the search for the last anchor steam

August 29, 2023August 29, 20231 Comment

I was disappointed and sad when I heard that Anchor Steam was stopping production. I didn’t even try to come up with amusing things to say like, well they ran out of steam, or calling their owners a bunch of anchors. It’s not like I drink that much of it. I don’t drink much beer at all these days, except if I’m out on a day like this in the city, and I like to stop off at one of the old historic North Beach bars for a refreshing pint or two, maybe three, and sketch the old place. In San Francisco, that beer would almost always be Anchor Steam, so I have some to associate the taste of that beer with those happy moments after a good day’s sketching and exploring this most fascinating of cities. I was in search of that last Anchor Steam, so I headed over to what is possibly the city’s oldest bar, The Saloon. I’ve never actually had a beer in there before, though I have drawn the exterior. It always looked busy with an older more seasoned crowd, much more of the wild west about it than other local bars; I quite liked the mystery of it, but I wasn’t sure if I would fit in. I’ve seen too many cowboy films. Today would be the day though, so I went in, it looked how I expected it to, a place I knew I would have to sketch. It’s cash only, and I went to the bar and asked for an Anchor Steam, in my meekest British voice. I half expected the bar to suddenly hush, for a few folks to get their hats on and scurry outside, while the barman said “we ain’t got no Anchor Steam in here! Here we drink hard liquor! What’s it gawn’ be boy?” Again I have seen way too many westerns, or rather TV shows pretending to be like Westerns. However that didn’t happen, obviously. Instead, the barman said they were out of Anchor Steam, except the Anchor Steam Porter (I didn’t fancy that). So I settled for an 805, and sat over at the back to get a sketchable view of the bar. Nearby they were setting up for some live music, which they have regularly in here. I wasn’t in there long enough to find out what the music was like, I saw the female singer getting ready and talking with the locals it looked like she knew everyone in there, and of course I imagined it would have a very country and western sound; if they had sold Anchor Steam, I might have stuck around to find out. As it is, I did a quick but pretty detailed drawing of the bar, and headed back out to continue my search. I was starting to worry that there would be no final Anchor Steam for me. I did a very quick sketch of the outside which I filled in later, and headed down Columbus.

The place I wanted to go, Specs, was closed, opening at 4pm. So I went down to do a quick drawing of the Sentinel Building (also known as Columbus Tower, though I’ve never actually heard it called that). I really like this building, and of course when I was up in Coit Tower I had seen it looking so tiny. This is where Francis Ford Coppola’s company American Zoetrope is based, and the cafe on the first floor under those red awnings is called Cafe Zoetrope. Incidentally, my son finally watched The Godfather this past weekend, first time he’s ever seen that film, one of my favourites ever. As I sketched, a man (who I think had found the Anchor Steam, and drunk many of them) came up and noticed I was sketching, and started to show me his sketchbook and sketching gear, all Micron pens and stuff. He was with soem other friends and they were going to all these Grateful Dead events, as were a lot of people in the city, as I’d seen way more Grateful Dead t-shirts than ever before. Anyway he told me that he sketched but his friends did not, and they were very good being patient with him while he sketched at the parties and concerts, and I was like, I hear ya mate, those are good friends. Always nice to meet one of your own out there, a fellow sketcher who just can’t really stop sketching. We shook hands, and he went off to some other Grateful dead party. I finished up this sketch fast, as it was now 4pm and Specs was going to open.

Specs was still closed, so I jay-walked across Columbus to the other old favourite, Vesuvio’s. I don’t like Vesuvio’s as much as Specs (it usually feels that bit more crowded), but I still really like Vesuvio’s. And there it was, that distinctive beer-handle with the traditional logo (not the uglier yellow and blue one they brought in a few years ago): Anchor Steam. It was a bit like finding the Holy Grail, but admittedly not that hard to find. My legs were tired, my hands all done with street sketching, my eyes too weary to be looking at all those details, now it was time to settle down for a nice cold beer.

I sat in this odd wicker basket chair, like I was inside half a birdcage, and drew my pint (above) while texting with my sister in London, and also my friend James who remembered Anchor Steam from when he and his wife were married here eight years ago. After hearing the news about the beer’s sudden demise, he did manage to find a few bottles in a shop in Soho. So what happened to Anchor Steam? The Anchor brewery dates back to 1896 when Anchor Steam was first produced (they call themselves ‘America’s first craft brewery’), but the ‘steam beer’ they brewed may go back to the Gold Rush days. This is the taste of this city, like brewing the fog, as San Francisco as clam chowder and cable cars. In 2017 they were bought out by Japanese corporate giants Sapporo, and in July 2023 they announced that they would stop producing Anchor Steam beer. My hopes that there would be some sort of turnaround on that decision have been dashed, as the brewery has now closed, although apparently the workers were hoping that they could turn it into a more independent co-op. A sad day for the city, a decision made thousands of miles away by people looking at the bottom line, rather than the bottom of the glass (that analogy does not work). So I toasted the death of one of my favourite beers.

I had a long while before my Amtrak back to Davis, so I toasted it a couple more times in Vesuvio, relocating up to the bar. There was a young couple sat there who had not only not heard the earthquake newsflash that Anchor Steam’s business was going up in smoke, they had never in fact had Anchor Steam at all. They were young, this was probably just an old man’s drink. So they ordered one, which they shared, drinking it from a straw for some fuckin’ reason. A straw? This is no way to treat the last few drops of Anchor Steam. This is literally San Francisco history in this glass, and then it was gone. I sketched a little more as I savoured the last Anchor Steam I will ever drink*, and then started out on the long trip back to Davis.

*It wasn’t actually the last; I was back in the city a couple of weeks later with my family, and had a quick Anchor Steam at the hotel bar before our dinner at the Fog City Diner, but I’m sure that’s probably the last one now. Unless I see it in a shop, or go back to San Francisco again soon, which I might. A couple of days ago the SF Standard did post a list of eight bars where you can still get Anchor Steam; Vesuvio’s was not on that list, nor was Specs. The Anchor ship may finally have sailed. Cheers, and bon voyage.

that’s “coit” a view

August 25, 2023Leave a comment

I climbed up Filbert Steps, which lead up from near the Embarcadero right up the steepest side of Telegraph Hill, San Francisco. I think the last time I came up these steps was in about 2007, and they are quite a climb. Partly a steep concrete stair, and partly old wooden steps, it feels like they lead through some time in the distant past, through overgrown foliage and past little private gardens perched accidentally on the edge of one of the world’s great views. It feels like this shouldn’t exist in this relentlessly modernizing cityscape, but here is a hidden community of people who, well they can’t get their cars up here, and they definitely don’t mind steps. I passed by a bright pink house covered in foliage, and remembered drawing that before a very long time ago, in my old WH Smith sketchbook. That was on a San Francisco sketching day when I brought two sketchbooks, the Smiths one I had gotten from England, and the new watercolour Moleskine I was trying out, to see if I liked it (it definitely caught on with me). Here is that pink house, drawn sixteen years ago. filbert flowers

But I was headed for the top. I wanted to draw from high up, and Telegraph Hill is the place to do that. When I reached the top, I stood at the base of the magnificent firehose-shaped Coit Tower and realized that I had never actually been up it. I bet the views were amazing. So I paid the ten bucks, and took the stairs (the elevators were not working), my feet excited by climbing more steps. It’s wider than the Monument in London, which I’d climbed weak-kneed a couple of months before, and you pass those lovely murals on the way up, The views from the top were more than incredible. I was finally doing something new in the city, climbing Coit Tower, and I can’t believe I never bothered before. Lots of tourists were taking photos of the amazing fog-free views, so I got my sketchbook out and started drawing the scene above (at the top of this post; click on it for a closer-up view). I was up there for almost an hour drawing that, doing a much better job than when I was up at the Monument, but still overwhelmed by all the details that I had to puzzle out. The TransAmerica Pyramid loomed large, with the bigger newer Salesforce Tower in the distance behind it. The green Sentinel Building on Columbus, a favourite subject of mine over the years (see if you can spot it in my sketch), looked like a small childrens’ toy next to the TransAmerica Pyramid. I left a whole part of the view unfinished, thinking I might just add it in later, but I decided not to in the end, and now when people ask I pretend it was fog. I was pretty happy with my work up there. I talked for a bit with the guide there, who it turned out was from Norfolk, and then headed back down the stairs. Achievement Unlocked: I drew from the top of Coit Tower.

It was such a nice day and the views from Telegraph Hill were so stunning that I had to sketch another, looking out towards Golden Gate Bridge, which was in fact shrouded with fog. I’ve drawn this view before, this time I sketched in pencil. I had to stay in the shade was much as I could, not easy. The colours were so attractive to me. Still, I was getting hungry for some lunch now so I walked down the other side of the very steep hill towards North Beach. I stopped off at North Beach Pizza on Grant St, they do lovely pizzas. They also had bottles of Anchor Steam beer, and I remembered my mission. However it was a bit early for me. People in there were talking about the sudden demise of the city’s favourite local brew, and the woman behind the counter said they had gone and bought several hundred bottles the day they heard. Some of the other customers there decided they would go down to the Anchor Steam brewery that day, for one last time. I ate my big slice of pizza (a whole pizza looked a bit too big for me) down in Washington Square, where I also did a little sketching in my Fabriano book. That’s Coit Tower there on the left. It was built in 1933, and dedicated to the city’s firemen who had died in the big fires there, most notably the firestorm after the 1906 earthquake. I also sketched a couple of people who were Tango dancing (or maybe Salsa dancing, I don’t really know my flavours of dancing, could have been Fanta dancing for all I know). It may have been a dance lesson, I don’t know, but they ended up in my sketchbook. I remembered that I also gave a lesson on this very spot several years ago, when I taught a workshop on Perspective, standing outside the big church of St. Peter and St. Paul, making big shapes with my arms to define perspective lines, probably looking like a preacher.

I love North Beach a lot. I went and got a big cream horn from Mara’s Italian Pastries (wasn’t cheap, was delicious) and sat on my little sketching stool to draw the view below. It was the first time I’d sat on my sketching stool that day, I had brought it with me and carried it around, but typically I stand to sketch these days. I’m glad I did though, I was able to rest my legs for a while. There were a lot of people about, sketchable people too, but I like this view down Columbus, towards that big TransAmerica Pyramid again. The SalesForce Tower is there too, poking about in the background like a new rich kid trying to be cool. I mean, look at this view, that sixty-odd bucks trip on the train down here is worth it for that, not to mention the view from Coit Tower. I do count myself lucky that I ended up in California. London’s great, it’s the best, but I get to come down here from time to time, to this neighbourhood, to see things that haven’t changed amid all the changes, and still find new things to love.

But I wanted that Anchor Steam beer. It was mid-afternoon by now, and I’d done a lot of work already, so time to literally drop anchor somewhere…

escaping the heat

August 23, 2023Leave a comment

Once I was over that post-vacation bout of Covid (it finally got me!) which kept me indoors again for a while (it was like 2020 nostalgia all over again), I was bursting to get out and explore places again. Nothing like a busy vacation to make you want to come home and not do much; nothing like being at home not doing much to make you want to get right back out there again. San Francisco is the most interesting place that’s nearby, and it’s always good for some sketching and exploring. Besides, it was going to be about 107 degrees in Davis, so I thought bugger that, it’s like 70 in the city. The Capitol Corridor Amtrak train is certainly a lot more expensive than when I first started coming down here, but the views are still totally worth it. I like to get the very early morning train, and look out the north side of the train (out of the direct morning sun). I love that journey across the Valley, through the Delta, past the Bay. So I painted some of the scenes in my little Fabriano book.

I arrived in the city, early, did my usual thing of go straight to the Ferry Building to eat a couple of bombolini and figure out my next moves. I didn’t have a plan; I often don’t have a plan, even though I love to tell everyone “I always have a plan”, but on my sketching-exploration days, I follow my nose. Draw from something high up. Go somewhere I haven’t been, while also going places familiar and drawing different stuff. Maybe somewhere I haven’t been in so many years. I’ve been down coming to San Francisco to sketch since 2006, a few times a year. It was very sunny, none of the cooling fog, but still nearly forty degrees better off than in the Davis pizza oven. I had a quick look in the Hyatt, thinking I might sneak up to the top floor as I’d done before (I recall sketching from the top-floor restaurant on one SF sketchcrawl a long time ago with some other bold urban sketchers, we asked nicely and they said sure). No such luck, so I jumped on a streetcar and went down the Embarcadero, getting off at Greenwich. There I sketched the Pier 23 restaurant, as it was opening up for the day. I remember coming here about eight years ago when my friends James and Lauren got married, and afterwards we wandered the city having beers, and this was one of those places we stopped at, looking out over the waters with some tasty Anchor Steam, the taste of San Francisco. Actually, one of the other reasons I was in San Francisco was that a few days before, it was announced that Anchor Steam would be halting production, after well over a century of producing lovely local beer. It’s the only beer I like to drink when I’m in the city, it reminds me of stopping off after a long day of sketching and relaxing with a pint or two before the long journey home. I would be looking for that later on though. I finished this sketch, and drew these metal pipes sticking out of the ground next to me, before going on a bit of a climb…

Friday night by the Thames

August 16, 2023August 15, 2023Leave a comment

We definitely had to sleep in after getting back in the wee hours from Scotland. Exhausted, not feeling too well, and probably having withdrawals from all the Irn Bru and Tunnocks Teacakes, I didn’t have a lot of energy. However I had planned to go down into central London to attend the London Urban Sketchers Friday evening sketching meetup at Bankside, and despite my headache, I’m glad I did. It was cooler by the Thames, with a nice river breeze. I got there a bit too late for the start, so I just got my sketchbook out and started. As you can probably tell, this is Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre, with the tall tower of Tate Modern in the background. There were a lot of tourists about, enjoying the last day of June next to my favourite river. It was extremely relaxing for me to get down here and into my sketchbook. People lined up to see the latest show at the Globe; I really wish I’d had the forethought to book tickets to see something there, as I’ve never actually seen a play there, even though it opened while I was a drama student twenty-odd years ago. I remember our Places of Performance class did visit the Globe in about 1998 or 1999, when it was still a new addition to London, for a tour. During the early part of the pandemic, our family would watch full plays provided by the Globe online for small donations, filmed in the preceding years, since they were closed back in 2020 and we had no idea what would happen. So I love the Globe, but still have yet to go there properly. Some day.

I have also never been mudlarking by the Thames. The tides were low that evening, so there were quite a few people down there looking around in the silty mud and stones, looking for whatever the old Thames has dredged up. People find things that are centuries old. I sketched them in my little Fabriano, looking down from the Embankment, and then sat on the steps leading down to the River. A couple of hours later, the water was already way back up there (I presume everyone got back up before that?). The Thames is a tidal river, at London anyway, due to its proximity to the Thames Estuary which is where it meets the North Sea. So the river goes right up and down a couple of times each day.

The London Urban Sketchers met up again outside the Tate to look at each others sketchbooks. It wasn’t a huge crowd this evening, but I gather that the monthly “Let’s Draw London” sketchcrawl attendances have been so big that they have started holding them twice per month in the same location. These smaller evening events are bonus meet-ups for the summertime. I spoke to a few familiar faces, and looked through sketchbooks of some newer sketchers, and remembered how much I always enjoyed this part of urban sketching. I’d not organized or even attended a sketchcrawl in Davis or anywhere for quite a long time, so it was great to get to meet the sketchers again. I resolved to start organizing more in Davis again (and I just held one this past weekend, in fact, on a very hot mid-August morning). When we were done, I was not quite done yet. I stood beneath the Millennium Bridge (to all those tour guides who still insist that Londoners call it the ‘Wobbly Bridge’, no they don’t, do they. They did back in 2000 when it opened, and when it wobbled so much that all the high-end architects involved in its design were stumped and they closed it, but then they fixed the wobble and reopened it in early 2002. Nobody is still calling it the wobbly bridge except tour guides telling a story. And I used to be one of them, but that was in 2000 when it was actually still wobbling) . Anyway, I drew that ever-changing City of London skyline again. Every time I return, it looks different. The top of Tower 42 was decked in Pride colours. I forget the names of all these towers now, the walky-talky, the big spinach, the witch’s watering can, the flake, I honestly cant keep up with all the silly names. Call them what you want. Call the Millennium Bridge ‘the Wobbly Bridge’ if you like, it doesn’t really matter. That’s the great thing about London, names just spring up out of nothing, sometimes they stick, sometimes they don’t. Even the Thames gets a name change when flowing through Oxford, where they call it the Isis, though maybe in more hushed tones than before.

And finally, Morph. This year in London there are loads of statues of Morph, painted in a million different ways, and this one outside the Globe was as you’d expect painted to look like William Shakespeare. For those who for some reason have no idea who Morph is, Morph was a little plasticine stop-motion animated character created by Peter Lord, and appeared on the TV shows of the late Tony Hart, every kids favourite fatherly TV art figure (quickly checks online, we still think he’s ok right, no scandals there yeah? Phew, he’s fine. You never know when it comes to our 70s and 80s kids TV heroes in Britain). Tony Hart was also the only person we knew of who was named after three body parts. Morph was a national treasure though, even though he could only speak in little sounds, and he had a friend called Chas and this little brush that would follow them round like a dog. Oh, and he had a super power where he would turn himself into a kind of cylindrical tube of plasticine and ‘morph’ his way through the solid wood of a table. Having sketched Morph, the sun was finally down over the Thames, so I got a very crowded tube back home.

Going for a ride on the Jacobite Steam Train

August 14, 2023August 14, 20234 Comments

Our main reason for visiting the Highlands was to take a ride on the Jacobite Steam Train, which chugs along from Fort William, over the world famous Glenfinnan viaduct, to the coastal village of Mallaig, in sight of the Isle of Skye. We would not go to Skye on this trip, but at least I saw it out there in the distance. This is one of several steam trains that operates in the Scottish Highlands and there is honestly no better way to see the Highlands than by train. Other than hiking maybe, but you can sit down on the train and watch it all go by from your window. The Jacobite Steam Train – so called because it goes through the heart of the countryside most associated with the Jacobite uprisings – is probably most famous as the inspiration for the Hogwarts Express in the Harry Potter movies, where you see it going over the big viaduct, probably followed by a Dementor or a flying car. So, the route is as you can imagine very popular with Harry Potter fans, and we saw a lot of people in their Gryffindor or Slytherin scarves, and you could purchase Harry Potter themed snacks. It wasn’t all Wizarding World cheesiness though, this train was all about experiencing the golden age of steam. Before we took the train however, we wanted to actually see it go over the viaduct from below. We drove out to Glenfinnan, about 20 minutes or so from Fort William. It was raining, but there were a lot of people out ready to photograph this iconic view. We had to park a little way up the hill, but Glenfinnan is so beautiful even in the dreary wet that we enjoyed the walk and the fresh air. We found a spot with a great view of the huge viaduct, built between 1897 and 1901, took some photos, and waited for the train. I had to sketch it of course, as best I could in the by now very light rain. What a fantastic moment as it passed by. There were scores of people on the hillside with their cameras, and we were one of many down below at ground level. We didn’t have time to go and look at the Glenfinnan monument but could see it clearly. Glenfinnan was where Bonnie Prince Charlie raised his standard in 1745 to gather the Highland clans in uprising against the British crown, to regain the throne for the Stuarts. Despite many victories and a deep advance into England (getting as far as Derby) the uprising was ultimately unsuccessful, and ended at the tragic Battle of Culloden in 1746 with Hanoverian victory and a lot of bloodshed. Anyway, on to the steam train!

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We had been looking forward to this ride for quite a while, and it did not disappoint, in fact it was the highlight of our trip. We took our seats which were reserved to face out towards the curve of the viaduct as we passed it – on the return journey, you switch sides with the passengers on the opposite side of the aisle, which is a nice way to do it. The scenery was beautiful, but it was still raining a fair bit, and had been coming down as we boarded the train. I did a quick sketch of my son looking out at the rolling Scottish scenery, a bottle of Highland Spring water and a can of Irn Bru Xtra giving us no doubt as to which country we were in. Our neighbours across the aisle were visiting from Canada, along with their friend who was an older man from Glasgow, an interesting chap I enjoyed talking geology with. He enjoyed telling my wife his joke that “the best thing to come out of Edinburgh is the train to Glasgow,” which she had heard once or twice before, I think Glaswegians like to remind people!

This is the Hogwarts Express, whatever anyone says, and so you expect a bit of magic. We got some – the rainy morning suddenly gave way a few minutes before we arrived at Glenfinnan, blue skies and sunshine started breaking through the Highland clouds, and our journey over the viaduct was probably one of the most beautiful views we’ve ever seen. And we have been to the Grand Canyon, Delicate Arch, the Golden Gate Bridge; well this was right up there, because we were part of it. I was safe to poke my phone out of the window to take pictures; they do of course warn you not to stick your head out of the window as the train is moving, for fear that it will get lopped off by a tree (like that scene in The Young Ones).

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We made a short stop at Glenfinnan station, where we could stretch our legs, look at the little museum in the station, or buy souvenirs (I spent 20 quid on a set of small prints of classic LNER Scottish railway posters). Then it was back on the train for the scenic stretch to Mallaig. That train journey was one of the best we’ve ever done, but as you leave the hills and go along the silvery coastline, you get the feeling that you’re approaching the edge of the world. It really sparks the imagination.

Mallaig is a small fishing village and port and the terminus of this branch of the West Highland Line. We had a couple of hours to look around, get some ice cream, enjoy the little harbour. It was warm and sunny by this point, and while my wife and son had a wander, I sat and drew the scene above, which took well over an hour. Many of the people around town were from the steam train as well, but there were hiker families too, from all over – the group sat next to me were Finnish. When I was finished (nice segue there), I did another very quick outline sketch of some moored boats, with the intention of drawing it all in more details and colour later. In the end I only added the ink (I did that on the flight back to America) but didn’t colour it in. So you can imagine all the bright colours of those boats for yourself. We all got a soft-serve ice cream, some mroe drinks for the two-hour journey back to Fort William, and went back to the train. As it rolled out of Mallaig, there were people in their yards waving at all the passengers, the train tracks just a few feet away from the back doors.

We took so many photos on the way back. It became a joke in our part of the carriage that every time I would get up to take a picture from the window, we would suddenly pass by some trees or enter a short tunnel. Sometimes the view would be just the side of a steep hill, but sometimes it would be a cinematic sweep over a deep blue loch, like below. You cannot get enough of this type of thing. I live in California and we have some of the best views in the world, but Scotland is just mind-blowing. We want to go back and explore all the rest. I think there’s some Irn Bru and Tunnocks Teacakes we haven’t yet consumed too.

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I did get a nice local beer on the train though. I went to the dining car, and asked for a beer please. The guy on the counter said, “Oh aye, I can recommend this one!” He gave me a super delicious beer called “Sheepshaggers Gold”, by Cairngorm Brewery. Chuckling at the name, it was a tasty way to round off our train journey. Here I am enjoying it, wearing my lovely FC Red Star Paris shirt.

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With our epic steam train journey over, we spent another night in Fort William, before our final day in Scotland, when we would visit Loch Ness, and we would finally find that elusive creature that every single gift shop sold cuddly toys and magnets and postcards and t-shirts of. No, not Nessie, but the Hairy Highland Coo…

raining champions

August 12, 2023August 12, 2023Leave a comment

It’s going to rain in Scotland. It’s Scotland, not Arizona. Of course, it didn’t have to rain quite so much on the very day we hired the car and drove north from Glasgow, past the mighty Loch Lomond and the Trossachs, over wild Rannoch Moor and through the awe-inspiring Glencoe, on to Fort William at the foot of Ben Nevis (which we never actually saw, it was so shrouded in cloud). We never saw most of these lovely scenes because the rain was very thick, but we did our best and still explored. We first stopped bu the shores of Loch Lomond at the pretty little village of Luss, and stood looking out at the greyness, unable to see the other side. I came to Loch Lomond once before, in 1999 with my friend Simon and his uncle who drove a Jaguar, and can vouch that it is beautiful here. So, we continued through the rain along the shores, going north up to the Falls of Falloch. I had warned my wife before our tip to Scotland that we had to be aware of Scotland’s biggest menace – the Midge. Being from the south of England, we don’t get them, but I remember camping in Cumbria when I was 17 and everyone was being constantly eaten alive by the things. Tiny little fly creatures that bite you to pieces. We watched videos of people walking around the Highlands dressed in nets, we bought loads of midge-repellant, we checked the Midge Forecast online. Yet in the whole trip, the only time we encountered the Midge was at the Falls of Falloch, and they didn’t really get us at all. We got lucky, maybe, or the Midges know not to mess with me. The Falls of Falloch are lovely, and it was raining, but I tried to grab a sketch of them. As you can see my Fabriano sketchbook is splotched with raindrops. If you look closely though, you can see the remains of one dead Midge. See you later, sucker.

After a brief stop for lunch at a pub in Crianlarich, just beating the rush of hikers making their way up the West Highland Way (some day! There’s a lot of hiking I want to do in Scotland, some day), we continued our drive north through the rain. We crossed the boggy Rannoch Moor, one of the largest wildernesses in Britain, which I’d been eager to see. We couldn’t see very far. It wasn’t too long before we arrived at the main attraction, Glencoe. Or Glen Coe, as it’s usually written, Gleann Comhann in Gaelic. Even in the gloomy rain it was breathtaking scenery. We stopped a few times for photos and to take in the sheer Scotland-ness of it all. I’ve heard so much about Glen Coe since I was a kid, and its tragic history with the Glencoe Massacre of 1692, and its geology, the work of ice age glaciers carving through ancient volcanic rock. Scotland looks very different from England, and this is because geologically they are not from the same place, but collided together millions of years ago, Scotland originally being part of the same landmass that is now North America. Of course I had to at least attempt a sketch. I had it in mind that I would come up here and do sketches like Richard Bell in that book of his that I love, but the weather had other ideas. I even tucked my umbrella into my jacket to attempt some shelter, to no avail, I couldn’t look upwards and the wind and rain just laughed in my face. I drew the panorama above, of the Three Sisters, and decided to just leave it like that, rain splotches making my watercolouring impossible. It was a brave effort. Sometimes what comes out in these moments says more about your time than trying to draw it later. I drew another quick pencil sketch a little way up the road, adding a quick grey wash afterwards, but otherwise enjoyed what scenery we could. We visited the Glen Coe visitor centre, saw their little film about Glen Coe, went into the reconstructed turf hut, and bought stuff in the gift shop. And then we drove on through more dramatic, wet countryside, to our next port of call, Fort William. We were going on the famous Jacobite Steam Train…

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“I belong to Glasgow”

August 10, 2023August 10, 20232 Comments

It rained hard on the train journey to Glasgow. I suppose you don’t come to Scotland for the sun. We passed by Falkirk, a place I’d like to have seen, mostly for the huge Kelpies. We arrived at Queen Street and the rain stopped for long enough to let us walk up hill to our hotel, further than it looked on the map. We sat in the hotel lounge watching the driving rain outside, eating those little Tunnocks marshmallow Teacakes I love so much, strumming on the ukulele. I could tell my family were maybe a little less wowed by Glasgow than by Edinburgh, but I’d been waiting most of my life to come and have a look around here, rain or not. I went for a little walk as the rain eased off a bit; we weren’t far from the Art School, but after the big fire they had a few years back, it’s still covered in this big white plastic while it’s being remodeled. Glasgow’s an artist’s town though, that is clear. Charles Rennie Mackintosh is the big name here, but he’s not the only one. Musically too, Glasgow is a creative city, and one of my favourite bands of all time are from here, Belle and Sebastian. I’ve always wanted to come here and explore.

I wandered about a little, and then I heard some music, it sounded like flutes and drums. Marching up the road were the men and women of the Orange Order, decked out in their suits and their orange sashes with their big orange and purple banners, lads in Rangers shirts flanking them, as well as police clearing the road for them. I was glad I wasn’t in my Celtic shirt, nor my Ireland shirt. I had heard about the Orange Marches since I was a kid of course, the ones in Northern Ireland at least, usually in the backdrop of some news story, and I had forgotten that Marching Season was starting. I knew from my mum that it was big in Glasgow (she spent some time in Glasgow as a kid, I think some of our Ulster family lived up here), and of course I’m well aware of Rangers and Celtic and the whole sectarian thing. Still, I was actually surprised to see them in person. I did see them marching the day before in Edinburgh actually, going up the Royal Mile in the morning with their flutes, playing “The Sash Me Father Wore” (I am sure they have other tunes, that’s the only one I know). It didn’t seem as big (though I saw coachloads of other men in orange sashes arrive a bit later), and was certainly dwarfed by the huge Pride marches that were happening on the same day in Edinburgh. The Glasgow march seemed to go on for a long way. I got a quick sketch done, and went and looked at something else.

When the rain had stopped and we were filled up on delicious fish and chips (washed down with more Irn Bru of course) we walked about the city centre. The pedestrianized Sauchiehall Lane looked like it had seen better days, and could have done with a little less of those food delivery bikes careening down them, a scourge in many cities now. But I liked the city centre, and while looking at our map a young lad came up and said “you look lost, can I help youse find something?” This it turns out was a feature of Glasgow – the people are just willing to give you a hand, this happened several times. We explored the George Square area and found that statue of the Duke of Wellington on his horse with the traffic cone on its head, outside the Gallery of Modern Art. I have seen this before on my one super brief stop in Glasgow, in 1999, and its the only thing I remember. It’s a Glaswegian tradition to put a cone on the head of the Iron Duke. Incredibly they have tried to stop people doing it, yet the cone is way more famous than the statue without the cone. We took a bus out towards Glasgow Cathedral, and on the way an elderly fellow had overheard us tell the driver where we were going, and was giving us directions in that thick Glaswegian accent that I love hearing so much. Honestly, it’s always been my favourite accent. My best friend when I was 12 was from Glasgow, Ralph, I think we became friends largely because I actually tried to understand him, but as a result of his influence at a formative age I do slip into a kind of Scottish pronunciation of certain words when I hear the accent again. I also watched maybe too much Rab C. Nesbitt as a kid as well. It was Ralph who got me interested in the guitar, and we were both big Beatles fans; I remember we talked about starting a band called The Flies, and eventually I got a cheap pretty crap acoustic for a fiver at a car boot sale, and learned my first chords (and also taught myself how to string a guitar). Anyway, we got off the bus and followed the old man’s helpful directions to the cathedral, known as St. Mungo’s Cathedral, and also the High Kirk of Glasgow (I’m not sure if it’s technically a cathedral, as we learned with St.Giles in Edinburgh, but it calls itself cathedral and it looks like one and that’s good enough for me). The cathedral was not actually where we wanted to go. We were looking for the Necropolis, which is a large cemetery at the top of a steep hill behind the cathedral with amazing views over the city. See my sketch at the top of the post, that was from there. The views were remarkable, you could see Celtic Park stadium, but we didn’t linger too long. In terms of location, I think it’s up there with my favourite cemeteries, and I was even more pleased to find the grave of William Miller, the guy who write Wee Willie Winkie. I took this photo of an ivy-covered memorial to a young lad named John Ronald Ker, who in 1867 had drowned while shooting wild fowl from his boat at the age of 21, and this monument was erected by his friends and family in his memory. It’s a beautiful celtic cross, and a sad story.

After the Necropolis, we bussed it back to the hotel and relaxed for the rest of the night, eating more Tunnocks Teacakes. More Glasgow sketches to come.

“Bloody MacKenzie, Turn the Key!”

August 8, 2023August 8, 20236 Comments

A must-see spot in Edinburgh for ghost hunters (or ghost hunted?) is Greyfriars Kirkyard. I went there twice. The second time was early on our final morning in the city, when I got up and walked across the old town until I reached the statue of Greyfriars Bobby, outside the Greyfriars Bobby pub. If I had heard of Greyfriars Bobby before, I don’t remember it, but I probably assumed he was some sort of policeman, maybe one that wandered the spooky graveyard in the foggy night looking out for graverobbers and ghouls. No, it turns out Greyfriars Bobby is a dog, a wee little pooch, and Disney even made a film about him. The story goes that the wee Bobby was the dog of a local policeman, a little Skye Terrier who was so loyal to his master that when the man died and was buried in the kirkyard around Greyfriars Kirk, Bobby would guard his grave every night for about fourteen years. Greyfriars Bobby, as he became known locally, eventually died in January of 1872 (thereby missing the first ever Scotland v England international football match by eleven months). Such was Bobby’s celebrity, a small fountain was commissioned by Lady Burdett-Coutts, president of the Ladies Committee of the RSPCA, topped with a little statue of Bobby sculpted by William Brodie. It was unveiled in November 1873 (almost exactly a year since that first Scotland v England international football match, which ended 0-0 by the way). I had to add Bobby to my sketchbook, and I added the eponymous pub in the background so that you know his name (the pub I think came later, and in those days they did not show international football on TVs in pubs, due to the lack of international football, plus the lack of TVs what with them not being invented, though a Scotsman would later fix that too). You will notice that Bobby has a very shiny nose. If you ever saw him you might even say it glows. This is because of a very silly tradition that tourists have, perhaps told by silly guides in years gone by, that if you touch Bobby’s nose you will have good luck, because (and you have to say this in a Scottish accent) obviously that makes loads of fuckin’ sense, doesn’t it. The problem has got so bad that the statue is in danger of being permanently damaged, so locals have taken to making up stories of bad luck that will befall people that rub Bobby’s nose, and those stories I might actually believe. One thing we do not want is for Bobby’s nose to come off, because the absolute last thing Edinburgh needs are endless jokes from its tour guides about how Edinburgh’s dog has no nose, “how does it smell?”, “reeky!”, etc and so on. So people please, leave wee Bobby’s nose alone.

Speaking of tours, the first visit we had to spooky Greyfriars was the very night before, when we took the ‘City of the Dead’ walking tour. This started outside St. Giles Cathedral on the Royal Mile, I sketched the little scene above while we awaited our tour group to assemble. We were met by our guide, a man dressed all in theatrical black with a spooky hat adorned with black flowers and crow’s wings,, round glasses, charcoal coloured paint around the eyes, and unnerving milky-white lenses in his eyes. He reminded me at first of the Crow Man from Worzel Gummidge, but with his white beard he also looked a bit like Terry Pratchett. He gave us an illustrative tour of the old town, full of ghosts yes but mostly full of bodies. Some of the stories were long, detailed and very gruesome, especially those concerning the infamous Old Tolbooth. We then moved through the city towards Greyfriars Kirkyard. It was not yet dark – it’s late June in Scotland, no chance – so we didn’t feel completely spooked out yet. Still the light was getting gloomy and the Kirkyard, packed with weatherworn graves, gnarly trees and mossy old monuments, was the perfect stage for this storytelling. It was also full of other guided tour groups, many from the Harry Potter realm. Greyfriars was a favourite thinking spot for JK Rowling as she came up with ideas for the Potter books, and she would write in a cafe just up the road from here. Many of the graves have names familiar to Potter fans, such as McGonagall (who was actually a poet, apparently a very bad one), James Potter, and the one everyone comes to see, Tom Riddle. It’s actually ‘Thomas Riddell’ but that’s close enough. On our tour, however, we were in for a very ‘real’ bit of spookiness. We were here for the infamous poltergeist, Bloody MacKenzie.

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George MacKenzie, aka ‘Bloody’ MacKenzie, was the enforcer of King Charles II’s punishment and persecution of the Covenanters in the late 1600s. He imprisoned about 1200 Covenanters – Presbyterians who supported the National Covenant in Scotland resisting Charles I’s changes to the Scottish Kirk – in a little field next to Greyfriars Kirkyard, in terrible cramped conditions, with so many either starving to death or being executed that George MacKenzie gained that ‘Bloody’ (or ‘Bluidy’ in Scots) nickname. MacKenzie died in 1691 in Westminster, but he was ultimately buried at a mausoleum right here in Greyfriars, mere feet away from where so many of his victims were imprisoned. Now here’s the thing. His ghost is not only said to haunt this place, but it’s been well documented in recent times. I won’t tell all the stories here, but a lot of people have encountered the dreaded MacKenzie Poltergeist. As our guide told us (after locking us into the ‘Covenanters Prison’ area; only official guides can access this part), many people have encountered this spirit, often feeling a strange presence or the sense of being attacked, or getting home the next day and discovering strange scratches on their body. It was getting gloomy when we entered one of the more sinister feeling tombs, where at the end of the 1990s a homeless man apparently encountered the restless spirit and started a new wave of hauntings. Our guide told us his tales. As he did, an American lady stood at the back of the tomb was becoming increasingly freaked out, interrupting him every minute or so to say that she felt something pressing down on her forehead, as if being pushed back. I thought she was going to faint. While I like the stories, I don’t really believe in ghosts being actually ‘real’ (though I will get shivers down my spine and feel very creeped out), but she certainly did and it was real enough for her. Our guide did a good job though not to freak her out more, but he performed a parlor trick to show us that Bloody MacKenzie can at least turn a huge iron key that was placed in the palm of his hand, making us all recite “Bloody MacKenzie! Turn the Key!” in the dim light while watching this key magically turn of its own accord. It was entertaining; as the guide said at the end, that’s just a wee bit of fun. Still, the American lady was sticking with this ghost tale. “Oh my God!” she exclaimed suddenly. “Does anyone have any AirPods on right now?” Um, no I don’t think so, people mumbled. “Some AirPods have just tried to connect to my iPhone! This has never happened before. That’s so weird. What’s causing that? Is anyone else having this happen?” We were in a literal tomb at night. “Well the poltergeist can sometimes have an effect on electronics,” our guide said reassuringly. The lady was utterly convinced, Bloody MacKenzie was trying to connect his Bloody AirPods to her iPhone. As I wondered what music he might make her listen to, the theme from Rentaghost just popped into my head, mysteriously. (There was a Scottish ghost in Rentaghost too wasn’t there, Hazel McWitch?) It was a fun evening of spooky stories, and it was dark when we walked back to our apartment, our last night in Edinburgh.

So I woke up next morning and came back to Greyfriars, drawing Bobby, and then coming in to explore in the damp morning light. Of course I had to draw MacKenzie’s mausoleum. I wasn’t too worried about being attacked by a poltergeist, or getting mysterious scratches on my arms, or even of having random bagpipe music commandeer my AirPods, though I was a bit nervous of getting eaten by midges, the biggest terror in Scotland as everyone knows. I drew the tomb safe from any supernatural danger, and went home for our final Edinburgh breakfast. We were off to Glasgow that day.

Edinburgh New Town

August 6, 2023August 4, 2023Leave a comment

We took a walk through Princes Street Gardens, which are absolutely lovely. Possibly one of my favourite things about Edinburgh. It’s great being up high and seeing over everything, but it was really relaxing being down low, and looking up at it all from among trees and flowers. I did a couple of quick sketches in my small Fabriano Venezia book, to capture the mood. Edinburgh is a lovely city. These gardens are the sort of place to sit and read a novel. They love their writers in Edinburgh – Sir Walter Scott has that absolutely massive monument by this park, the biggest I’ve ever seen for a novelist anywhere, 200 ft high. Apparently it’s the second biggest in the world, because there’s one in Havana dedicated to Cuban nationalist hero José Martí that is bigger, and since he was also a writer, well it means the Scott Monument isn’t the biggest one for a writer. Just the second biggest, which is fine.

We walked through the parks and there was an old time band playing old time music, I think it was for a gathering of veterans as there were lots of elderly people in uniforms with kilts, it was a nice event underneath the shadow of the castle. We had a cold drink and went off for lunch, before exploring some more of New Town, following a walk from my guide book.

New Town is (obviously) a lot newer than Old Town (wow, this is epic level travel writing here Pete, you’ll be competing with Rick Steves at this rate) but still historic and actually a UNESCO heritage area. Many of the buildings are Georgian (I suppose) and laid out very mathematically (I guess). It was a different vibe to Old Town and seemed to have fewer cashmere shops per square metre. We found ourselves on Heriot Row, which is where Robert Louis Stevenson lived as a child. Edinburgh loves its writers, and he’s one of the most famous, writing Treasure Island, Strange Case of Dr.Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, A Child’s Garden of Verses (personal favourite of mine as a kid and as a parent), and loads of other stuff, I mean the guy was a literary legend. Does he have a monument as big as Walter Scott? He has little monuments all over the place. Maybe Robert Louis Stevenson’s true monument is his body of work. That said, he does have a massive state park named after him in California not too far from us. It is (checks Wikipedia) in fact the largest state park in California named after a writer, at 5,990 acres, so well done Robert. Jack London’s state park is only 1,611 acres and he’s a native Californian. We found Robert Louis Stevenson’s childhood home at 17 Heriot Row, and so I added that house into my sketchbook. I’ve loved his poems since I was a kid so this was really fun to see.

We wandered further on our guidebook walk, finding ourselves on George Street, popping our heads into the very fancy restaurant The Dome which has a spectacular marble-columned interior underneath a huge (surprise!) dome. We rested on the steps and I did a quick sketch of the 18th century church spire across the street, called “St. Andrew’s and St. George’s West”, the two patron saints of Scotland and England. We moved along to St. Andrew’s Square, which surrounds a very tall column with a statue on top called the Melville Monument. Named after Herman Melville, the writer of Moby Dick, Edinburgh really loves big monuments to its writers doesn’t it. It’s 150 ft high so not as big as the Scott Monument but bigger than Stevenson’s, though neither of them have massive state parks in California’s wine country. Further inspection of Wikipedia and my guidebook informed me that Herman Melville is from New York, has nothing to do with Edinburgh, and that the Melville on this big column is some old Viscount called Dundas from the problematic days of the British Empire who famously opposed efforts to end the transatlantic slave trade. So, not a novelist who wrote about whales. I think I prefer the monuments to the great writers. With none of this really on our minds, our tired legs needed a rest and wouldn’t you know it, there was a big screen set up and they were playing The Wizard of Oz. So we sat on the grass (well, I stood and sketched for a bit) and watched the second half of that great ancient film. I know all the words, my sister used to watch it about eight times a day when she was little. When we were done, we all went our separate ways for the afternoon, my wife looked about the shops, my son went home to read the new novel he’d bought at Blackwells (he loves a good book, so fits in well with Edinburgh) but I needed to do a bit more climbing so I walked up Calton Hill and drew this.

the train to scotland

August 3, 2023Leave a comment

I love a train journey, especially a long one in a comfy seat with a table and a nice view over the countryside. It’s exciting, more exciting than a car trip, less annoying than flying, and don’t get me started on coach travel (which isn’t so bad actually, I’ve not done it in a while, but historically I’ve had mixed bags there). Anyway, one journey I was really looking forward to was Kings Cross to Edinburgh. The last time I took this journey was in 1999 with my friend Simon on our way up to Scotland, where we’d join our university’s theatre company at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival after spending a couple of days with his uncle outside Glasgow. This time it was me, my wife and my son on an eight-day adventure around Scotland, this being the first time back since that trip at the end of the 20th century. That was a really long time ago now. Well the countryside hasn’t changed that much, it’s still a lovely view over rolling English countryside, gradually getting lovelier the further north you go, passing by Durham which looks wonderful from the train (though my son and I were playing MarioKart at the time), going right through Newcastle and its bridges over the Tyne, past Lindisfarne off the coast, imagining the Viking raids all those centuries ago, circling around the lovely Berwick upon Tweed, which could be thought of as a little bit of Scotland in England (the football team does play in the Scottish league), and up that dramatic coastline towards Edinburgh itself. I think it’s one of the great train journeys of Britain. The train we were on was terminating at Inverness; that was our final destination as well, but after a week of seeing as much of Scotland as we could fit in. First though, three nights in Edinburgh. Our train journey was pretty pleasant, there was an older guy sat in one of the seats next to me who saw my Spurs top and he was a Tottenham fan, and told me a lot of stories about watching Spurs in the 70s and 80s and watching Ossie Ardiles, of course Ossie was my hero and I loved watching him as a kid myself, down at the Lane. A little later there was an American family with several kids and they were debating over whether the little light above the seat was red or orange, spending quite a long time on the topic, getting other passengers opinions (yeah we really don’t do that in the UK; I was going to say it looked yellow), but I did notice the dad really looking at my Spurs shirt, though he didn’t say anything. A few days later, we actually saw the same family up on Calton Hill, they recognized us, and he did say to me “I remember you were in the Tatt’num jersey!” I considered asking if they settled their argument on whether the small light was orange or red yet. And so, we arrived in Edinburgh, and walked to our apartment where we would spend the next three nights. We were right off the Royal Mile, and it was a walk uphill from the station. On the way, we passed the Old St.Paul’s church on Jeffrey Street, which was (I had almost forgotten) the location of our plays with the QMW theatre company in 1999. A number of barely-remembered memories came dribbling back. Many people whose names I’ve largely forgotten. It was 24 years ago after all, literally more than half my lifetime ago. I did the lighting and sound for three shows, I think it was three, along with Simon. Midsummer Nights Dream was the main one, plus a shorter piece I think was called Fat, by our friend Cuan (good bloke), and then another one which I have completely forgotten, except they used part of this song by Air over and over, and my job there was to turn on the music, and turn it off again, I think about four times in total. It was the only time I did Edinburgh with my uni, it was fun albeit quite drunken at times, there was another theatre company at the same venue who were performing a bizarre version of Ubu Roi, already a bizarre play, which I really loved and consequently got really into the original French version. I remember going out with the cast from that play on a fairly crazy evening. I do have some good memories from that trip, even if so many of them are distant and foggy now. 1999…

It is nice not being in Edinburgh during the Fringe though. The Royal Mile then was a cacophony of people, jugglers, students dressed in silly costumes handing out flyers to their low-budget plays (I was one of them, though I wasn’t acting or performing), and tourists. It was still busy this time, but a lot more mellow than that. The Royal Mile is mostly tartan souvenir shops, whisky shops, and cashmere shops. But there’s a lot of history here, and we really enjoyed being around those tall old stone Edinburgh buildings. Now that I am for all sense and purposes an American, I did wonder if I had to start calling it “Edin-borrow”, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I did however insist that we had to eat haggis. Now I don’t eat it myself because it’s meaty, but they have a vegetarian version now. At the restaurant where we ate dinner, down on the curving Victoria Street, we tried it, my wife getting the original style. I think she liked it, though it was very rich and she couldn’t finish it. I liked mine, though I preferred the Neeps and Tatties that went with it. Oh I do love my Neeps and Tatties. Neeps I supposed were Turnips, though actually what they call turnips in Scotland are more like what they call Rutubaga in America, and Swede in England; English turnips are actually something as bit different. I actually learned this from a podcast I started listening to called “Stories of Scotland”, hosted by Annie and Jenny, and I probably listened to about forty of their episodes while on this trip, and many more since. It’s all Scottish folklore, history, geography, geology and traditions. So, we had our haggis, that’s done now. I brought out my little sketchbook on that first evening’s walkabout, just doing a couple of quick sketches as we stopped. The one below is at Parliament Square, which is on the Royal Mile very close to St. Giles Cathedral, and I recognized this area as the part where The Vision and Wanda Maximoff battled against Corvus Glaive and Proxima Midnight in Avengers Infinity War (I love that film), before crashing down into Waverley St Station, and getting rescued by Captain America, Falcon and Black Widow. So, a bit like the Royal Mile during the Fringe, then.