemorating the soldiers of World War I.

Union Jack flags for singing the national anthem.

The Tattoo lasts approximately 90 minutes. The last 15 to 20 minutes are with the entire ensemble, singing, dancing, and eventually marching away. The pipers and drummers march right out of the arena and down the Royal Mile. Gotta figure that wakes up the kiddos at 10:30 pm.

The full stadium sings God Save the Queen.

We had a great time. It's a fast 90 minutes. Since it goes late, we left our toddler at home in Glasgow with a babysitter, though he would've enjoyed the show quite a bit. Maybe next year for him.

Our only slight difficulty was getting out of the stands after the show finished. It took a long time. A long time. More than 20 minutes just to walk down the stairs to the floor, and we were sitting on the aisle. The arena seats around 9,000 people. I've been in stadiums that seat 50,000, 70,000, even more than 100,000 people, and nothing has ever come close to how long it took for us to exit. Even Kate, my calm, relaxed, go-with-the-flow wife, was muttering before we descended. If there's an emergency, say your prayers, 'cause you ain't getting outta there.

You may wonder, what happens if it rains? Don't worry. The Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo has never been cancelled because of inclement weather. They emphasize the never. {Ed.'s note: How is that possible? Doesn't it rain a lot in Scotland?} Come prepared with layers and ponchos.

Also, if you don't get your tickets months in advance, is there any way to see the show? Yes, but it depends on luck. People who've bought tickets but cannot attend sometimes turn in their tickets for resale by the Tattoo. So it's possible to check daily with the Tattoo for available last-minute tickets.

I have no doubt we'll attend the Tattoo in future years. The Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo is one of those quintessential events on Scotland's cultural calendar that combines hallowed traditions with modern flair.

Whaddya think? Have I piqued your interest for next year's show?

Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo.