Edinburgh, perhaps more than most cities, is immediately recognisable. Exit Edinburgh Waverley station and you are greeted by the sound of bagpipes – the swirl of men in kilts on their way to a wedding – while the blackened, gothic facades of buildings built in the 1800s, or long before, rise ominously in front of Arthur’s Seat. Parts of “Auld Reekie” (Scots for “Old Smoky”), the historical nickname for the capital, have remained unchanged for many decades.
That includes Edinburgh’s tendency to hide its problems deep in the belly of its Old Town, until they rise – much like the “haar” fog that creeps in from the sea – and can no longer be ignored.
Subscribe to The New Statesman today from only £8.99 per month
Content from our partners
