freon

Y'know, I never did give you guys that Sco'land update. Sheer laziness, I blame you! Well, the pictures are still uploaded on my comp, but they are far too large to post at the moment. Stories will have to suffice. Our story revolves around the trials and tribulations of Trev (T - that's me!), Biffmar, and B's lovely blonde vixen A.

The story starts off like any good story should: anticipation. Due to our last-minute ticket grabbing and our ever-so-limited budget, we spent 13 total hours travelling from Philly, PA to Edinburgh, UK. Our trip was smooth, our layovers long, and our desire to reach our destination paramount. I was the only one who did not sleep on the flight. I blame small, uncomfortable seats, my complete inability to snooze in a moving vehicle (I have no idea why. I don't get motion sickness...), and the presence of a small, compact video device that some clever devil had thrown Final Fantasy onto. (Handsome, clever devil I might add...). I took no pictures of the airport, as I only had nine rolls of film and a little over a week to burn them. Film is expensive in England, hell, in all of Europe. That was important, jot it down.

We arrived at 10 A.M. Greenwich time, at which point I was acquainted with a friend who was to be both my beloved and my constant adversary over the course of the entire trip. Enter Duffel. Biffmar and A both had the foresight to bring their gear in manageable hiking packs. I, lacking said pack, took Duffel. After picking him up at the airport, I wrestled with him down to the bus stop, where we boarded and took off for central Edinburgh. It was an admittedly shitty day, with the sky a gorgeous color of slate. The ride through to the center of town could not have looked any prettier. It screamed "Welcome back."

(For those who do not know, I have previously been to Scotland, as has Biffmar. Thus, our desire to return should tell you it's worth seeing.)

We exited the bus, right next to the ferris wheel, into a crowd of bustling Japanese tourists.

Now, hold the phone. Ferris wheel? Japanese tourists? On December 30th? What's going on here? Well, as we quickly found out, Edinburgh isn't a quiet little historical city around New Year's. Instead, it's the site of Hogmany, a street party that makes even the warmest of bloods wear a kilt and dance on street signs. What did this translate into? The city was booked solid!

And we didn't have rooms.

Counting on our fortune, our intrepid heroes set off to seek lodgings for the afternoon and, with any luck, the night as well. Due to Biffmar's silver tongue, as well as a bit of divine intervention, we procured said lodgings for $40 per person. Catch was, we could only procure those beds for one night. After that, the price jumped up to 160 quid a night. If you're keeping track of current exchange rates, that's over 300 dollars. Undaunted, we did what any respectable person would do after travelling for so long only to finally reach their city of choice. We passed the fuck out.

Our first night was not one to really note. We walked around, enjoyed some fish 'n chips (the first of several fish meals we would happily indulge in), visited a little pub that had been artsy when Biffmar was last in Sco'land but was now a trendy, hip scene, smoked a few hand-rolled cigarettes, explored two graveyards at around midnight, and generally made a good time of it. The pubs were open late, the people were drunk and loud, and we blended in perfectly. Biffmar and myself tend to dress in a European style. The sex appeal of my 10 foot knitted scarf combined with the overwhelming masculinity of his 12 foot fleece scarf helped us to blend into a crowd of budding metrosexuals quite handily. That and the fact I was so good at accents that the Scottish couldn't figure out where the hell I was from (though they knew it wasn't Sco'land... I barely tried the Scottish accent). Biffmar said he was from Canada. We could do nothing for A, however. In her thermal-plastic Northern Face climbing jacket, she looked straight out of an L.L. Bean catalogue. Plus, she had a Colorado twinge to her accent. As long as we were louder than her (which we were) we could escape any anti-American sentiment lobbed our way. The Scottish are cool, though. And dead sexy...

Speaking of which, on our first night, our first order of business was to scope out the nearest coffee shop. This shop, based on an Italian theme, was located in Grassmarket (just in case any of you want to go grab a damn good Cafe Americana) and happened to have the most beautiful young woman in Sco'land working there. Over the course of a week, I saw her eight or ten times, flirted and sighed. A perfect example of good, Scottish humor, she flirted back and made fun of my accent. If I was living there, I am sure I could have won her over inside of a month. Shit.

The next morning came with us being an hour late for checkout. Whoops. We had scoped out a hostel we were going to snipe as soon as New Year's was over (Hogmany actually continued for another three or five days) and, as such, blazed a path across the heart of Edinburgh. I wrestled and toyed with Duffel up and down many a flight of stairs, many a steep hill, and through many a crowd of laughing tourists. (None visibly drunk yet, but the day was still young.) At the door of the hostel, we made a critical decision. No hostel had room or board for us until the next afternoon. In the interests of saving a cool $120 each, Biffmar, Trev and A all decided to brave the cold and the alcohol and spend the night on the streets.

Shit. Ran out of steam. Part two shall commence when my taste for storytelling returns. Plentiful posts telling me how awesome my writing style is shall provide further inspiration. Money's appreciated.

I just realized my hair is several inches longer than my profile picture would suggest. Guess it's time to update or get my hair cut.

I'm delighted to see you're feeling better.