To Be Used For The Forces of Evil

I seem to have spent a great portion of the day slaughtering flies, but that's winding down now on account of my being rather adept at it and therefore running low on victims. So, a few exciting developments to be reported on, aside from the deaths of countless buzzing insects:

First and foremost, I have, with great expenditure of effort, deep cleaned my room. This may sound mundane to the common reader, but those familiar with the Bellwood family's astonishing capacity for the creation of Epic Chaos will doubtless be impressed by the fact. Of course, as I'm leaving again in a few short days, all the carefully dusted surfaces will once more acquire a sneeze-inducing patina of filth (Where does it all come from?) that will be purged anew in July. Still, it's nice for now.

I have also acquired a new and much-needed bookshelf -- an empty space which I can (and will) use to justify the purchase of many new and exciting books.

Secondly, I've devoted a shocking amount of time to cleaning outside my personal domain in The Shire* proper, as we have a real live human who is not a member of the family coming to stay. My very own, first-time-ever, fresh-outta-the-box Couchsurfing guest! Emmanuelle will be joining us for two nights starting today from France, so we figured now was as good a time as any to dispose of all those spare corpses and voodoo-related chickenfeather effigies lying around. Good choice.

There's more, always more, but it's 3:30 in the fucking morning, which is hardly a decent hour for a decent being to be awake at. Some of you may wish to argue that I'm hardly decent, and would probably be entirely correct in your convictions, but that doesn't change the fact that I am very, very sleepy indeed. Exciting recommendations will follow tomorrow, as well as whatever else I had in mind when I set out to update but somehow forgot to include.

It's just nice to show some floor again. Even if it sure as hell ain't gonna last.

*If you insist, Ms. Bennett.

Last Words

Clocking in at just past 12:30 am every night, the garbage collectors of Salamanca hit the streets. The first evening of my stay I could've sworn there was a minor earthquake ricocheting down Calle de Don Bosco, but since then it's become a familiar fixture. Tonight, curled in bed, scribbling by candlelight and the ruddy orange glow from the streetlights, getting dripped on by the various drying garments which form a canopy overhead, I can see the windows trying to leap out of their metal frames. The juddering of the engine in the street below is dislodging droplets of condensation which run races through the variety of joyous words I've written in the steam.

Mostly, I'm packed and ready to go. As always, it has come as a surprise that I have so little with me here. After I throw out the various odd bits of paper and pack away the sealing wax and the stamps and the traveling umbrella, there's really not much left. My shoulders are fairly grateful for this fact, as tomorrow marks the return to impermanence once more. I'm catching a train very early in the morning and will be settled (if one can call it that) for my first night in Rome by 9 pm. However, as the journey is on its last legs and money isn't bursting from the seams of my backpack, I'm couchsurfing once more -- and it seems I couldn't have picked a better country to do it in.

Something in the Italian spirit really seems to spark to the Couchsurfing Project. This probably doesn't come as a surprise to most, as Italians are known for being exceedingly friendly and vivacious -- therefore marking them as obvious candidates for welcoming nomadic strangers into their homes simply for the sake of enjoying their company and showing off their beautiful city. It does mean that I'll be moving about a fair bit, but it's cheap and, more importantly, allows one to see Rome through the eyes of all its lovers and madmen. I'm preparing myself for many nights full of sparkly things and the sound of bells and the taste of pasta and wine -- and I don't doubt that the world will deliver.

Salamanca is wet and chilly, trying to decompress after a weekend of festivities. The flat has been colonized by various siblings and friends these last three days -- each night bringing new and more bizarre costumes for the assembled company prior to heading for the nightlife of downtown around 3 am. Feeling the need for a little peace and quiet before my departure, I've stayed in. However, excitement tracked me down nonetheless. Friday evening, arriving home, I was met by Paula and Julio in the midst of some sort of argument. After being convinced that I wouldn't have to get involved/decapitated, I went to put purchases away. Unfortunately, it seemed that my bulb was out, as the switch on the wall did nothing to illuminate my room.

Sensibly, I made sure the switch was off before I dragged a chair over to take a look at the situation, but apparently that wasn't enough to stop the vicious shower of sparks which exploded from the bottom of my Chinese lampshade when I attempted to remove it from the bulb. I immediately (Reflexes of a cat) uttered a violent stream of expletives and fell backwards off the chair and onto the bed, smelling more than a little of singed hair. After making sure nothing had caught fire, I realized that the entire apartment had been plunged into darkness. Many tipsy giggles from the living room, Paula threatening people with a crank-action flashlight, and Julio tripping over things in the hallway trying to find the breaker panel. Once power was restored to the rest of apartment, we gathered to assess the situation.

Gingerly, in case of further unexpected pyrotechnic displays, we managed to unscrew the bulb and investigate the wiring. We didn't have to investigate very closely. Both copper wires had been blown apart by the force of the current, although it probably didn't take much, as they were both frayed and corroded beyond all reason. We left it hanging there, melted bits of wiring hanging from the ceramic, and decided that we'd handle it in the morning. Luckily, Ann was able to lend me her desk lamp, and I'd bought some tea lights a few weeks earlier, which explains, more or less, the situation at the beginning of this installment. The dripping clothing has more to do with the terrible knowledge that I'm probably not going to have access to a washing machine for the next two weeks, and therefore decided to launder everything -- Merino be damned.

In the department of difficult things, I've lost my wallet. This is inconvenient, but not the end of the world. The only real challenge will be figuring out how I can manufacture more Pope cards. In the meantime, much cancelling of bits of plastic and applying for new student ID's, as well as a bit of nostalgia, as I'd been carrying the thing for at least seven years. Perhaps it will yet emerge from some unlikely hiding place in my room, but I'm not hopeful. I am, however, alive. This puts things in a nice sort of perspective.

Basically, this has all been the fabled Last Hurrah before I descend once more into crypticism (Not a real word, you say? It hasn't stopped me before.) and anonymity. I will, of course, do my best to update frequently in the coming two weeks, but I doubt it's going to come close to the products of unlimited computing time here in Spain. If all else fails, there will certainly be (more) postcards and letters on the way to all quarters, along with a great deal of love. Rest assured, I will be enjoying myself prodigiously.

So, until next time, ciao bellezze.

Thank God For Laundry Detergent

I washed my clothes today and my goodness do they smell nice.

Our dinner last night was fabulous. Company from all throughout the UK, as well as Spain, Hungary, America, and Canada. Fajitas were tasty, Polish plum cake doubly so. And Ivani's beautiful voice serenaded us all late into the the evening. I slept deeply and arose this morning to wash clothing (ooh yeah) and relax. Lots of a journal writing and watching the sun dart in and out of the clouds.

Eduard left us and Kate went off to do some errands. I ended up leaving the flat around 3pm after saying my thank you's and goodbye's to Kate to meet Josh Cornwell and his girlfriend on Princes Street. I found Josh leaning out the top of Scott Monument, but I was damned if I was going to climb that many flights of stairs with a full backpack, so I called him and told him to come down. We went for coffee and I introduced Josh to the wonders of chocolate, caramel, and shortbread. Yum.

Then onto a bus and over to Fountainbridge to meet Ben. Ladies and Gentlemen: I now have my own room. For a whole weekend. It's got a bed and a clothes drying rack and a dresser and EVERYTHING. I'm so excited.

Lots of couchsurfing action this weekend with a meet Sunday evening at the Brass Monkey for a free film festival, then Monday at 2pm we're bringing free hugs to St. Andrew's Square. Look out UK, here we come! For anyone not familiar with the Free Hugs Movement, do take the time to google it (As it's late and I can't be arsed to link the webpage) and join in on the fun. I'll let you all know how it goes.

Tonight Ben and I caught Play On Words, a fantastic show in the tradition of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead written by a three man theatre company who have all been friends for years. I met one of their number at the Fringe Box Office and was exceedingly pleased to see what talented young men they are. The show was fantastic. Clever, moving, witty, unusual. Everything I enjoy in theatre. I wanted to stay and chat with them at the bar, but Ben and I headed home instead, stopping at The Last Drop (A pub which used to be the site of all the hangings in Edinburgh - har har very funny) and a (much quieter) pub near his house for a few drinks. All in all a very successful day.

Tomorrow will be a slow start and so, as that great 18th century jounralist would say, to bed.

Sleep tight,

Lucy

I'm Stopping This Silly Titular Pattern

This is turning out to be far more frequently updated than I thought it would. My apologies to all of you who thought this would be a suspenseful manner of following my escapades.

My callouses are beginning to flake into small pieces. This is always a sad time for a tall ship sailor away from home a) because it promises untold pain for about 48 hours when one returns to the sea and must regrow them and b) because it's also like severing a connection with home. I was struck with awful home sickness last night -- not for on-land home, but for brig home. I thought of family camp and sailing into the sunset and sleeping on deck in the sun during transit and I grew sad. Apparently there are some tall ships in Southern England, so I'm hoping to get my fix once I'm over there, though it's not the same as enjoying the company of the lovely folks aboard the Lady. So if any of you happen to end up here, know that I miss you and wish you were in Edinburgh with me.

Yesterday got started on a stressful note as I slept through my checkout time at the hostel and, after hastily stuffing all my earthly possessions haphazardly into my bag, was unable to find Violet Dalton's offices.

Violet, to clarify, is the first of many folks from The Couchsurfing Project who I'll be staying with. For all you travelers out there I highly recommend this site. It offers you the chance to really connect with local people and learn about the city you're in through their eyes. It's a cultural exchange as well as a free place to stay. Log on to http://couchsurfing.com/ to find out more.

Luckily I searched Charlotte Square as well as Charlotte Street and found her at the National Trust Offices. She was very kind and allowed me to put my bag into her car for the day. We made an arrangement to meet up at 7:30 and then parted ways.

Since I'd had such a haphazard start to my day I made it as far as the Half-Price Hut and Ticket Tent, via Boots for a cheap meal, before collapsing on the grass and trying to organize my day. After about an hour I felt ready to face the afternoon. I bought a ticket to see Two Left Hands, a sketch comedy show done by a friend of a friend and her friend, then headed over a few blocks to check out some of the stand-up being delivered through the Free Fringe.

The Free Fringe is a movement to bring comedy to the Fringe Fest without high ticket prices, or any ticket prices at all for that matter. I highly commend all the comedians I saw at the Mercat Bar. They were courageous and amusing and obviously just doing it for the love of the thing. I stayed for a show and a half, convinced all the comedians that I was a reviewer simply because my journal and pen were on the table, then had to run like mad for the Rocket to see Two Left Hands.

My journey was not a successful one. I made it to the Rocket already late before realizing that the show was actually at the Pleasance Courtyard, which turned out to be a few blocks away. Then from the Courtyard I found out that the real venue was another block away at the Pleasance Baby Grand. So off I went, now 15 minutes late. The show was being held in a storage container, of all places, and the ticket-taker said they weren't too fond of late-comers, but that he could sneak me in during a break in the sketches. Luckily right as we reached the door a sketch ended, and I was hurled into a small, dark space full of people. Claustrophobia aside, the show was marvellous. I introduced myself to Leila afterwards and, although we both had to dash away to other obligations, agreed to meet for a drink or something in the future.

I then toddled back to the Rocket for AINE...(tigone), a production of Antigone set during the troubles in Ireland. The Cafe downstairs, Angel's, was packed with American teenagers. Apparently all from Southern California and all talking senselessly with sentences full of "like's" and "whatever's," they were like a flock of very loud, obnoxious birds. I tried to exude English vibes as I tucked myself into a corner and devoured a blueberry muffin.

The show, I'm sorry to say, was awful. The reason for the American teenagers downstairs became apparent when I found out that the show was, in fact, being done by an American Teenager Theater Group. Would you imagine that? And what's more, they were from Los Angeles. And they were all doing terrible Irish accents.

Jessie Cornwell remarked that the Stanford Shakespeare Society was going to get slaughtered doing their show on the Fringe because they're in the UK. This is a similar phenomenon. Don't do your amateur Greek play at the Festival of Epidaros. Don't take your badly-trained student actors to muddle incomprehensibly through what is probably a very good and interesting adaptation in awful accents to people who actually know how they're supposed to sound. Needless to say, the UK portion of the audience reacted quite differently from the American section. After the show a gaggle of Scots girls exploded onto the sidewalk beside me and burst into fits of laughter, unable to believe the quality of the acting and dialects.

And that's the thing. It's not just about doing the right accent -- though, in my book, if you can't do the accent right you shouldn't be doing it at all and chances are even if you're doing a good job acting nobody will notice because of how you sound -- it's about doing the right acting. These kids had a long way to go on that front, though good on them for coming all the way out here to do it. Albeit badly. Anyway, I was disappointed, but not all shows can be fantastic. That's just the way things go.

Violet and I returned to her flat via Arthur's Seat, which is moments away from Princes Street, but looks as if it's in the middle of wild countryside. The peak is 823 feet tall and sits within Holyrood Park. It was formed by a now-extinct volcano and then eroded by a passing glacier. I'm planning to hike up it before I leave the city. You can also drive up the side of it, which we did. As we rounded the cliffs the sun was lancing through the clouds on its way towards the horizon, striking all the rocks with a beautiful orange glow. It was stunning.

Violet's flat overlooks the river as it runs into the North Sea, currently at low tide exposing rocky shores and several tide pools. It's full of beautiful colors and nooky rooms and a cat, which is a nice change. She's been hosting counchsurfers non-stop for ages, and I commend her for it. We had a lovely dinner and sat about until about 12, then went to bed. I opted to sleep in and take this bus this morning, which was a good idea. I didn't properly wake until about 11. Fantastic.

My plans for the day include meeting Josh Cornwell, who's also staying in Edinburgh for the Festival, and Ben, one of the swing dancers I met at the Jive Aces concert. He's given me a few swing events to check out this Sunday, so it should be a grand day full of dancing for me.

And now, I'm feeling peckish. So it's into the shower and off to the cafe for a morning meal and then onto the bus and into the city for fun and games.

Hope everything is well with all you lovely people out there.

Lucy