All Things Must End

Today is Tuesday, the 28th of August. It's raining. So ends the Edinburgh Festival Fringe.

Since some time has elapsed since my last update, I should catch you up on the highlights of recent activity. Meeting up with Josh Cornwell for tasty caramel chocolate shortbread and caffine, seeing Play On Words -- an excellent production reminiscent of Tom Stoppard -- in a toasty, cramped theatre on a cold night, climbing Arthur's Seat the hard way to be met with intense wind and spectacular views in every direction, seeing Johnson and Boswell: Late But Live at the Traverse, walking along the beach near St. Andrews, watching the sun set over rollling Scottish countryside, devouring ice cream sundaes, meeting 30 odd other couchsurfers for an evening of film and fun in the back room of the Brass Monkey, partying down at the Forest to full throated, slightly drunk singer songwriter women jamming away on guitars, and finally, yesterday.

Yesterday was the last day of the Fringe. Monday. Bank Holiday. It was also Free Hugs day for a handful of couchsurfers who I entierly failed to meet up with. However, that didn't stop me. At 2:15 I was on my way solo to the Royal Mile, sign in hand ready for action. It took courage to open that huge white expanse of posterboard with FREE HUGS written on it in bold black pen, because I knew people would start looking at me. I would become a focal point in the crowd. Still, I grew bold and snapped it open high above my head. I started to walk up the High Street. The results were instantaneous.

I was hugged by young people, old people, tourists, locals, people in cars, toothless old men, busking ukelele players, Fringe Festival Stewards (en masse -- they tackled me from behind), people from India, Spain, France, Itlay, China, America, England, and Ireland, married couples, silly people, women dressed as bondage pigs (?!), other free huggers, students from the University, people waiting in lines, people in wheelchairs, Japanese women holding babies, holiday-making pipe players from Canada, sisters, schoolkids, the entire clientel of an old person's bar which looked really sketchy until I was dragged in by a 70 year old woman with white hair and persuaded to give hugs to everyone therein who turned out to be perfectly sweet if slightly drunk, flyer distributors, businessmen, venue staff, people on the other side of panes of glass, magazine salesmen, people willing to run through traffic for a free hug, beggars, women with megaphones, travellers, transients, hippies, acrobats, people on drugs, children with smiles, people with lovely souls.

I was also given, for free, in return: a shot of whiskey, a kiss, a ticket to a show at the Pleasance Dome, a chance to teach someone Blue Moon on their brand new ukelele, and a ride in a bicycle taxi all the way from The Royal Mile to the Rocket Venues. Not to mention oodles of joy and happiness.

I was picked up and swung around until I couldn't see straight, hugged by the same person three times, tackled by groups of people, blessed by Christians, waved at by people in buses, winked at by traffic wardens, and applauded by passers-by. I've experienced the feeling of wanting to just smile at everyone I pass on the sidewalk before, but sometimes this can be difficult. Not so when one is holding a Free Hugs sign. Practically everyone I passed read the sign and broke into grins and smiles and laughs and giggles. Many of these people didn't approach me for a hug, but did say things like "That's fantastic, amazing, wonderful, excellent, tops, the best, brilliant, etc." to their family and friends. Old women grinned at me, parents read the sign to their children, couples stopped and pointed, everyone had a reaction. Even if I wasn't hugging people, they were feeling happier because they'd seen the sign and laughed.

It all felt amazing. Every hug I got left me grinning from ear to ear, laughing, smiling, happy. It was addictive. I hugged non-stop from 2:15 to 6pm. Striding around downtown until I had to sit down and take a break. I felt wonderful. Just having the sign at my side got me pulled into groups of people who asked for my life story, why I was doing it, where I came from, whether or not I wanted to join them for dinner, etc. What a day.

I saw Andrew Maxwell, an Irish comedian, perform his stand up routine at the Pleasance Courtyard, which was brilliant. It was great to see some really good comedy and laugh until it became physically painful and I was struggling to draw breath. I moved on to a late-night tea house under George IV Bridge called Chai, which was full of lovely eastern lamps and low-set tables. I had some delicious Turkish Delight and then moved on to The Vault, where I was treated to Sh*tty Deal Puppet Theatre Company's Complete History of Oppressed People Everywhere! The most bizarrely hilarious show thus far seen on the Fringe. The company was amazing and the puppets were absurd and it was all a great end to the evening and, indeed, the Festival.

On the way home, even at 11:30 at night on the almost deserted sidewalks of Princes Street, I got six more hugs before boarding a bus for morningside and staggering home to bed. I must've hugged over 100 people. Seen three shows. Eaten tasty food. And finished off the Festival in style.

So today I'm recovering, as is the rest of the city I'm sure. I almost don't want to stay here and watch the Half-Price Hut and the venue markers disappear, the giant upsidedown purple cow deflate, and the crowds thin to normal proportions. Edinburgh remains lovely, but it does seem that the gloomy weather is reflecting the mood of the city as things return to normal after such a fantastic three weeks of madness and creation. And of course, my camera came. The very day the proceedings came to an end. So now I can take boring pictures of trees and cows and other things. Isn't that the way it goes?

You should go hug some strangers now. Really. I reccommend it.

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

Welcome To The Wet Hair That Is My First Day in Edinburgh

My nine hour flight from LAX to Dublin went smoothly on an aircraft that was sadly devoid of personal TV screens, but very full of foldable headrests, which are probably the greatest air travel comfort invention since the reclining chair. I watched Shrek 3, which was noteable only for its use of the Lady Washington as a model for the ship featured and Nick Williams as a model for the Captain. I must admit the blocks were very familiar. Unfortunately I only got about a half hour of something resembling sleep during my truncated nighttime. It was unnerving to see the sun go down at 8am and rise again at midnight, but that's what you get for traveling clockwise around the globe.

Once in Ireland, my European journey began with the following passport control officer saying "Welcome to Ireland! And how long will you be staying with us, Lucy?" I responded, truthfully, only a matter of hours as I had a plane to catch to Scotland. "Well, be like that then" he retorted with a smile. I am so unused to airport workers who actually behave like real people it caught me quite off-guard. I proceeded to my gate and fell fast asleep on the bench for an hour -- a much-needed rest. The flight to Edinburgh was over almost as soon as we'd taken off. Ireland was beautiful from the air. So flat it looked as if someone had painted it straight onto the glassy surface of the ocean. The surrounding islands brooding like sleeping behemoths shrouded in fog. I'm looking forward to coming back with time to really explore.

Once in Edinburgh I found my way to the Caledonian Backpacker's Hostel -- an amazing building full of murals and interesting people. I'm sharing a room with at least 24 other folks for the next two nights, then beginning my couchsurfing odyssey. Went out into the city and retrieved tickets for the shows I'm going to see, so full reports on those as they come in.

Nostalgia has relinquished its grip on my spirit and all I can think of is the adventure ahead. All that matters is being here, now, in the midst of a bustling city full of theatre, art, music, and comedy. However, my time on the machine grows short as I am out of twenty p bits to feed it with. So until next time, when I'll be even more deeply emeshed in the culture of the fringe, remember that even if your cereal gets soggy you can still eat it with a spoon.

I have no idea what that means either.

Cheers!
Lucy