Audioguía de Edimburgo: Tabernas, Triunfos y Tiempo en la Ciudad Vieja

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   Taberna de John Dowie
   John Dowie, the tavern’s legendary host, took over a spot known as The Mermaid around 1770. Imagine squeezing into dim, cramped rooms: the largest fit only fourteen people, and…Leer másMostrar menos

   John Dowie, the tavern’s legendary host, took over a spot known as The Mermaid around 1770. Imagine squeezing into dim, cramped rooms: the largest fit only fourteen people, and the smallest, known as “the coffin,” somehow managed to hold six-if everyone skipped dessert. The cozy gloom was no match for Dowie's warmth and humor, and it certainly didn’t put off the famous crowd who flocked here. Legal eagles from the law courts, writers, poets, and even Robert Burns-Scotland’s national bard-were regulars. Burns himself rather liked “the coffin,” perhaps feeling right at home with other literary spirits. The food was hearty, including Nor’ Loch trout, Welsh rabbit, and the mysterious “puffed herring.” Thirsty? You’d be delighted by Edinburgh Ale supplied from Archibald Younger’s brewery, a name nearly as famous as Dowie’s in those days. The tavern ran from 10 in the morning until midnight, giving plenty of time to hatch clever ideas or questionable alibis. Clubs like the College of Dowie took root here, gathering city officials, artists-even Henry Raeburn the painter. After Dowie’s death in 1817, the place was renamed Burns Tavern, a nod to its most poetic patron. Sadly, progress waits for no one-by the 1830s, the tavern was demolished to make way for George IV Bridge. So if you sense a lingering thirst for good company and great ale here, you’re definitely standing in the right spot.

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   St Giles' Cathedral
   Let’s turn the page back to the chilly Scottish air of the 12th century. King David I, the founding father of this church, would’ve seen a little Romanesque building here, its…Leer másMostrar menos

   Let’s turn the page back to the chilly Scottish air of the 12th century. King David I, the founding father of this church, would’ve seen a little Romanesque building here, its pink sandstone and grey stone shining dull under a cloudy sky. Picture streets full of muddy boots, horses pulling carts up the slope, and monks bustling about tending to lepers-St Giles, you see, is the patron saint of those cast aside, and the church was here to comfort them. Fast forward to the smoky chaos of the 14th century: the little Romanesque church is replaced, stone by stone, with the Gothic titan you see now. It wasn’t all prayer and peace-this building has seen fire and fury! In 1385, English troops under King Richard II razed Edinburgh, and St Giles’ was scorched, the pillars blackened and battered. Even centuries later, people could point to where the flames had licked these ancient stones. But rising from the ashes, the church only grew in importance. By the 15th century, petition after petition begged the Pope to grant St Giles’ collegiate status. Finally, in 1467, success: a bustling community of canons, choristers, and ministers came alive within these walls, and thanks to one William Preston of Gorton, a whole arm bone of Saint Giles himself arrived in a grand procession. Fancy a saintly bone? It’s not every church that can claim to have one parading down the royal mile each September! Skip ahead to the pulpit-pounding 16th century-enter John Knox, Scotland’s thunderous reformer. In 1559, Knox stormed into St Giles’, determined to turn Catholic Scotland into a Protestant land. Think of smashed statues, shattered altars, and the sound of sailors and townsfolk scraping the old ways away. For the next weeks, Knox’s voice boomed through the nave, leading a revolution that would ripple around the world. They called this church “the Mother of World Presbyterianism”-all this, under a roof that once sheltered not just worship, but courts, Parliament, and even prisoners! For centuries, St Giles’ wore many hats-places of worship, law court, militia barracks, and even a marketplace with shop stalls tucked between its buttresses. Rumor has it, you could buy a turnip on your way to Sunday service (and that’s not a bad deal). But the church couldn’t escape drama-like the infamous riot of 1637, when King Charles I tried to force a new prayer book on the congregation. The fiery Jenny Geddes hurled her stool at the minister, sparking a bedlam that tumbled all the way into a series of national wars. This pulpit-it’s seen more action than most battlefields! Through Victorians, Enlightenment thinkers, and visiting kings like George IV, the church transformed and survived. William Chambers dreamt of a “Scottish Westminster Abbey,” and led a bold restoration. During these renovations, so many human bones turned up they filled five large boxes-an unexpected surprise for the workmen, and a good reason not to play hide-and-seek here after dark. As you stand here today, feel the layers of history swirl in the air. In recent times, St Giles’ has been the place for royal celebrations, memorials, and even a place for the nation to mourn Queen Elizabeth II. Its stones and stained glass glitter with a thousand stories. Over a million curious souls come here every year to marvel-so you’re in excellent company. Next time you hear the bells, remember, you’re not just hearing a call to prayer, but an echo of centuries gone by, where storks, saints, rioters, and royalty all found a place beneath this majestic crown. And who says history can’t be lively? At St Giles’, anything is possible! Intrigued by the name and dedication, location or the architecture? Explore further by joining me in the chat section below.

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   Gladstone's Land (National Trust for Scotland)
   Gladstone’s Land might look unassuming, but it’s one of Edinburgh’s best-preserved time machines, a six-storey tenement dating all the way back to 1550. It owes its name and much…Leer másMostrar menos

   Gladstone’s Land might look unassuming, but it’s one of Edinburgh’s best-preserved time machines, a six-storey tenement dating all the way back to 1550. It owes its name and much of its grandeur to Thomas Gledstanes and his wife, Bessie Cunningham, who swept in with grand ambitions in 1617. The Gledstanes family weren’t just any Edinburgh residents-they were merchants of serious means. So while you might imagine people squeezed into tiny hovels, the Gledstanes built upward, with painted ceilings and layers of history, all packed into this sliver of the Old Town. Just think, houses could only grow taller and deeper-no backyard gardens here, unless you count a particularly creative window box! The ground floor in Gledstanes’ day was a maze of activity. Here, you’d see John Riddoch and Margaret Noble, merchants who ran a shop and a lively tavern with the help of their sharp-witted servant, Issobell Johnston. Issobell would barter barrels of ale and sweetmeats-figs, raisins, spices-across the counter, probably sneaking a taste for quality control. She made a small fortune reselling anything from ginger to clay tobacco pipes. Speaking of fortunes, Riddoch himself met a sailor’s end, dying aboard ship in sight of Leith-so close to home, you could practically smell the brine and hear the gulls. Through the decades, Gladstone’s Land became a mini-metropolis of its own. It housed merchants, lawyers, even a knight-and one particularly ambitious co-owner, David Jonkin, who thought he could outsmart market rules by sneaking food into the city during a famine, and later dipped his toes in the arms trade. If these walls could talk, I bet they’d be great at pub quizzes. By the 1630s, the upper floors saw another notable resident: William Struthers, a minister from St Giles’ Cathedral, who found himself in the thick of one of Edinburgh’s dark mysteries-a witchcraft trial. Struthers heard the confession (one of many claimed) of Marion Muir, accused of witchcraft after what sounds like a failed doctor’s diagnosis. I suppose in those days, if you coughed, you risked being labelled a witch! Let’s not forget the building’s own close brush with doom. In the 1930s, Gladstone’s Land was almost demolished-imagine losing these painted ceilings forever! Lucky for us, the National Trust for Scotland swept in, restored its Renaissance splendor, and let us peek beneath the plaster to see glorious original artwork. Inside today, you can wander through rooms with crackling open fires (bring your own marshmallows), handle replica goods in the ground-floor shop, and walk beneath those rare, swirling ceilings. Hungry? The ice cream parlour inside is a sweet twist, but Gladstone’s Land has always reflected the flavors of Old Town-from bustling commerce and cozy fires to a few spicy scandals. Just imagine the stories shared up that curved stone stairway, all beneath the watching eyes of that gleaming hawk-a nod to “Gledstanes,” which means “hawk” in Scots. So as you gaze up at this storied tenement, remember, you’re standing in the middle of five centuries of drama, dreams, deals, and the occasional witch hunt. Now, how about we leave the witch trials in the past and wander onward to our next stop?

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