At any time of year, Edinburgh has an air of magic to it. The Scottish capital is steeped in a history that can be found perfectly preserved in its architecture. Simply taking a stroll through its centre feels like reading a detailed account of every era, from the murky mediaeval times, through the somewhat nefarious enlightenment and up to the present day. All of this is built in the shadow of the Edinburgh Castle, which itself dates back to the 11th century and is built on a dormant volcano that played a notable part in shaping the slopes of the city.

Due to strict building regulations, the only thing that is legally allowed to (and very much does) dwarf the castle is Arthur’s Seat, a mountain that bares a striking resemblance to Table Mountain and is held in equal fondness by the Edinburghers (Edinburgundian or Edinburdonian or Edinbuggers, depending who you ask). The landscape of Edinburgh is cinematic but is really just a teaser to what can be found in the highlands that lie just a few hours drive from the city.

The winters, although notoriously frigid and dark, come with their own charm as the sandstone buildings and cobbled roads take on a romantic, moody atmosphere in the rain and snow. In stark contrast, the summer days are disorientingly long and lush, albeit still quite rainy. Along with the longer days and shorter sleeves (sometimes), summer brings something truly unique to Edinburgh.

It all began in 1947 when eight theatre groups piggy-backed, uninvited, on the first edition of the Edinburgh International Festival. These eight theatre groups capitalised on the global audiences drawn in by the Festival and put on their productions on its fringes. 11 years later, the Festival Fringe Society was formed and now, on the festival’s 75th birthday, it holds the title of the largest arts festival in the world. The 2024 season showcased well over 3600 shows to the 400 000 festival goers that descended upon the city’s cobbled streets. It is safe to say that it is no longer a festival on the fringes. This all takes place over just three short weeks, alongside the International Festival, the Book Festival, the Food Festival, the Art Festival, the Film and Television Festival, the Military Tattoo and, next year, Oasis.

As the clock strikes August, Edinburgh erupts into a surreal fever dream of a month. From 10am-ish until 2am-ish, you can walk into just about any venue in the city and find a show. Even the walk between venues is a venue, with street magicians, fire eaters, dancers, painters, mimes, clowns and someone doing all of that while juggling swords on a slackline, lining the streets.  It’s a place where an unknown comedian can brush shoulders with an industry legend and a one-person play can move from a 20-seater, bomb-shelter-esque room to the international stage and screen.

Exposure of this scope and esteem is something that small productions and solo artists rarely have such easy access to. The uniqueness of Fringe lies in the Society’s commitment to never vet the festival programme, allowing “anyone with a story and a venue willing to host them” the opportunity to partake. It is inevitable, then, that not everything you see is going to be a five star success but this becomes a welcomed part of it for many festival goers. Your Fringe experience isn’t complete if you haven’t watched a comedian bomb for an hour to an audience of five or a one-person show that has confused trauma-dumping with poignance or two actors being naked for a reason that never becomes quite clear. And yet, these shows are just as welcomed by audiences as the jaw-dropping circus acts and the stories and images that stay with you well after you’ve left the theatre. As an example of the latter, it would be remiss not to mention Kafka’s Ape— a South African production developed by Phala Ookeditse Phala alongside solo actor Tony Bonani Miyambo. After being met with rave reviews at the Fringe this year and being called “one of the most powerful performances you’ll see all festival”, we can only hope that it will return for another run on a South African stage. For the most part, August in Edinburgh is a unique and fantastical moment that seems to exist outside of reality, a moment in which anything is possible.

However, as with so many things that begin for and by artists who can’t afford to go anywhere else, the Festival is becoming inaccessible to those who built it into what it is today. In theory, the Fringe is for “anyone with a story” but in practice it is for anyone who can afford it and that group is rapidly shrinking. In August, restaurants shoot up their prices, many by over 50%, and hotels, hostels, Airbnbs and performance venues become eye-wateringly expensive. The city even becomes unaffordable to permanent residents, not to mention those who have to travel from all over the world and times every pound by 24. As a result, artists have no choice but to increase their ticket prices and audiences have no choice but to see fewer and fewer shows every year.

It is no wonder that the Festival’s growth is now being seen by many as grotesque rather than exciting, with some even questioning how much longer it can continue. The loss of the world’s biggest arts festival would be something truly tragic and a chilling harbinger of the future of art. This is obviously not something unique to Edinburgh and the Fringe Festival as we see iterations of this happening in creative scenes in Cape town and all over the world, including our National Arts Festival in Makhanda.

The ramification of these losses, I feel, is pertinently encapsulated by author Sarah Schulman in her introduction of the 2008 reprint of her novel, Rat Bohemia. In it she is reflecting on the gentrification of Manhattan but the sentiment is one that is applicable in many contexts.

“If marginalised people cannot afford to live in Manhattan, then Manhattan is subsequently removed from the global map as a place for new art ideas, new modes of rebellion, and a new social imaginings. In a cultural arena where there is very little public space for new ideas, prohibiting the creation of mixed (racially, sexually, and intellectually) low-income communities means eliminating the incubation venue for broad visions of freedom”

It is hard not to feel a bit hopeless as we watch the cost of making and accessing art continue to rise while the financial support for artists continues to dwindle. There is, however, a strange comfort in the fact that articles of this tone have been written for who knows how long and yet these festivals continue to emerge and independent artists continue to carve out spaces for themselves, working their way in from the fringes.