Scotland

I've left Boston, again, and for the last time as a resident of the city. It did look somewhat cleaner and more inviting in my last two or three weeks, but seeing as how August brings tourists and humidity to Boston, I can be fairly sure that the momentary pleasantness was mostly in my mind. So we parted amicably, and I got to packing.

The one upside of leaving the kitty behind for the time being (I'll be back in December to bring him, along with his Pet Passport, back to the Netherlands) is that I no longer live in fear that his astonishing feats of acrobatics, which surely are all part of a master plan; leading toward what, I am probably better off not knowing. Lest you think my fear is not warranted, please see for yourself what he did as soon as my shoes were all removed from the shoe rack in my closet:


Then I got on a plane and was elbowed by a sullen 14-year-old British girl for seven hours. Then I snuck out of Schiphol Airport during my 5-hour layover in order to leave the heavier of my carry-on bags at my new apartment. That all happened, from my perspective, between 2 and 5am, so I will withhold my descriptions of the city and the apartment until next week, when I'm back for good. I think I had a nice morning.

The airport at Edinburgh is, as Jackie promised, exactly like Long Beach Airport, but indoors. The entirety of the staff consists of three gate agents, one man with a mop, and an inordinately inquisitive Passport Inspection lady who probably now knows more about my sister and her studies than does the professor she's working for this summer.

The rest of Edinburgh aside from the airport is exactly like Ireland, if Ireland were staggeringly hilly. "But you edited the map of Edinburgh for Let's Go," my sister pointed out (logically and exuding no small delight at being able to contradict me) after I grumpled about the grade of Cockburn St. "Maps are flat," I said, gasping. "And I have one-fourth of all my worldly possessions on my back."

"Didn't you know that Edinburgh was built on an extinct volcano?" Jackie persisted, as she is wont to do. "Rrmgh," I said. Neither of us mentioned that my degree is in Earth and Planetary Science, with a focus on Volcanology. We couldn't mention anything, because we couldn't breathe.

I emerged from a long-awaited shower to find that Jackie had made bacon, brie, and tomato sandwiches, which is something the Scottish have invented as part of their pennance for thinking up haggis. Then we set off for the Fringe. We warmed up at The Elephant House, which is where Jo Rowling wrote the first drafts of Harry Potter, and I managed to completely avoid calling any of the staff muggles or ordering a butterbeer. Down the street from Elephant, I accidentally took a picture of the most-photographed statue in Scotland:


I took it because I liked the skyline and the way one street drops off precipitously while the other carries on flat (joke about which road leads to Loch Lomond will not be made here; Dad, you're on your own for that one). If I had been trying to photograph Bobby, this would be a very embarassing picture, since most of him is behind that woman's pink umbrella.

Oh yes, Scotland is rainy. It rains about a third of the time, which is to say, about 20 minutes out of every hour. This means dry (though not sunny) skies are never more than a few minutes away, but it also means you shouldn't have brought an umbrella that attacks you whenever you try to fold it back up.

The Edinburgh Fringe is in full swing: Venues like Festival Theatre and Bedlam Theatre and the Underbelly are filled with people and fliers. Jackie and I didn't go to any of those places. Here is Jackie standing in front of the tent that covers the stage of Udderbelly:
Yes, it's a giant purple lady cow.

Then we saw two one-man comedy shows at a venue called C Urban Garden, specifically in the Teehee Teepee. An urban garden is a yard containing a lot of bricks, and in this case, tents with small stages. The comedians were very good, the crowds depressingly small. This meant plenty of interaction with the audience, which made for a great experience. An even better experience was accidentally running into Aoife and her company in the bar area of the C Theatre. We had planned to meet up on the next day before going to see her show, but seeing people you know unexpectedly is what the Fringe is all about. Also, theatre.

We saw another show this morning, again in the Urban Garden, but this time in a bigger tent, which was necessary to fit all of the puppets. Yes, it was Breakfast with the Bickersons as told by muppets.

When not in tents or coffeeshops, we've been very cold all the time, becuase both Jackie and I seem to be holding on to the Californian notion that if we just wear skirts or sun dresses, surely the bitter wind will stop blowing in from the Highlands. Here I am, on my way back to Jackie's place to change into jeans, shivering in the shadow of another extinct volcano.

It's about time for Second Breakfast.