The Question on South Bridge

“Still kicking the buses?” It’s one of those lines that immediately calls for a short story. In what context could such a question even make sense? What struck me was how matter-of-fact the question was, suggesting that such behaviour was inherently normal. Yet, this exchange took place on South Bridge, a somewhat febrile and chaotic section of the city—certainly by the orderly, often sleepy standards of Edinburgh. It’s one of the few areas that actually feels like a busy metropolis, rather than an overstretched village.

While attention has understandably focused on North Bridge and its major repair and reconstruction over the last couple of years, the parallel significance of South Bridge must not be overlooked. The North Bridge is being carefully repaired, while the South Bridge remains broken. This piece examines the central Edinburgh thoroughfare of South Bridge as a street where urban planning failure meets deep social distress. Moving beyond the surface chaos of traffic and narrow pavements, the street’s frenzied atmosphere is revealed as a manifestation of profound systemic neglect, visibly intersecting with crises related to addiction, homelessness, and mental health.

The City’s Worst Pinch Point

South Bridge is arguably Edinburgh’s most dysfunctional street, perpetually incapable of handling the sheer volume of daily traffic and pedestrians that traverse it. The chronic, severe congestion at its northern end led Cliff Hague of the Cockburn Association to label the intersection with the Royal Mile as the city’s “worst pinchpoint.”

The physical design dangerously exacerbates the problem: the pavements are notoriously narrow, creating great bottlenecks at bus stops and often forcing pedestrians to step into the road, risking collision and drawing angry beeps from drivers. This daily reality is strongly validated by recent reporting, which highlights that the pavements fail to meet the City Council’s own minimum design standards. Residents have called the street hazardous, with one deeming it “the worst street in Scotland” to walk on. Consequently, local pressure groups like Living Streets Scotland argue for a necessary “rethink” of the entire street’s layout to actively prioritise pedestrians, a problem the Council has acknowledged while exploring plans to significantly reduce through traffic to create space for widening the footways. The possible routing of the tram over South Bridge will perhaps push things to breaking point – or perhaps see the deeper issues properly addressed.

For those who use it regularly, the street’s frenzied and chaotic feel is inescapable. I vividly recall one peak-time thunderstorm during the Edinburgh Fringe where the sodden scrum to board a delayed, jam-packed bus felt less like a transit attempt and more like escaping an impending natural disaster. This constant struggle against the street’s inadequate infrastructure leaves the impression of a place permanently on the verge of breakdown.

Chaos and Confusion in the Labyrinth

As a primary route connecting the city, South Bridge is a place people tend to wish to pass through quickly. It is a confused mixture of frustrated office workers, harried tourists, and over-caffeinated students. Others appear spaced out and dislocated, moving directionlessly.

Right in the heart of the labyrinthine Old Town, if you stop for a moment on any typical day, you will witness eccentric behaviour—or find it inflicted upon you. On many occasions, there’s a deeply comic feel to the chaos, as if a Fringe performance has spilled out from one of the Cowgate caverns and onto the street, resulting in a kind of rolling, anarchic street theatre.

The Darker Truth Behind the Comedy

In recent years, much attention has been paid to ‘disruptive’ behaviour in and around Hunter Square. In truth, that spot has been a ‘hangout’ for many years. There is a tendency among observers to want to see such people and behaviour simply removed, rather than actually addressing the underlying causes.

It is perhaps a stark irony that Norrie Rowan, renowned for excavating the lost physical vaults beneath the South Bridge, has actively opposed tackling the area’s hidden social distress. Campaigning against a new homeless centre in the area, Rowan asserted his view that “these homeless people don’t belong in the Old Town, they don’t come from the Old Town so why bring them into the Old Town which is a tourist area?” This opposition highlights the deep, often uncomfortable tension between preserving the Old Town’s commercialized, historic image and addressing the acute needs of its most vulnerable population.

The dysfunction of the street runs deeper than its failure as a mere thoroughfare. Behind the surface-level chaos lies profound social distress, indicating a much darker reality. The street is home to some of Edinburgh’s most vulnerable and troubled people, evidenced by the presence of vital support organisations. For example, Streetwork’s Holyrood Hub offers essential services for those experiencing homelessness, while a few yards away, the Pleasance Rapid Access Accommodation service actively aims to reduce rough sleeping. Further up the Cowgate, The Access Place provides specialised homeless support for individuals over 16 with significant needs, including mental health, substance use, and learning difficulties. Collectively, the concentration of these critical services transforms this area from a simple urban route into a visible hub of complex social need.

Although the area is infested with Airbnb apartments, the streets around South Bridge are also full of flats under the auspices of housing associations, such as Castle Rock. These are a commendable attempt to maintain a social mix in the city centre and battle against the social segregation that marks so much of Edinburgh, countering the history of working-class people being decanted out of the Old Town in the 1960s.

Shared Torment

However, in observing people with drug and alcohol misuse issues, there is often a great deal of ‘othering.’ We tend to view their problems as inherently different from what others suffer from. In truth, they are battling the same fundamental inner demons as many of us—most people have experienced periods of poor mental health. The way some people deal with these issues may manifest differently in public, but the essential internal problems are found across the spectrum of society. Inner torment is simply part of the human condition.

Thus, while the scenes we might witness on South Bridge—the shouted questions, the frustrated commuters, the occasional person literally kicking a bus—are full of surface-level comedy, the erratic public behaviour is often a manifestation of profound private turmoil. This is the dark, uncomfortable truth behind the street’s anarchic theatre. Services for those facing mental health difficulties and addiction problems are constantly struggling to cope, and the street itself is a daily barometer of their need.

A Call for Coherence and Compassion

Ultimately, South Bridge is an indictment of a city that prioritises spectacle and infrastructure over its own citizens’ coherence and care. It’s a microcosm where urban planning failure (the choked traffic and narrow pavements) visibly intersects with deep social failure (untreated addiction, homelessness, and mental health crises). The frenzied atmosphere—the desperate energy of tourists, students, and office workers colliding with the dislocated behaviour of the distressed—is the audible noise of this systemic neglect. The occasional outburst, the ‘kicking of the bus,’ is not merely eccentricity or petty crime; it is the surface manifestation of a system at its breaking point.

To truly ‘fix’ South Bridge is not about traffic flow; it requires the political will to fund and implement robust mental health and addiction services that address the core problem. Until then, the dark truth behind the street’s comic chaos will remain on display, a continuous, painful reminder of the city’s shared, but unequally expressed, inner torment.

Drummond Street: A Southside Study in Paradox

A friend, who has lived on Drummond Street since 2013 and increasingly feels like a true Southsider, sees the area’s identity as ‘fundamentally working-class’. Many residents, often in social or cheaper housing, have been here for years and have experienced “some form of hardship.” This history lends the area a unique character, amplified by the rich cultural mix. The availability of cheaper food (at Lidl and elsewhere) contributes to an inclusive feel, distinct from pricier areas like Stockbridge. She feels an affinity here, noting, “I say hi to a lot of people.”

Unsurprisingly, the area around the Mosque is a hub for halal butchers and Asian foodstores, but this is rapidly evolving with the emergence of new Chinese and Korean food businesses. Drummond Street is a place of constant flux, yet it retains a character rare in Edinburgh: it is populated by those who cannot share the sense of permanence and security found in the city’s many plush, leafy suburbs.

A Place of Paradox

For my friend, the area is genuinely “full of paradoxes.” Especially during the Fringe, it transforms into a busy destination, overflowing with eateries and nocturnal activity. Every time she returns to her top-floor flat, she is reminded of the “privilege” of living in such a historic area, mere minutes from Holyrood Park and the Old Town. Her living room offers a stunning vista: Calton Hill is perfectly framed, and the grand dome of Old College dominates the view to the West. Visitors often remark, “Just look at the view!”

Yet, the Fringe’s presence is also a constraint. Venues may be a minute from her door, but the crowds and noise can hem residents in. “Especially since I’ve started to try to walk the streets with a pram,” she notes, the narrow pavements and relentless busyness have become truly disruptive. Even seeking out quiet green spaces, such as the playpark in Dumbiedykes or the benches at Nicholson Square, can be a challenge.

Detritus and Dislocation

The beauty is frequently offset by the grim reality that the area is often “drowning in litter and putrid rubbish,” much of it generated by the numerous local eateries. As back streets, the lanes around Drummond Street often become a dumping ground—a place where you find the detritus of the Fringe and the city, pushed away from the eyes of most.

The rubbish and dirt attract rodents. She reports that her old building, which is difficult to modernise, and many others on and around South Bridge are “riddled with mice and rats.” She recently faced issues with fleas feeding off dead mice in inaccessible crevices, which “took ages” for the housing association to sort out, leading to many sleepless nights for her and her young son. Despite being in a World Heritage Area, it is not an easy place to live.

My friend, having previously worked in social care and for the homeless charity Streetworks, is highly conscious of those living on the streets. She actively seeks to understand the individuals she sees, learning their stories and the issues they are battling. The groups who congregate at Hunter Square are the clearest manifestation of this social dislocation. As a new mother, she has become more aware of the risks this poses: “I’ve seen several fights on Hunter Square,” and she regularly spots syringes in the undergrowth in the area, particularly around Nicholson Square.

A Potent, Two-Tiered Indictment

The combined reality of South Bridge and Drummond Street provides a potent, two-tiered indictment of Edinburgh’s priorities. On the macro level (South Bridge), the failure is architectural and political: a choked artery that the city has physically neglected. On the micro level (Drummond Street), the failure is human and visceral: a community enduring the raw consequences of social inequality, from rat infestation and housing neglect to the visible risks associated with addiction and homelessness in public spaces.

The noisy chaos of South Bridge is not an isolated event; it is the symptom of the systemic pressures being felt by the residents and vulnerable populations in the streets immediately surrounding it. The city’s historic core, marketed globally for its beauty and spectacle, simultaneously serves as a dumping ground for the physical and social detritus that its affluent image tries to suppress. Truly fixing the street will demand more than traffic plans; it requires the city to address the fundamental social contract that currently leaves its most vulnerable citizens and its essential working-class communities to bear the costs of its systemic failures.