Commerce, street-style. Buying and selling Tattoo tickets is a full-contact sport. The Sikh in the plaid turban’s a sharp talker. I can’t even get much of a sound out–dry throat left over from last night’s farewells, some mist behind my eyes. Last night in Edinburgh.

Everyone from SUISS has scattered. I left Swetha and Sarah near the Book Festival. I’m glad they were the last people I hung out with here–they’re both genuine and mature and sweet and I’ll miss them terribly. Sarah’s talking about trying to get a job teaching Spanish in the US. I promised her I’d do anything I could to help her out.

But last night was emotional. We had the farewell party/show, then went out to a karaoke place. My guess is that we were steered that way to cut down on tears. I keep watching the video I shot from the center of the knot of people singing “Bohemian Rhapsody.” I guess it’s the light or something but everyone looks like they’re in slow motion.

(It tails off here, getting embarrassing and maudlin.  You can only imagine.  A short-lived crush cycle is described, and some more thoughts about how wonderful Edinburgh is.  After I wrote this I walked across town to my hostel, which was okay, and took some pictures along Princes Street.  Nobody was home at the hostel when I got there except some annoying American girls–the room was enormous and co-ed–who were going out to get bombed on a Friday night in Edinburgh.  I’d had an almost all-nighter Thursday night, so I went to sleep at about 9:30, woke up briefly when everyone came home at 3, and slept soundly until my watch alarm woke me to go to the airport.  It rained on my way to the bus stop, on the bus going to the airport, and definitely when I walked outside at the airport to get to the shuttle bus to the plane.  Everyone on the plane was soaking wet and miserable, and I didn’t really feel like dealing with the couple I sat with who couldn’t understand how I’d spent more than three days “doing” Edinburgh.)

So I’m not leaving a jungle or a war, and the toilets here flush and there’s power and running water and everything, but I’ve started to think about what going back home is going to be like. There’s a lot to do in the next week and half–in addition to getting everything ready for the return to school, I keep getting emails about the Beth El youth group that I agreed to run and which is turning into way more work than was advertised (nothing unmanageable, but), and I’ve got gigs in August, September, October, and November to get ready for. Yikes.

So going back to the World means giving up, I think, most of everything here–the Housekeeping staff who clean my room, make my bed, and bring me fresh towels every morning (freaked me out at first, but I got used to more quickly than I’d like to admit), the people who make my meals for me, the proximity to friends that only comes from living in dorms (although, I suppose, that the Branch Davidians made a good attempt at this in their time). Back in the World, I can’t just wander down the hall, knock on someone’s door at night, and expect them to a) not call the cops, fearing a break-in or b) agree to come out to see what’s going on in town.

I was invited to see a few plays at the Fringe this week, but I’m skipping them. I’d much rather spend the time (and the money) somewhere where I can talk to the friends I’ve made and who I’ll probably never see again, mostly. We went out last night to Medina, where over a dozen SUISSers sat on pillows on the floor and just talked. Everyone, it seemed, was from somewhere else–Alek from Serbia, Zuzka from Slovakia, Mairin from Ireland, Roxanne from Italy, myself and Matt and Meghann from the US, Amir from Iran, Sweta from India, Rachel from Australia, Liza from Israel, and plenty more who I’m forgetting right now. That to me’s been the best part of being out of the World–meeting people from all over the place and forging a little community of expat temporary students from places with lousy exchange rates with the pound. Bliss.

There’s been some talk of setting up a message board to help everyone keep in touch after this is all over tomorrow morning. I’m all for it, but I don’t hold out much hope for its success. I’m afraid that everyone’ll go back to their lives, and barring the occasional email or Facebook message, this is all over. And letting go is okay–it’ll make going back to Connecticut easier, for sure, and it’ll give me focus. But I kind of want this to last just a few more days. The World’ll still be there.

Saturday night: A Midsummer Night’s Tree. Nothing to do with Shakespeare, as Heather and Jaki and I thought it would have, but still great. Breakdancers, trapeze artists, a singer, and a comedian (whose bits went on a bit too long, though he was pretty funny) performed separate pieces on a stage beneath a gigantic tree in the middle of a park on the outside of the New Town. I think they might be the world’s strongest people.   The whole night was nice, despite the midgies that came out when the drizzle subsided.

The evening ended at a famous pub called the Hebrides, where Martin, who is one of the tutors here, was playing Scottish folk music with one of his two bands. In addition to the folk songs, some of which I knew (and which turned out to be Irish, actually), they performed that Edinburgh classic “(I’m Gonna Be) 500 Miles,” and some sort of very localized political parody of “Billie Jean.”

Sunday afternoon: (Aine) Tigone, basicle Sophocles’s play adapted and re-set in Belfast, 1972. I think the performers were local high school students, and they didn’t give the most even performance, but the script was amazing and I left feeling really moved. I don’t know very much about Antigone, having never read or taught it, but this actually made me a little interested in the original.

Monday afternoon: Bouncy Castle Macbeth. Forget Kurosawa. Forget Polanski. This is the way the Scottish Play needs to be done. An hour and fifteen minutes, a cast of fewer than ten (Banquo was played by an inflatable doll wearing a kilt), and a big purple bouncy castle as the stage. Not sure why Macbeth used an inflatable Tyrannosaurus Rex as his sword in the final battle scene, but I’m sure it was a necessary piece of stage business (or the balloon sword he’d had earlier in the play popped). Magical. 

Tuesday night: The Ballad of James II. Douglas Maxwell, Scotland’s most prolific young playwrite (his words), wrote this show about truth and mythmaking in the lives of nations. James II, an ugly, schizophrenic, and asexual king of Scotland, must make a decision that might lead to a civil war. The cast of five did a remarkable job with the complicated emotions involved, and the staging (in the famous Rosslyn Chapel) made the performance even more special. This is the show I’d recommend most highly of the four, though the others have a lot to recommend (especially Bouncy Castle Macbeth). But there’s something about great theatre, and a great script, and great actors, that transcends gimmickery. James II would’ve worked anywhere–I could see it being done at the GHS Black Box, for example, or on Broadway, or anywhere there’s a performance space. I left that play wanting a copy of the script and another opportunity to see the show. Alas, last night was our last off night until next week, as we’re pretty heavily programmed here.

And now I really need to write this story. It’s easy to forget why I’m here–Edinburgh’s not a good city if you’ve got ADHD that’s triggered by impending deadlines.

I’ve danced in a céilidh. I’ve spent a very long night at the Famous Spiegeltent. I’ve decided to take the Creative Writing course for credit, forking over £40 for three credits that hopefully will apply to my sixth-year and really allow me to live like a Master of the Universe.

I know I’ve written this before, but I have to say again that Edinburgh is amazing. You walk around the corner, and there’s something great to see–Georgian or Victorian tenement buildings, a monument to someone wearing a periwig, a gigantic castle, an extinct volcano.   And now that the Festival’s getting underway, there’s all sorts of human scenery here too. I’m going to head over to the Royal Mile after I finish up here, grab some lunch (the University cafeteria that we’ve got access to is closed for lunch on weekends, for some reason, and I certainly wasn’t awake for breakfast), and do some serious people-watching. And laundry. Got to remember the laundry.

I’ve been writing, too, though I’m not satisfied with much of what I’ve done. One piece, which I’ve put on hold for now, is written in the 18th-century voice I’ve been playing around with (and which Peter does so much better than me). The other, though, has been a little more interesting to work on, though I don’t want to say anything more about it. I believe in jinxes.

I should, though, get back to work so I can get out of here, eat something for the first time today, and ensure a supply of clean socks for the coming week.

Peace.

Oh yeah, work.  First day of classes just ended and it’s going to be intense.  There was a lecture this morning by an English professor who explained something about the differences between modernity, modernism, postmodernism, and “postmodernism”.  No, I’m not kidding.  It was the first lecture I’d been to in a really long time (I didn’t even have very many as an undergrad) so it was a struggle to sit still and quietly for an hour listening to someone read from a paper he’d written.  It was interesting though, as far as I understood it.  The writing part, though, is going to be fun.  My class doesn’t have as many undergrads as I thought–in fact, there are only two of them, plus three high school English teachers (including me) and two people who’ve quit their real jobs to write novels.  Good mix and everyone’s really cool.

I’m going to eat some lunch now, assuming I can find the place, so that’s all. 

Peace.

Yesterday’s walk from Kinlochlevin to Fort William was the very definition of a slog–started with a really nasty long uphill stretch through midge-infested woods, then emerged into a nice long walk along the rim of a beautiful valley, then more rain and nowhere to stop until the end. I actually started feeling a little sick about eight miles into it, as I hadn’t had a break at all–until yesterday, every time I’d walked, I’d stopped somewhere for about 10-15 minutes to take off my pack, eat something, drink some water, &c. But since it was pouring rain and there was nowhere to stop, I tried to muscle through. It didn’t work, and I had a little moment under a tree, and then I remembered that I had a jar of Nutella and a couple of emergency rolls somewhere in my pack, and life was much better. Finished the walk with Jim and Lauren, and we made our goodbyes at the Fort William train station after having an adult beverage and some lunch (I tried–and loved–cullen skink, which is a Scottish smoked fish and potato soup, though I’m glad I didn’t have to walk more than a couple of miles after eating it).

The train ride back to Edinburgh was long and slow. I wound up in a reserved seat next to a guy from China and a guy from Japan, both of whom work for a lab in Edinburgh. I had a lot of fun talking to them, and we kept each other awake for most of the ride. We were due in at fifteen minutes past midnight, but from 12:30-1:30 we sat on the track about a quarter mile from Waverley Station waiting for them to clear a broken engine out of where we were supposed to pull in. Thankfully I found a taxi and Security let me into my room. I didn’t sleep much, or well, but I slept, and now I’m enjoying wearing cotton after a week of nothing but synthetic hiking clothes.

I’m planning to take it easy today. I’ve got laundry in right now, and then I’ll grab some lunch somewhere and figure out how I’m supposed to check in for the SUISS program(me). If I have time, I’d like to take a walk up to the City Centre and check out the Scottish National Museum, which I’ve heard is great, not to mention free. That seems about my speed today.

My last night out on the road.  I haven’t written in the journal for a while, and I’ve really got not excuse.  But it’s been a remarkable couple of days, which I’ll try to remember and explain here.

The walk from Inverarnan to Tyndrum was fairly uneventful, unless a lot more rain counts as an event.  I met a very nice couple somewhere along the way.  Jim’s English and Lauren is Scottish, and I leapfrogged (leapt frog? –Ed.) with them all morning. Jim works for the company that makes Gore-Tex and is at the Sikorsky factory a few times a year.  After some consultation on the subject with Jim and Lauren, I opted to skip the extra walk to Crianlarich.  If it weren’t raining I might’ve stopped there for lunch, but I bagged it and just kept going.

Tyndrum was hell, at first.  As I got near the town the sky opened up and I lost all visibility and sense of direction.  I took shelter at the train station and figured out that I hadn’t passed the hotel, so I made a run for it.  I arrived, made a huge puddle on the bar/reception floor (I realize I should find a better way of saying that –Ed.), and settled in.

[Hijinks regarding Kings House Hotel happened here, but I've already written about them, so I'll expunge.  --Ed.]

I’m not going to lie: 20 miles is a long way.  But it also wasn’t that bad.  Maybe I’m getting tougher, maybe there was enough scenery, but it was fine.  I stopped after about ten miles and had tea at the Inveroran Hotel.  (I’d been eating Alpen bars all day–they’re great for walking and don’t make you thirsty).  At the hotel, I met yet more Dutch people (everyone on the West Highland Way was either from the UK or the Netherlands.  This couple was the younger one, with the gorgeous blonde woman and the very dry man.  I liked them a lot, though I never got their names.  There were also the couple with the guy with the beard who winked at everyone all the time, who was also great, and his very patient wife, plus Eddie and Elyse, who convinced me that spending some time in Holland might not be a bad plan for the future.  –Ed.), and Jim and Lauren showed up as I was leaving.  I started talking to a trio of middle-aged Glaswegians, who I walked with intermittantly throughout the rest of the day.  One of the two guys looked remarkably like Paul Burke.

The rain stoppped and I took on Rannoch Moor.  It’s the largest uninhabited space in Europe, and it’s amazing.  I walked seven miles across it, composing bad mental poetry when not talking to the Glaswegian crew.  Halfway through the temperature dropped, the wind and rain started up, and Scotland tried to kill me.

I prevailed.  (Obviously.  –Ed.)

And I had one of the best nights of my life at the Climbers Bar at the Kingshouse Hotel.  (Climbers bars are pretty common along the West Highland Way.  They’re usually in the backs of the hotels and are meant for people with muddy boots, rucksacks, and foul mouths.  This way the hotel, which is usually the only game in the village, can cater to both the posh tourists and the riffraff.  I imagine bartenders prefer the climbers bars most of the time.  –Ed.)

Which brings me to today.  The walk was short but not as easy as I’d expected.  The Devil’s Staircase was nasty, and the descent into Kinlochleven was just plain awful.  But I took a long bath a shower, had some great fish and chips, and am about to head over to the Tailrace Inn for the final night out…

It’s a damn good thing I have somewhere to sleep tonight, as the weather today was awful through almost all of the 19 miles I walked from Tyndrum to Kingshouse. Slashing rain, evil wind, and temperatures no higher than the mid-50s have left me with very little feeling in my hands and a pretty sore left shoulder. Tomorrow’s walk is only 8 miles, although up a big hill, but I figure I’ll take my time and enjoy it.

Oh, one more thing–Rannoch Moor is incredible. I saw 7 miles of it, but it’s supposed to be the biggest uninhabited wilderness in Europe. It goes on for miles and miles and is what the desert in Utah or Arizona would look like if it got too much rain, instead of none at all. Words can’t do it justice. I’ll post pictures in a few weeks, when I’m home.

Time now for some tea, some food, and some whisky. Can I say that on Edublogs?

Another Highland joke that I’ve learned is that everything is only two miles away. Ask a Highlander how far it is, say, from Brooklyn to Newark and he’ll tell you two miles.

I’ve learned not to care, though. Yesterday I set out from Rowardennan really early, in the middle of a pretty ferocious rainstorm, with the intent of getting to the Inversnaid Hotel to have a leisurely lunch. I walk pretty slowly compared to a lot of the crazies on this trail, so I need to make up for it with early starts. Anyway, the Inversnaid Hotel was kind of amazing–totally decked out in Scottish kitsch, a boombox playing bagpipe favorites at the bar, great views of Loch Lomond, good cheap lunches. While there I met two women from Edinburgh who graciously agreed to let me a) walk with them to the Beinglas Campsite, where we all were staying, and b) ask them lots of ridiculous questions about Scotland. It was a lot of fun, and it definitely was nice to have company on the really difficult stretch after the hotel, where the path runs along an exposed cliffside and is blocked every few yards by tree stumps, boulders, streams, waterfalls, etc. Mom and Dad, you didn’t read that. Everyone else, let’s carry on.

Anyway, so we got to the campsite, found our wigwams (weird little wooden buildings that are the average of a tent and a youth hostel), and wound up at this crazy pub for dinner. The Drovers Inn is over 300 years old, and the decorating scheme can only be described as ‘taxidermy hell.’ Lots of scary dead animals everywhere, but most were in such advanced stages of decay that they were missing eyes, claws, etc. I heard from a couple I met this morning, who actually stayed at the Drovers (it’s a hotel and pub), that the rooms were even more bizarre than the pub.

Anyway, my time on this computer’s going to run out. I had a nice quick-ish walk this morning/early afternoon through some absolutely amazing scenery to Tyndrum,

though the last thirty minutes were awful. I got to the edge of town just as the sky really opened up, more so than it had so far this trip, and I had to take shelter at the little train station so I could open up my pack without soaking all of my possessions, figure out where I was, and find my hotel. Turns out the hotel is directly on the West Highland Way, but about 1/3 mile past the train station. I was going crazy thinking I’d passed it or something. I don’t think I’ve ever been as happy to be anywhere as I was when I got up into my room at the Tyndrum Lodge Hotel.

Tomorrow’s a 19-mile day, so I’ll get up early, hit breakfast at the hotel, and go. I had a late start this morning (a night at the pub with Scots will do that) and I don’t necessarily want to repeat that, though it was fun. Tomorrow’s got the piece of this walk I’ve most been looking forward to, Rannock Moor, which is apparently beautiful in good weather and terrifying in rain. Weather forecast’s looking pretty good, so this should be great…

What else did I come to Scotland for if not to hike in the rain? It came down hard this morning as I walked through Queen Elizabeth Forest Park on my way from Rowardennan to Inversnaid. The intensity varied from this-is-refeshing to you’ve-got-to-be-kidding. (After a couple of really rainy days, I figured out a system. For starters, I always kept my pack cover on. That made it difficult to reach my water bottles, which lived in pockets on the other side of the bag. So I rigged up a carabiner on a couple of dangling bits of backpack strap, from which I suspended a water bottle while the other two rode in the caboose. I also kept my raincoat on as long as I could. It was good against the wind, even when the rain stopped, but it had a tendency to make my arms unpleasantly sweaty. Sometimes I’d just tie it around my waist. Also, I think the best $30 I spent for this trip was on my rain hat, which just kind of rode along with me cowboy-at-rest-style when it wasn’t raining. –Ed.)

The Inversnaid Hotel is big and kitschy. (Most of its clientele come there on tour buses. –Ed.) The main bar area is decorated in tartan, and a boombox plays a CD of bagpipe favorites. I learned today why tea is so popular here–it’s the best thing in the world when you’re cold, wet, and not sure you can go on.