There's no place like home?

I'm in Inverness at the moment. Home of the wonderful and much revered Ali Smith. I'm using the free internet at the local library except that I can only use it for 15 minutes at a time before it automatically logs out and I have to go over to the main terminal and log in again...every 15 minutes. This post might take me a while...

I walked for hours and hours along Loch Ness today and there was no sign of Nessie. Or Ali.

I arrived here from Edinburgh yesterday morning. Arriving in Edinburgh was strange, knowing that this was the place I'd chosen to live (without ever having been there before!). When I first arrived I was given an unrealistic impression of what the city is usually like, as the Fringe Festival (actually, seven different festivals) was/is on. I'm glad the city isn't like that all the time - I was a little overwhelmed by the masses of people who all seemed so much happier and more comfortable in this city that is supposed to become my home. In the five days that I was there I managed to put things into perspective a little and gradually ease my anxieties. The prospect of starting up in a new city, a new country is always a little daunting and stressful. At least I speak the language in Scotland though.

During my visit I stayed with a friend of a friend of a friend (a friend twice removed! I don't even know the middle man - or woman, in this case), so it's also encouraging that I'll know at least a handful of people (and very nice people at that) when I move back. Another happy thought is that Erin will very possibly be moving there too. We in fact spent a rainy day together in Edinburgh when she popped in from Glasgow. Drizzle was trudged through, felafel was eaten, VB stubbies were drunk (yes! VB stubbies! We couldn't believe it either!). Also making me feel more at home was Andy's arrival. We spent my last day in Edinburgh together - strolling the (rainless) streets, drinking chai from her IKEA thermos and lemon-lime bitters in a bar brimming with dykes (Erin, you visited on the wrong day!). Spending the day chatting with Andy felt so normal and everyday (she was always there in Melbourne, in Berlin) that I almost forgot that I was on the move and had to wake up early the following morning and hop on a train to Inverness...

I did manage to do a bit of sightseeing in amongst these little reunions: I visited the castle (oh so dramatic, with great views of the very amusingly named Firth of Forth), the National Portrait Gallery (free!), a Ron Mueck exhibition (this guy's work is gob-smacking. Incidentally, he's also originally from Melbourne!). And let's not forget - the Fringe Festival was on! As overwhelming as I found it when I first arrived (for various reasons), it is indeed a great festival.

Shows I went to see:
1. Tha Tha: music/theatre/dance group from Zimbabwe (a promoter gave me a free ticket because I look like a sad little pov)
2. Jack the Lad: gay male prostitute divulging his twisted adolescence and adventures with various cleintele to one of his sadomasochistic clients. Father-son lovin'. Death by axe.
3. My Brother's Keeper: religious farce. Loosely based on the true and recent incident surrounding the last two Jews of Afghanistan.
4. ReDreamt: physical theatre. One long, continuous dream/nightmare based on those of the performers themselves. Random occurrences. Recurring characters and incidents. Hilarious, frightening, sensual. My fav.
5. Trans World Orchestra: musical duo (from Byron Bay!). With only drums and a didgeridoo, these guys spontaneously improvise some of the most wicked trans tunes I've ever heard. So totally danceable. Look them up - they're great (although I'd imagine they work best in a live environment).

Edinburgh City itself? What people say of it is true: it is beautiful and dramatic. I love the time-blackened buildings, the narrow (almost secret) gangways and alleys and stairs and passages. I love the strange, time-warped feeling that around the next corner I turn, a cavalry may be gearing up to charge me. Indeed, walking through Edinburgh is like going back
in
time
...
Manchester. My last night there was spent at an intimate house party with a bunch of Ross' friends. I felt like I was in a sitcom (in fact, my entire time in England was like strolling through a sitcom. I think I just associate the various English accents with comedy). The two bottles of red Ross and I shared between us (one Australian, one Bulgarian) and the seemingly infinite supply of weed probably didn't help matters (or helped quite a bit, depending on your point of view). We woke early the next morning and hopped on a bus. Me to the train station, Ross to work. Neither of us feeling our best.

I got off the train at York. Another walled medieval city. Why do I keep going to these places? Haven't I seen enough of them? They're all very cute and pretty, but never so much to do. So I did a ghost tour. It was actually quite good. The guide was a great storyteller and all the stories he told were based on incidents that had actually occurred in York at one time or another (and I don't think he was lying. Then again, he was an exceptional storyteller...).

My next destination was somewhere I hadn't originally intended on going to, but every Brit I spoke to was so overly enthusiastic about the place I thought I should check it out: the Lake District. I based myself in the town of Windermere and each day I hopped on a bus and got off at a different town and embarked on a hike into the mountains. Indeed, I saw what all the fuss was about. These hikes, these views are simply magnificent. Spectacular. The kinds of views where you expect orchestral accompaniment. The Lake District really is an incredibly beautiful part of the world.

The towns throughout the area are also gorgeous, largely comprising grey slate cottages. This is Beatrix Potter's hood. Her house, apparently still exactly as she left it before she died, is open to visitors. Indeed, one can easily se how these little towns and surrounding countryside inspired Peter Rabbit and friends.

On the slightly more dramatic side is William Wordsworth, who lived (and is buried) in Grasmere, another one of the towns in the district. I stopped here and had a freshly baked fruit scone with strawberry jam and clotted cream, along with a pot of tea. Very nice, thank you.

I left the Lake District for Edinburgh when the bed bugs started biting (my feet, legs, arms, neck). You already know the rest of the story from there.

I've had to log in anew three times to finish this blog.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand once more to review what I'd written. I'm done now. The library is about to close, so I'd better skidaddle!
XO