The Accidental Fringe -- Edinburgh, Scotland

Boy and I had a horrible, awful, dreadful time finding a couchsurfing host for our time in Edinburgh. 

"It's three days," I moaned. "How can we not get a host for just THREE DAYS?"

We spent ages browsing Edinburgh's 30,000+ couchsurfing profiles and sent request after request after request. There were three types of responses we experienced. 

a) I'm hosting my family for the festival, so I haven't got any room. Best of luck!

b) I've headed out of Edinburgh because of the festival. Best of luck!

c).... no response at all.

Festival? What festival? I think I remember reading something somewhere about some sort of... music festival in Edinburgh? Or was it a film festival? I don't remember...

Turns out that August isn't the best of times to book a trip to Edinburgh. Because Edinburgh is completely overrun throughout this month because of... the Fringe Festival. Which probably everyone living on planet Earth knows about except for me and my homeschooled boyfriend.

"Shit," I complained to my equally frustrated (but less depressed about it) Boy, "if we had thought about the Fringe, we would have visited Edinburgh before Dundee back in July and just flown out of Glasgow. We could easily have avoided all of this."

"Yup. But we'll find something. It'll work out."

We'd better... if not, we'll be spending thirty pounds a night each on a hostel. 'Cos all the cheap ones are already taken.  

Eventually, it did work out. After sending about forty personal, thoughtful requests and dealing with rejection after rejection , we found Graham -- a quirky nudist living on the outskirts of the city.

I've never couchsurfed with a nudist before, but I've done work exchanges with them. So... it can't be too dissimilar. The guy sounds interesting and had loads of positive references. So... why not? Okay... Boy and Girl are going to couchsurf with a nudist in Edinburgh during the Fringe. This summer is about adventure, right? 
 

We arrived in Edinburgh at eleven thirty on the morning of the 6th, and rushed from the bus stop to Graham's home. We would have to meet him before he left his flat at 12:15, or we'd end up carrying our bags around the city for the remainder of the day.

It's amazing what wings you grow when you know the consequences to moving slowly are so dire. 

The half hour walk predicted by Googlemaps turned out to take an anxious, backpack beleaguered Troy and Aimee about 15 minutes.

But this kind of movement kills my knee... the walk/jog/run while carrying so much weight...

Graham was not naked, as anticipated, when he opened the door to his small, dim, damp smelling flat. In fact, he was completely decked out in traditional Scottish garb, head to toe, for which I was grateful. There's nothing at all wrong with enjoying the breezes in your own home, but it would have been slightly disconcerting to have hustled all over Edinburgh and then suddenly be confronted by a naked Scotsman. 

"Come in," Graham invited us. "Your room's over there, you can put your bags down. Would you like a cup of coffee? Tea?" 

I've decided that the surest giveaway that someone has not lived in the UK long enough to be considered a local, is not their accent, their slang or their eating habits. It is whether or not they offer you a cup of tea/coffee upon arrival.

Habits that I want to carry with me from the UK... always offer tea or coffee... always put the plates in the oven to warm them before a meal... always sit and enjoy beautiful views... always, always, always pick up hitchhikers. Unless they look terrifying and are eight times bigger than me. 

As we sipped our tea, Graham disappeared into the hallway, reappearing shortly after bearing a giant box of what I thought was candy, but turned out to be condoms.

"Take as many as you need," he said generously, placing the box at our feet.

"Uhh..." I stammered, not quite sure how to react. "Thanks," I sifted through the box, noticing that some came in a football shaped wrapper.  
 

"I volunteer with an organization that gives condoms out to people who need them," Graham returned to his coffee. 

"Yeah, I know what you --"

"SQUAWK!!!!" 

"Millie, fuck off," Graham swiveled on the green parrot in the corner of the room. "She likes you," he turned to me. "She always likes women better than men. And she never lets the people she likes say anything."

"Oh, that's funny, I -- "

"RRRRIIIIIINGG, RINNNGGGG, RRRRRIIIIINNGGG!" Millie continued to screech through her repertoire of sounds.

"Fuck off, Millie," Graham repeated. Then went and opened Millie's cage. She proceeded to climb out the small metal door and fly across the room. Straight to me.

"Careful with her," Graham advised. "She could take off your finger if she wanted to."

Great. 

"Anyway, as I was trying to say -- "

"EE-OH-EE-OH!" Millie screamed a police siren in my ear.

"FUCK OFF, MILLIE!" Graham looked exasperated.

"-we work with homeless youth in Colorado --" 

"SQUAWK!" 

" - so we're also distributors of free condoms. Harm reduction, right?"

Graham left to perform his duties at a hen-do (this means "bachelorette party") in Glasgow (I didn't ask what his duties were...), gave Boy and I an extra set of keys, and said he'd be back around nine o'clock.

"See you then!" we bid our host goodbye. 

  

Boy and Girl went for a wander, and stumbled into a church offering a free concert as part of the Fringe Festival. 

The streets were crowded. Completely overrun and chaotic. Suffocating and overwhelming. Cameras flashing right and left, umbrellas held high by tour guides with throngs of tourists in their wake, Fringe workers handing out fliers, saying things like, "Interested in a comedy tonight?" or "We have a Shakespeare troupe performing A Midsummer Night's Dream. And one of the main actors has to get completely drunk and the rest of the cast has to carry on the show with the one drunken actor. Sound like fun?"

"Thanks, but no," Troy and I always said.

We came at the wrong time to just enjoy walking through a city... if we had the money to pay for the festival and had done the research to know what was worth seeing, the timing of our trip would be great. But all we want to do is walk. And with this kind of crowd, walking is such a stressful chore.

For me, one of the only redeeming factors about being in Edinburgh over the Fringe was the street musicians. A performer was to be found on nearly every block, playing instruments of every variety and wearing all manner of costume.

One fellow played a saxophone whilst wearing a thong and knee high socks.

We returned to Graham's around eight, made a quick risotto and watched an episode of Louis Theroux.

The quiet felt good. The familiar action of chopping an onion, mincing cloves of garlic and sauteing rice felt soothing to my overstimulated senses.

Maybe preparing a nice risotto for me is the same as going to McDonald's for other Americans traveling abroad. We all find that thing or those things which comfort us. Whose continuity from one place to another make us feel like the ground is a bit more solid under our feet. It's the feeling of looking up at the same moon in Colorado, in Iceland, in Morocco... it's the feeling of being able to understand and to be understood. This risotto... it understands me. It gets me in a way that haggis never will. 

Graham returned around nine thirty, went to the toilet, and emerged stark naked. It was a little disconcerting to see that he sat on all the furniture without putting a towel down -- which had been required during my stay at the clothing optional campsite in Montenegro.

I understand wanting to be naked in your own home... in fact, I support being naked in your own home... but letting all the nasty bits rub up against all the furniture upon which guests also sit? Oof. This. Does not seem sanitary.

The conversation turned to sex almost immediately. Our host began to candidly share stories of what he liked to do with boys, what he liked to do with girls and what he liked to do with himself.

Again... I love that he feels so open and sexually liberated... but... well, I don't feel uncomfortable, per se...but all this uninvited talk about sex from a stranger sitting naked on the couch is just too much. Graham seems like a nice, respectful guy... does he not get that we're not as into this as he is? 

I considered taking a shower before bed. But then quickly stopped considering taking a shower before bed when I saw how filthy the bath was and when I spotted a bloody hand print on the wall.

It's fake blood. I know it's fake blood. But... still. What happened to rubber duckies and loofas? 

Before Boy and I left to fight our way through Edinburgh the next day, I checked Graham's couchsurfing profile.

He's changed a few things in the last couple of days... hmmm... including this part... where he writes that he has Asperger's. Holy bananas, that explains a lot. He probably isn't able to read our body language that so clearly states -- to us, anyway -- that we would rather talk about art, sports, food, gardening, family, cooking, legos, ANYTHING but his personal sexual experiences.

Boy and I spent the whole day weaving our way through tourists and trying to avoid the hundreds of people handing out fliers for the hundreds of shows we couldn't afford to see. 

Playing the harmonica and juggling fire? only at the Fringe.

During a free walking tour, we learned that grave robbery was a popular occupation in Edinburgh. They had a medical school that needed corpses to study, and paid a pretty penny for a decent looking body (as the only ones they got were usually decapitated first). So people who wanted to make sure their corpses didn't end up dissected by university students put these massive bars over their graves.

We made risotto for Graham that night, and tried to steer the conversation in directions that didn't involve the lower body, but failed utterly.

Guess this is what it is. Here we are. This is what we're talking about. 

"SQUAWK!" Millie tried to contribute.

"Fuck off, Millie," Graham retorted.