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.
Showing posts with label rain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rain. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Bohemian Living
Sunday Sunday Sunday.
Mick, my current Couchsurfing host, is improvising on the piano across the hall, and the two hitchhikers from Nottingham who arrived from Scandanavia (!) last night have gone out for groceries. Mark, my next stop, says he ("inadvertently") has 7 people staying with him tonight, so it looks like I'll be here for a little while longer. Song of The Goat performs at 2:30 today, for which I cannot wait. But yesterday...oh yesterday. I saw the most amazing show so far. A new piece written by Mark Quarterly, an undergrad at Durham University, called Odyssey. It has nothing to do with Homer aside from an educated joke explaining the names of the two main characters, Neoptolemus and Pyrrhus -- two names for the same classical charater: The Son of Achilles. They are twins.
I got to the show completely by chance through a new friend made at the Forest Cafe. And now we must pause in this anecdote.
A word on the Forest: It's a beautiful old building that has been completely adapted into a sort of modern/bohemian version of an 18th Century conversation-filled Salon. All the people who work there are volunteers who spend their time making delicious food while all over the room people curled on couches and in armchairs talk about anything and everything. Musicians play for free on the stage and people who wander in and out perform poetry on a whim. Upstiars there's a converted church which acts as a theatre venue. Free shows go on all day. Readings, experimental theatre, musicals, concerts -- anything. It is a haven. I could stay there all day.
So that's that. Anyway, yesterday morning I wandered in and found myself swept upstairs for a free show merely titled "The Thing." A group of us were ushered into this room full of chairs. Each chair had a hat on it. There were people dressed as traditional mimes standing in the corners of the room. There were signs that said things like "Games" "Costumes" "Guns Etc." There was a giant cardboard Tom Cruise. There was a script.
One of our number who was, inexplicably, already dressed in a tricorn and period clothing and carrying a birdcage, got up and read from the script. We were the play. It was all up to us, a group who had never met before, to create something from nothing. The mimes were actors who couldn't think for themselves but would do anything we asked. The next hour and half was absurd and silly and serious and amazing amounts of fun. We ended up putting one of the hats on trial after engaging in battle with an army of zombie lions who had attmpted to follow us onto our ark and had to be killed by Amelia Earhart who was carrying a silver spike. The trial ended in conviction for the hat (A black bowler) and we all parted ways.
After the show I met the creators, an American couple from LA. We talked Southern California talk for a while. My accent got muddled. It was their first performance and they felt it had gone really well. She was a director and he an actor. They were both doing degrees in the UK and were interested in my script, so I told them I'd email over a copy. There's a spot open at the Forest for a reading. We could do it. It could work. That's the way things are here. "You've written a play? What's it about? Oh yeah? Well I'm an award-winning actor and my fiancee here who's part Australian part Werewolf is a director. We have access to a space in London. And there's Jeff! Yeah, Hi Jeff. This is Franchesca. She's written a play. You want to fund it? That's great! Alright, auditions next week? Fantastic. And Sam? I know you're making sandwiches today...yeah...would you write us a press release? Cheers." And so on.
Anyway, I caught the second half of The Lime Tree Bower by Conner MacPherson around 6 which I hadn't been able to stay for a few days previously. Slept through the first half because I'd only got about 4 hours sleep the night before, then watched the second bit. It was very good. Chatted with the actors afterwards, then headed across the street with James, one of the volunteers from the Forest who does tech and sells cookies, who had invited me to see Odyssey at Bedlam Theatre. Bedlam is the converted Gothic church which serves as the theatre space of Edinburgh University. Go figure. It's fantastic. About 90 seats. Small enough to be intimate but large enough and well-equipped enough to be really professional.
The show completely blew me away. If you ever get the chance to see anything done by this company - do so. Offensive Shadows. They are fantastic. The dialogue was fast-paced and perfectly delivered. Sharp, witty, unpretentious, multi-layered. The actors were all ridiculously talented. The piece was full of physical interludes. Harsh, jagged dances mirroring the ongoing story, the relationships, the backdrop. The set was minimal and the lights were perfect. Nothing over the top, just enough the create beautiful, separate environments and moments. The whole show was urgent, immediate, in-your-face kind of stuff. I loved it. There was nothing I could say afterwards aside from "That was f-ing amazing."
Unfortunately they had a fast changeover for the next show so I was unable to stay and talk to the actors. The lead was also the writer, which I didn't know at the time. It was the sort of piece that really stays with you long after you've left the place. It haunted my thoughts for the rest of the night. It made me think. Theatre rarely does that, even though that's ideally what it should always do. They expressed their desire as a company to brush aside the mess of mediocre theatre that plagues so many stages today and they have done so admirably. I couldn't thank James enough for persuading me to go.
Getting home was a pain in the arse as it had been pissing down with rain all day and nightfall hadn't brought any respite. I finally made it back to Mick's flat soaked to the bone and was exceedingly grateful to change into something dry. Sleep came quickly and I dreamed of inexplicable things.
Today will be full of (hopefully) less rain and more beautiful theatrical experiences. I'm off to catch a bus to the Assembly at Aurora Nova for Lacrimosa, Song of the Goat's new piece, then swing dancing tonight with wild abandon from 7 to midnight. Another adventure.
Eat your porridge. It's made with love.
Lucy
Mick, my current Couchsurfing host, is improvising on the piano across the hall, and the two hitchhikers from Nottingham who arrived from Scandanavia (!) last night have gone out for groceries. Mark, my next stop, says he ("inadvertently") has 7 people staying with him tonight, so it looks like I'll be here for a little while longer. Song of The Goat performs at 2:30 today, for which I cannot wait. But yesterday...oh yesterday. I saw the most amazing show so far. A new piece written by Mark Quarterly, an undergrad at Durham University, called Odyssey. It has nothing to do with Homer aside from an educated joke explaining the names of the two main characters, Neoptolemus and Pyrrhus -- two names for the same classical charater: The Son of Achilles. They are twins.
I got to the show completely by chance through a new friend made at the Forest Cafe. And now we must pause in this anecdote.
A word on the Forest: It's a beautiful old building that has been completely adapted into a sort of modern/bohemian version of an 18th Century conversation-filled Salon. All the people who work there are volunteers who spend their time making delicious food while all over the room people curled on couches and in armchairs talk about anything and everything. Musicians play for free on the stage and people who wander in and out perform poetry on a whim. Upstiars there's a converted church which acts as a theatre venue. Free shows go on all day. Readings, experimental theatre, musicals, concerts -- anything. It is a haven. I could stay there all day.
So that's that. Anyway, yesterday morning I wandered in and found myself swept upstairs for a free show merely titled "The Thing." A group of us were ushered into this room full of chairs. Each chair had a hat on it. There were people dressed as traditional mimes standing in the corners of the room. There were signs that said things like "Games" "Costumes" "Guns Etc." There was a giant cardboard Tom Cruise. There was a script.
One of our number who was, inexplicably, already dressed in a tricorn and period clothing and carrying a birdcage, got up and read from the script. We were the play. It was all up to us, a group who had never met before, to create something from nothing. The mimes were actors who couldn't think for themselves but would do anything we asked. The next hour and half was absurd and silly and serious and amazing amounts of fun. We ended up putting one of the hats on trial after engaging in battle with an army of zombie lions who had attmpted to follow us onto our ark and had to be killed by Amelia Earhart who was carrying a silver spike. The trial ended in conviction for the hat (A black bowler) and we all parted ways.After the show I met the creators, an American couple from LA. We talked Southern California talk for a while. My accent got muddled. It was their first performance and they felt it had gone really well. She was a director and he an actor. They were both doing degrees in the UK and were interested in my script, so I told them I'd email over a copy. There's a spot open at the Forest for a reading. We could do it. It could work. That's the way things are here. "You've written a play? What's it about? Oh yeah? Well I'm an award-winning actor and my fiancee here who's part Australian part Werewolf is a director. We have access to a space in London. And there's Jeff! Yeah, Hi Jeff. This is Franchesca. She's written a play. You want to fund it? That's great! Alright, auditions next week? Fantastic. And Sam? I know you're making sandwiches today...yeah...would you write us a press release? Cheers." And so on.
Anyway, I caught the second half of The Lime Tree Bower by Conner MacPherson around 6 which I hadn't been able to stay for a few days previously. Slept through the first half because I'd only got about 4 hours sleep the night before, then watched the second bit. It was very good. Chatted with the actors afterwards, then headed across the street with James, one of the volunteers from the Forest who does tech and sells cookies, who had invited me to see Odyssey at Bedlam Theatre. Bedlam is the converted Gothic church which serves as the theatre space of Edinburgh University. Go figure. It's fantastic. About 90 seats. Small enough to be intimate but large enough and well-equipped enough to be really professional.
The show completely blew me away. If you ever get the chance to see anything done by this company - do so. Offensive Shadows. They are fantastic. The dialogue was fast-paced and perfectly delivered. Sharp, witty, unpretentious, multi-layered. The actors were all ridiculously talented. The piece was full of physical interludes. Harsh, jagged dances mirroring the ongoing story, the relationships, the backdrop. The set was minimal and the lights were perfect. Nothing over the top, just enough the create beautiful, separate environments and moments. The whole show was urgent, immediate, in-your-face kind of stuff. I loved it. There was nothing I could say afterwards aside from "That was f-ing amazing."
Unfortunately they had a fast changeover for the next show so I was unable to stay and talk to the actors. The lead was also the writer, which I didn't know at the time. It was the sort of piece that really stays with you long after you've left the place. It haunted my thoughts for the rest of the night. It made me think. Theatre rarely does that, even though that's ideally what it should always do. They expressed their desire as a company to brush aside the mess of mediocre theatre that plagues so many stages today and they have done so admirably. I couldn't thank James enough for persuading me to go.
Getting home was a pain in the arse as it had been pissing down with rain all day and nightfall hadn't brought any respite. I finally made it back to Mick's flat soaked to the bone and was exceedingly grateful to change into something dry. Sleep came quickly and I dreamed of inexplicable things.
Today will be full of (hopefully) less rain and more beautiful theatrical experiences. I'm off to catch a bus to the Assembly at Aurora Nova for Lacrimosa, Song of the Goat's new piece, then swing dancing tonight with wild abandon from 7 to midnight. Another adventure.
Eat your porridge. It's made with love.
Lucy
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
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
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
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
