Edinburgh to Reno

September 5, 2014

p.s Oldish tales

Darling You

How are you?

I am ok but I didn’t get too far from Edinburgh yesterday.

It was a comedy of errors throughout which I somehow managed to stay in a good mood. It could have been really dreadful.

I was the last on the flight and an Italian woman was sat in my seat. Reluctantly they placed me in the front row, with the front row food. Yippee.

There was a lightning storm on arrival into Schipol, Amsterdam. We were able to land but not taxi all the way to the gate. We waited for 40 minutes on the tarmac, with many eager to get to their connecting flights, myself included.

I get to the gate and the Delta flight to Seattle is delayed by 3.5 hours.

I get my 10 euro voucher with the masses and find a place to stretch.

Stretch. Linger. Stretch. Sushi.

It is half an hour before boarding and I head for the gate. Empty. Gate closed. Oh dear. The board still says D7, and to go to the gate but the KLM women say it has been cancelled and I must stay in Holland for the evening.

I wait in one queue.

And am told after some time I am in the wrong one. But she gives myself and 6 others the hot tip to avoid the massive queue of people trying to get a room for the night.

We all end up on the same bus with the same bus driver who went 40 minutes the wrong way by which stage we are all besties.

Dinner cafeteria style but a swanky hotel to please us all. Danish Julia was very grumpy as she too is going to Burning Man and is responsible for not just her ticket. She handed out reese’s pieces.

The Alaskan brothers in the seat before me were coming home from Quatar where each year they repair musical instruments.

Canadian John knew exactly what was in our goodies bag as it was the second day his Seattle flight had been cancelled. He was in exceptionally good humour considering, and told a tale of how he’d hung out with a 90 year old US veteran the night before and they nearly got mugged together but fought them off.

Then Julie shared her mugging attempt tale. We were on the edge of our seats, as we sipped her Danish liquor no longer able to be carried through to Burning Man as she’d now entered Holland. A man had followed her home, she couldn’t find her keys, her shoulder against the door, a quick release to throw him off and elbowed in the ribs. Terrifying tale.

These tales all came out as we played “I have never”, a drinking game I had seen for the first time in a skit the previous day in the Fringe. That’s one way to get to know your fellow passengers “I have never paid for sex”, “I have never tried heroin”, “I have never been to Burning Man” .. and if you have you must sip.

It is a while since I have been in Holland. We were on the outskirts of The Hague and Canada John said there was a coffee shop nearby. It wasn’t so close and we’d since moved to the casino/bar next door. It was fun to hang out but the bar could have been anywhere so I headed off for an adventure.

I asked the waiters where to go and the taxi driver took me to “happy smile” where I bought a teeny bit of weed for the gang and rolled a racehorse. It was a pretty seedy place and I tried to fit in as best as I could…amongst men with heavy Eastern European Dutch accents all smoking spliffs. I caught some friendly smiles nearer my departure.

They looked a little horrified when I asked where the tram was located (I had the hotel’s address and 20 euro).

I got lost.

And there was no-one, almost no-one, to ask.

Someone I stopped on a bike wrote down the name of a street for me. Each time they said it was simple,…just go straight straight.

So I did.

Lost. Always so lost.

I found the tram tracks in the end and, looking for the stop, I realised the tram was never coming because there was a massive fence closing it off ‘under repair.’

Uh oh, mucked this one up a bit. Lonely large streets with only the very occasional car zooming past. I had no idea which way to even begin walking the 6 kilometres back to the Grand Winston.

It was problematic for only about 15 irresponsible minutes before Vincent the Savior rescued me. He was going to call me a taxi and said he was actually going back that way. Wicked wicked. Thank you Vincent, you saved me from bad.

They were all still at it when I returned. I was probably gone just under 2 hours and there was now a jam in session with the Alaskans (who are missing a gig at their mates’ wedding), Hussein the flautist from Lebanon heading to visit a mate in Portland, and another chick was singing along.

There was Polar Bear also going to Burning Man, who had worried about me (I’d been worried about me) and I chimed in with them when the Saints started marching in… there was lots of thigh slapping ..it was ridiculously silly and funny and I shall remember it for all time.

All my love

k xxo


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