My head is spinning. I’ve been on a literary and performance art trampoline for four days. Although it could be the coffee or menopause, I feel it’s the flood of explosive, mischievous, expansive, heartwarming, heartbreaking, humorous, visionary and heartfelt voices I’ve heard over the past four days, walking my way up and down, and around a city borne of thinkers who not only challenge the status quo, but who thrive on the challenge of doing so.   This is a typical Edinburgh Festival(s) (for there are many –  Art, Fringe, International Book, not forgetting the Tattoo all on at the same time vying for your attention).  August in Edinburgh is a celebration of provocative mind-play and showing imagination has no boundaries, and the value of art, performing and literary, in teaching people how to think, rather than what to think, and for that reason, for want of a better word, the experience is healing.  Experiencing the Edinburgh International Book Festival is like going through therapy, but much more fun.

The largest ticketed event in the world (not considering the Olympics and World Cup), the multi-layered mind-fest is speed for the imagination.  Jump starting the little grey cells on a hill worthy of any of the steepest Edinburgh slopes.  Architecture, performance, the tall spires of the churches, and battlements of the castle, with the flags flying, you expect a broomstick and Harry to come flying at you any moment, and the cobbled lanes, narrow and towering in over you, shadows as though Death Eaters linger in every corner.  Americans must visit and think this is what their mock everything is based on.   Edinburgh is disgorged with history but never loses its shape, soul and integrity even under the weight of millions of tourists who descend each August to share in the wealth of creative talent, while those who work on the festivals share the rallying cry ‘we will sleep in September’ for today we fly.

The first festival, held in 1947, was inspired to celebrate peace after the Second World War and give the locals something to look forward to, celebrating creativity in all its forms, and perhaps with all going on in the world now, never more have we needed a celebration on this scale with the integrity of design thinking at this level.

Immerse yourself in the experience to get the best of the fest.  I based myself at the Futures Institute, which had a wealth of authors, this year, well-known Roger McGough, Dolly Alderton, Salman Rushdie, Margaret Atwood (down the line, but that doesn’t matter, she still rocks), James O’Brien, Alan Cumming, Marian Keyes, Nicola Sturgeon interviewing (rather than being interviewed). For some events, you pay what you can, others you pay, and there are concessions.  The events are imaginatively produced. They do not sit and listen to authors waffle on about self-indulgent misery memoirs, – but are interactive, workshops, panels, loads of time given to Q and As and in one case, an interactive app which leads you round the streets of Edinburgh.

If you want a break from books, the performance art and Fringe events neatly and appropriately perched beyond the fringe of the the newly appointed Edinburgh Futures Institute, now home to the Edinburgh International Book Festival.

The elegant glass and brick building, with its clock tower, is within easy reach of the Fringe venues – four companies, Underbelly, Assembly, Gilded Balloon and Pleasance, who have AstroTurf their arenas.  A massive blow-up purple cow looms overhead in Underbelly’s St George’s Square venue, although their four venues (Bristo Square, Cowgate, Circus Hub, and Bristo Square, are sprinkled around, with variations on Belly – bellybutton, Belly Laugh, Belly Dancer, Delhi Belly, Big Belly, Iron Belly – all maximising to the nth degree of how far they are able to push the cow and belly metaphor.   There are other venues named after cows.  I found myself in Friesian for one event, and I’m lactose intolerant.  I recommend Bills 44th, an adult puppet show on male loneliness and isolation, but that description doesn’t do it justice. And another Why I stuck a Flare Up My Arse for England which again, is not what you would expect. Even looking through the guide, I found myself feeling the descriptions failed to manage expectations. These performances transcend words. They are/were simply brilliant.

It is in the realms of the Fringe, International Book, Comedy and Art Festivals, you will find design thinkers and future-thinkers of the festival, the latter of which was the theme of the Edinburgh International Book Festival this year, led for the first time by newly appointed director and CEO, Jenny Niven.

Previously Creative Scotland, launching book festivals in Beijing and Melbourne, founder of award-winning Push the Boat Out, a festival of poetry, spoken word and language; Executive Producer of Dandelion, an epic programme of sowing, growing and sharing across Scotland; and previously the Head of Literature at Creative Scotland, Jenny was named in The List’s ‘Hot 100’ people influencing Scotland’s arts and cultural landscape in 2022. She’s hit the ground running with an inspired and visionary festival which looks to the future and asks questions about our perceptions of it.

Those predisposed to FOMO will have issues because of the level of choice.  Take snacks, water and walking shoes (I had cowboy boots, which I could and have slept in), and check the weather each morning to see if you need to prepare for rain/wind/sun – as you can have them all in one day.  You will be distracted between each event by street performers, crowds surrounding street performers, and posters advertising a show that sounds better than the one you are on route to or is as good as.

It is easy to lose yourself – literally and metaphorically – in the miasma of ideas in each performance; expect the unexpected because in each of the events I went to, the descriptions did not do them justice. You need to experience them in the flesh.

Last time I visited was over a decade ago and all I could remember is the cold. This time, the warmth is striking, and the venues for the events including the new Futures Institute, the new home to the International Book Festival, is perfectly fit for purpose.   There are still the Monkey Barrell venues and the Caves and the Bellybutton venues, which appear – even if they are not thanks to the multi-layered nature of Edinburgh, subterranean.   Descending down steps which circle in on each other, and up steps,  everyone is encouraged to take their best step forward, although I took the tram for two days as stayed at The Fingal for the first two nights in the Port of Leith, which looks as though its undergone successful regeneration, with polished cobbles, statues, boutique hotels formerly ships, harboured and glossy, and bijoux pubs, cafes and restaurants with outside eating (in that Scottish sun – something I never thought I would say, let alone write), and making you realise how close you are to the sea.   Always in the distance between the buildings, the hills and waterway remind you how close you are to nature.

The second two nights were spent at the House of Gods, which is very central, within walking distance (thinking minutes, not a tram ride) to the high street and Royal Mile, where the parade happens after the Tattoo.   Adjacent to the Monkey Barrell events, near to the Caves and the UnderBelly Cowgate venues, it is at beating heart of the city.   There’s a grungy boutique feel about it. Whereas The Fingal tapped into the Death on the Nile vibe, this is Murder on the Orient Express, as corridors are narrow, half lit, with long velvet curtains and mirrors everywhere, glass doors and staircases.

Breakfast is served in a picnic basket each morning, at a time suited to you.   You need to walk through a mirrored bar area which feels like a luxuriant speak easy to reception which reminds me of the hatcheck area in the film Goodfellas. If you return tipsy from the day’s and evening’s night out, you will need help to find your room.  I didn’t touch any alcohol and one day I ended up going out of an exit where the cleaners had left the door open and ended up on the roof of an adjacent building.    There was a guy who worked in a neighbouring café, having a smoke, who laughed and directed me out into the street ‘don’t worry, this happens a lot’, he said pointing the way.

Edinburgh is a city of lateral thinkers wanting to share what they have learnt and its addictive.   Exhausting and addictive, I would give it a week.  Too less and you will miss out, more, and you will come down with some physical or emotional exhaustion which means you will need to rest for a week when you return home.  The Edinburgh International Book Festival blows the mind and with all those steps, potentially, the knees.