After my one-day fun-day in York, the next (and final) destination on the August-England-Itinerary was Newcastle. Well, technically Newcastle upon Tyne as the "new castle," which is very old now but was presumably at one point considered "new," sits upon the Tyne river. One thing you will notice: the Brits as a whole are very logical and pragmatic about their naming. Despite the name, the actual castle, the proximity to Hadrian's wall, and the long tradition as a critical port and manufacturing city, these days Newcastle seems to be known for primarily one thing: partying. Specifically for stag and hen (bachelor and bachelorette) parties which are said to come as far as London to party down up north.
If you've been following Wanderlust for a while, or even if you've only read a few entries, you'll know I love a good party just as much as the next bloak. In reality, probably more than any bloaks within a reasonable proximity. But what drew me to Newcastle was not partying (and certainly not a pre-marriage blowout- thank heavens), but was that I planned to rendezvous with some friends I had made along my travels. Jack and Sarah I met in the sunny beach town of Essaouria, Morocco, and Emily and I met on our harrowing journey from Greensboro to London at the very start of Stint 2. Reunited and it feels so good. Feel free to sing along.
But before I get to all that, the other notable fact about Newcastle was that it marked my second successful attempt at couchsurfing! Whoo! This time I was staying with a really nice guy from Mexico, Eric, who is working on his PhD in Energy at Newcastle University. He lives with three other flatmates, all students, and the four are a really wonderful group of high energy fun loving people. When I arrived in Newcastle Eric was still at work at the University so I dropped my bag at his office and decided to, in typical Mike Steele daytime fashion, wander the streets aimlessly.
Since it was around lunch time and I require some sort of sustenance to continue living, I reckoned it was time to pay heed to that grumbly bastard in my innards. So I stopped into a Northern England staple: Greggs. Greggs is similar to a Pret-a-Manger. For those of you who don't know what that is (and unless you live in NYC or London I don't expect you to), it's simply a shop that sells pre-made sandwiches and "fresh" baked goods. Spotting a special and recognizing an opportunity to knock another English culinary delicacy off my list, I purchased a cheese & onion pastie.
It's basically a flaky pie crust stuffed with baked cheese and onions. Again, pragmatic naming. Tasty, very filling, probably not that healthy, and irreplaceable if you crave the leftover aroma of onions permeating your mouth for the remainder of the day. For the layman, probably worth a try- once. I next met up with my friend Jack who walked me down the main drag to the riverfront (quayside, pronounced "key-side"). An interesting thing to note, around the music hall area all buildings are required to be built in the same style with the same stone (similar to Bordeaux).
Aside from all the bars and pubs, some of the best features to explore in Newcastle are the windy little streets and avenues that snake their way from the city center down along the quayside. And all of their alleys and side streets which branch off, pressing city-ward in a vein-like serpentine fashion.
High above, auto and train bridges tower imposingly over the streets making me feel insignificant. At home. They conjure up ghosts of cruising for pizzas under the Brooklyn Bridge or shopping for groceries to stock that tiny grungy Chinatown flat- way down under the Williamsburg on the Manhattan side. A place so foreign it doesn't feel like you're in Manhattan at all- let alone below Canal Street. Curious where the mind drifts into nostalgia.
After soaking in what Jack called "pretty much everything to see in Newcastle" in under 30 minutes, we stopped to enjoy the uncommonly hospitable Newcastle weather at the quayside. Just across from us was a very interesting footbridge which Jack informed me can actually tilt and close slightly to allow large ships to traverse the canal. That's really cool engineering.
Sarah met up with us after a bit and we ordered some nachos. What!? Yea. But, against all odds from my experience abroad with Mexican food or Southwestern food or any derivative therein, these were actually good. Even the guac tasted like real guac. Well done Newcastle. Around 5pm they dropped me off at Newcastle University so I could meet up with Eric and walk over to his place.
Along the way we noticed an interesting phenomena that Jack had been telling me about over beers. If you are a very prominent (or often famous) citizen of Newcastle you may be made a "free man of the city." It's similar to getting a key to the city, with the notable exception of one glaring tangible benefit: the right to graze your cattle on public squares. So on the Moor, or in this case Leazes Park (which is surrounded on all sides by apartments and student housing), you are likely to see cows grazing about. Just doing their thing.
This actually reminds me of a story so I'm going to go off on a brief tangent. When my grandmother died she bequeathed to me in her will one of the cows living on her farm. They (specifically my uncle) raised cattle for beef, but, feeling that it was my cow and I was entitled to do with it whatever I pleased, I demanded that we relocate it to our backyard in suburban Greensboro. I even attempted to persuade my parents that I would train it to become a "guard cow" that would alert us in the event of any intruders.
As you might imagine, Mom and Dad didn't go for it and I'm sure my cow was eventually sold for beef. Which, I suppose is the way it should have gone but I just want to point out- SEE MOM AND DAD! I WAS RIGHT! IT COULD HAVE WORKED! THEY DO THIS ALL OVER THE GLOBE! (ok, maybe just northern England and Scotland) But hey, seriously. A guard cow. How awesome is that? I smell animated series. This random story actually reminds me... I don't think I ever got paid for my cow... what the eh, Uncle D?
Meanwhile in Newcastle Eric and I are standing next to these cows while I'm telling this story about my grandmother's cow to you, dear reader, and they are getting really antsy because they want to proceed to what we all know will be an endgame of a nice refreshing Newcastle ale. So, without further ado, our intrepid heroes continued forth onto Eric's street where I became suddenly dumbfounded. The street was nice enough. A lovely neighborhood really, but I've never in my life seen so many domiciles in a row that looked EXACTLY the same. I immediately thought- I better pay attention here or I may get lost trying to get back. But, typical me, I didn't listen to myself and this proved detrimental in very short order.
That night I went with Eric's roommate Jit to Bar Loco where we ultimately met up with the rest of the gang including fellow couchsurfer West. West is an interesting cat. A vagabond in the truest sense. He left his native Canada for great global adventures, professing an unlimited timeline and travel appetite. He operates on a budget of 5 pounds a day, proclaims to be a hippie, can do yoga and parkour, plays the flute (sometimes on the streets for cash), loves dancing to dubstep, and doesn't drink.
Naturally, I never trust a man who doesn't drink, however, I made an exception for West. His uniqueness deserves merit in the annals where such merit would rightfully be recorded. If you see him on the road, ask him about some of his adventures- he has some great stories. And he, like me, absolutely loves finagling. He got a free bike... and then another free bike! I have to respect it. Keep that karma strong though, pal. Anyway, (now the gang has beer in hand and is impatiently waiting to take that first sip) I used the opportunity at Bar Loco to try some local ales!
AHH refreshing! Actually, it was pretty hot that night so the barely-cool ales weren't what I would call technically "refreshing." But they did refresh my near consistent beer-buzz by this point, so we'll let it side. After a while Jack showed up and joined us for a few rounds. Bar Loco is a real hip joint- you're always going to get a good conversation with someone there. Beyond that, they had excellent looking pizza- but considering all the beer I was drinking, I abstained (responsible living... sort of... yay!). Eventually, I had to go to the bathroom to return the beer to the bar and I noticed this:
"Get Away. Heart. Benadorm." Obviously Benidorm is misspelled. That aside, if you've been reading since the beginning of Wanderlust you'll remember my discussion on Benidorm when Claudia, Mark, and I went "benidorming" there one hot afternoon in Spain. Nothing like shamelessly driving web traffic from your own blog back to your blog. Anyway, I found it humorous that Claudia's stories of Benidorm really rang true. Pervasive to the point of pub bathroom graffiti.
When Eric joined us at Bar Loco we came to discover he had sustained a leg injury during his football game that afternoon. As such, he was incapable of riding his bike back to the flat and, being the southern gentleman I am, I volunteered to ride it back for him. Jack and I stayed after everyone else left for a nightcap pint and finally it was time to make my way back. I started off in the direction I knew, however, the ales plus the late hour and the consistent similarity of every single building eventually caused me to take a wrong turn. To make matters worse my iphone died and the map I had didn't go as far out as Eric's apartment.
I had absolutely no idea where I was and ended up riding the bike around in circles for about an hour and a half. Keep in mind this is like 2-3:30am. I'm trying to steer this thing back to his street, dodge traffic, and cling to the slight remnants of my sobriety, all while avoiding pedestrians and other obstacles. Oh, and did I mention I've ridden a bike now THREE times in about fifteen years. The old moniker "just like riding a bike" is total B.S. Especially when English ales are tossed in the mix! Additionally, it's worth noting that the bike I was riding was a girl's bike.
So the image you should have in your head is a large man, pedaling frantically, head swiveling back and forth trying to read street signs that appear the same, darting through traffic yelling "everything looks the same!" All while riding a girl's bike. I would say it should conjure up images of Harrison Ford in Hollywood Homicide where he steals the little girl's bike, screams in anger, and pedals down the street in a blind rage.
As you can imagine, I crashed the bike numerous times. Thankfully doing damage only to me as I would throw myself off the bike and onto the object to prevent damage to the bike. I crashed into telephone poles, street signs, bushes, a man with a dog... Yes, a man with a dog. Let's just forget that part. Anyway, I finally called Jack, woke him up, had him direct me back to Eric's. It was hugely embarrassing but I'm lucky to have great international friends like Jack to help me out. And, thank the gods of poor biking skill, the door was unlocked when I got back so I didn't have to wake up the entire house. Best of all, no pictures of this event exist... and wait, why did I even write about this?? I could have just pretended this never happened and no one could prove otherwise. Oh well, I've typed too much to delete now. You're welcome.
The next day I walked around the Fenham area in Newcastle. Later West and I walked over to the Sage (the really cool music hall across the river) where Sarah was playing in an experimental DJ group which consisted of 13 DJs scratching at the same time while a few string and percussion instruments played. On the way, West and I stopped briefly to admire THE Newcastle. So here it is:
Back at the Sage, in the midst of this cacophonous production of noise they had a projector which was showing random images with no real connection to the sounds we were hearing. I'd be dishonest if I didn't say that I felt a bit as if we were being brainwashed. Every few minutes or so I looked around the room expecting to see the scene from A Clockwork Orange where Alex has his eyes pried open and is being reprogrammed. I had the website for the show and was going to post the link but I lost the url. Sorry. But, after that show there was live jazz downstairs so we got about 10 minutes of really soothing grooves.
The rest of the night was rather innocuous. Ended up having two Guinnesses at a real cool bar nearby called The Central. Short walking distance from the Sage. I called it an early night. I wanted to see the USA men's basketball team play in the semi-final game (which they weren't showing in lieu of non-Team GB boxing... right BBC, right). On the way back, sober and happy Mike got this picture of the Tyne and Swing bridges at night.
The next day I met up with my newish friend Emily who I met that harrowing day in PTI airport. The plan was to meet up in the middle of town which was accomplished easily enough. The problem was, neither of us knew what to do with the day. As I mentioned, Newcastle is not really known for tourist sites. So with not much to do we ended up just walking and talking. I did snap a cool picture as we went over the Tyne Bridge.
Later we ended up cruising the malls in Newcastle. And I helped her pick out a dress. I honestly can't remember the last time I helped a girl pick out a dress. I was long long overdue. But, irrelevant. That afternoon's experience brings me to a couple of interesting observations. One, it's apparently a huge trend to level large portions of a historic downtown area and construct-in-lieu huge urban shopping malls. If you look at a map of Newcastle, the very epicenter is dominated by a massive series of shopping malls which weave their way through and around the remaining historic buildings. The beating heart of Newcastle has become one of designer goods, air conditioning, and reheated pretzels.
Two, dyed hair. I love dyed hair and tattoos and piercings. Let me just throw that out there. But... the UK is on a horrendous trend that is absolutely devastating the validity of its youth. I first noticed this in Wakefield. I can't tell you the number of women and girls (both!) who I have seen with dyed hair. It's out of control. Blonde and red are the two most popular, but in Newcastle rarely 5 minutes passed without seeing a girl with bright pink hair. Let me tell you something UK: if everyone is doing it, it's NOT COOL ANYMORE. It's just weird and conformist. Moreover, it just makes pink hair unsexy. And that annoys the hell out of me as pink hair (especially in bob format) is one of my favorite styles. It reminds me of when I went to Japan and around 40% of girls had dyed red-brown hair. Dude. It's done. Everyone has done it. Just be yourself.
Third, it was chilly that day. And I noticed that there were a ton of girls roaming around in short shorts and tank tops with no jacket. So Emily and I started discussing the matter and evidently when girls in northern England go out to bars and clubs they flat out refuse to bring a jacket. It could be -10 C and they'll be out in short skirts, pumps, and no coats. Clearly their epidermis nerve endings have been bred out. A horrifying thought. But, to me, it seems a bit of a bravado thing. You're seen as weak if you can't handle the cold without a jacket. Seems silly to me as no self-respecting woman in NYC would dare stroll out into the bitter Manhattan-cold without a jacket. Different strokes.
Next, Nandos. Let me tell you a little bit about Nandos. First, there should be a picture but I was too busy being amazed that I forgot to take one. Nandos is a bit like Chipotle in the states. A high-end chain restaurant that serves sort-of-healthy food, meaning better than fast food but probably not better than you could make for yourself. I's basically a (South African/Portuguese themed) chicken joint that has a ton of different flavors of chicken (varying in heat but all peri-peri). You can get it in sandwich form, or plain or a myriad of other options plus a bunch of sides. And it's like Chipotle in that people are very divided about Nandos. They either love it or hate it. Count me in the camp that loves it. It's damn good and for the money you could do a sight worse.
Finally, before Emily had to go get ready for her big party that night, she took me to a place called Shakeaholic. Oh baby. I'm not very big on sweets but when I see a milkshake megalopolis even I'm taken aback. I know a certain person who would have absolutely fainted at the mere sight of this place. There must be at least 150 ingredients to choose from and you can mix and match. I'm no good with permutations but someone can feel free to compute the number of unique combinations available. I went with Irish coffee liquer flavor and ground up Lion bar. So good. Here's (part of) the wall of awesomeness.
After watching a bit of the Olympics football final, Emily headed on her way and I tried to see what Eric was up to. He was supposed to be watching the game and cheering on Mexico with his buddies. Mexico ended up beating Brazil (against great odds) but I couldn't get ahold of him. I eventually decided to check Bar Loco but they weren't there. So I started walking towards the flat and as I passed a place called the Strawberry Bar, right next to Newcastle football team stadium, I saw Jit outside having a cigarette. Bingo! So I went in.
Eventually we made it from that bar to Bar Loco and then on to a dorm party in the Newcastle University dorms. Wow! It's been ages since I've been to a real-life dorm party! Check it out! Wait... why is there a 10 year old kid there?? Can you see him? It's like Where's Waldo. Except with children in inappropriate settings. I think he was one girl's son. Ruh-roh.
Anyway, we were joined just prior to the dorm party by a third couchsurfer destined to occupy the 6' x 10' living room space. Yea, it was going to be tight. His name was Alex and he was from Germany, had previously lived in Newcastle, and was coming back for a visit. At some point we thought we had run out of beer so I was drinking a variety of Captain Morgan's rum with a splash of apple juice. Warm. Do NOT recommend. Finally, we decided to leave and head back to Bar Loco. On the way I got to talking with Kara from Portland, Oregon and Monica from Bucharest, Romania. Two awesome ladies studying at Newcastle. Monica offered to show me around in Bucharest (and maybe even put me up in her house :D). Another cliffhanger for a couple weeks from now when I actually make it there. Meanwhile, at Bar Loco, this picture was taken:
Me, Eric, and Alex. Notice that I'm FINALLY, on my last night in Newcastle, actually drinking a Newcastle brown ale. One of the beers I first drank at UNC. One of the first beers I actually liked. You could say that I grew up on that, Bass, and Guinness. It was a glorious and overdue homage. As the night wound down, the birthday girl from the dorms seemed worse for the wear.
And we weren't too far off. The bar had closed and we had run out of beer. But new friend Kara, becoming a wizard in her own right, produced some pops she had commandeered from the party. So we hung out at Bar Loco sipping these artifacts long after the official bar closed. Finally, they were ready to shoo us away but before they did we got a picture of Eric, our awesome host, and the three gentlemen sharing his floor/couch. Me, Alex, Eric, and West the Wiz.
So, you must be thinking. Three dudes. One small space. Sounds a bit cramped. Well, it wouldn't really bother me, especially after those nice Newcastles, however, I was saved miraculously from that potential plight by Kara who offered to let me crash at her place. So I was technically couchsurfing within a couchsurf. Whoa. It's like Inception. We need to go deeper.
Only downside to this tactic is that after a short night's sleep I had to navigate my way back to Eric's in the heavy, sorted, and viscous dawn. Ragged. Shuffling. Perhaps in shambles, or, maybe just the other side of shambles. But it was more than a task to navigate my way back, pack, get myself together, make my way to the station, and eventually catch my train to Edinburgh. I fell asleep mid-breakfast sandwich sitting upright in a chair on the platform. The good news- I'd be meeting up with Michelle and James from York for some serious Fringe Festival action. If I survived the train... where is the rest of that sandwich??.... zzzz.... hm?... zzzz....
When Eric joined us at Bar Loco we came to discover he had sustained a leg injury during his football game that afternoon. As such, he was incapable of riding his bike back to the flat and, being the southern gentleman I am, I volunteered to ride it back for him. Jack and I stayed after everyone else left for a nightcap pint and finally it was time to make my way back. I started off in the direction I knew, however, the ales plus the late hour and the consistent similarity of every single building eventually caused me to take a wrong turn. To make matters worse my iphone died and the map I had didn't go as far out as Eric's apartment.
I had absolutely no idea where I was and ended up riding the bike around in circles for about an hour and a half. Keep in mind this is like 2-3:30am. I'm trying to steer this thing back to his street, dodge traffic, and cling to the slight remnants of my sobriety, all while avoiding pedestrians and other obstacles. Oh, and did I mention I've ridden a bike now THREE times in about fifteen years. The old moniker "just like riding a bike" is total B.S. Especially when English ales are tossed in the mix! Additionally, it's worth noting that the bike I was riding was a girl's bike.
So the image you should have in your head is a large man, pedaling frantically, head swiveling back and forth trying to read street signs that appear the same, darting through traffic yelling "everything looks the same!" All while riding a girl's bike. I would say it should conjure up images of Harrison Ford in Hollywood Homicide where he steals the little girl's bike, screams in anger, and pedals down the street in a blind rage.
As you can imagine, I crashed the bike numerous times. Thankfully doing damage only to me as I would throw myself off the bike and onto the object to prevent damage to the bike. I crashed into telephone poles, street signs, bushes, a man with a dog... Yes, a man with a dog. Let's just forget that part. Anyway, I finally called Jack, woke him up, had him direct me back to Eric's. It was hugely embarrassing but I'm lucky to have great international friends like Jack to help me out. And, thank the gods of poor biking skill, the door was unlocked when I got back so I didn't have to wake up the entire house. Best of all, no pictures of this event exist... and wait, why did I even write about this?? I could have just pretended this never happened and no one could prove otherwise. Oh well, I've typed too much to delete now. You're welcome.
The next day I walked around the Fenham area in Newcastle. Later West and I walked over to the Sage (the really cool music hall across the river) where Sarah was playing in an experimental DJ group which consisted of 13 DJs scratching at the same time while a few string and percussion instruments played. On the way, West and I stopped briefly to admire THE Newcastle. So here it is:
Back at the Sage, in the midst of this cacophonous production of noise they had a projector which was showing random images with no real connection to the sounds we were hearing. I'd be dishonest if I didn't say that I felt a bit as if we were being brainwashed. Every few minutes or so I looked around the room expecting to see the scene from A Clockwork Orange where Alex has his eyes pried open and is being reprogrammed. I had the website for the show and was going to post the link but I lost the url. Sorry. But, after that show there was live jazz downstairs so we got about 10 minutes of really soothing grooves.
The rest of the night was rather innocuous. Ended up having two Guinnesses at a real cool bar nearby called The Central. Short walking distance from the Sage. I called it an early night. I wanted to see the USA men's basketball team play in the semi-final game (which they weren't showing in lieu of non-Team GB boxing... right BBC, right). On the way back, sober and happy Mike got this picture of the Tyne and Swing bridges at night.
Later we ended up cruising the malls in Newcastle. And I helped her pick out a dress. I honestly can't remember the last time I helped a girl pick out a dress. I was long long overdue. But, irrelevant. That afternoon's experience brings me to a couple of interesting observations. One, it's apparently a huge trend to level large portions of a historic downtown area and construct-in-lieu huge urban shopping malls. If you look at a map of Newcastle, the very epicenter is dominated by a massive series of shopping malls which weave their way through and around the remaining historic buildings. The beating heart of Newcastle has become one of designer goods, air conditioning, and reheated pretzels.
Two, dyed hair. I love dyed hair and tattoos and piercings. Let me just throw that out there. But... the UK is on a horrendous trend that is absolutely devastating the validity of its youth. I first noticed this in Wakefield. I can't tell you the number of women and girls (both!) who I have seen with dyed hair. It's out of control. Blonde and red are the two most popular, but in Newcastle rarely 5 minutes passed without seeing a girl with bright pink hair. Let me tell you something UK: if everyone is doing it, it's NOT COOL ANYMORE. It's just weird and conformist. Moreover, it just makes pink hair unsexy. And that annoys the hell out of me as pink hair (especially in bob format) is one of my favorite styles. It reminds me of when I went to Japan and around 40% of girls had dyed red-brown hair. Dude. It's done. Everyone has done it. Just be yourself.
Third, it was chilly that day. And I noticed that there were a ton of girls roaming around in short shorts and tank tops with no jacket. So Emily and I started discussing the matter and evidently when girls in northern England go out to bars and clubs they flat out refuse to bring a jacket. It could be -10 C and they'll be out in short skirts, pumps, and no coats. Clearly their epidermis nerve endings have been bred out. A horrifying thought. But, to me, it seems a bit of a bravado thing. You're seen as weak if you can't handle the cold without a jacket. Seems silly to me as no self-respecting woman in NYC would dare stroll out into the bitter Manhattan-cold without a jacket. Different strokes.
Next, Nandos. Let me tell you a little bit about Nandos. First, there should be a picture but I was too busy being amazed that I forgot to take one. Nandos is a bit like Chipotle in the states. A high-end chain restaurant that serves sort-of-healthy food, meaning better than fast food but probably not better than you could make for yourself. I's basically a (South African/Portuguese themed) chicken joint that has a ton of different flavors of chicken (varying in heat but all peri-peri). You can get it in sandwich form, or plain or a myriad of other options plus a bunch of sides. And it's like Chipotle in that people are very divided about Nandos. They either love it or hate it. Count me in the camp that loves it. It's damn good and for the money you could do a sight worse.
Finally, before Emily had to go get ready for her big party that night, she took me to a place called Shakeaholic. Oh baby. I'm not very big on sweets but when I see a milkshake megalopolis even I'm taken aback. I know a certain person who would have absolutely fainted at the mere sight of this place. There must be at least 150 ingredients to choose from and you can mix and match. I'm no good with permutations but someone can feel free to compute the number of unique combinations available. I went with Irish coffee liquer flavor and ground up Lion bar. So good. Here's (part of) the wall of awesomeness.
After watching a bit of the Olympics football final, Emily headed on her way and I tried to see what Eric was up to. He was supposed to be watching the game and cheering on Mexico with his buddies. Mexico ended up beating Brazil (against great odds) but I couldn't get ahold of him. I eventually decided to check Bar Loco but they weren't there. So I started walking towards the flat and as I passed a place called the Strawberry Bar, right next to Newcastle football team stadium, I saw Jit outside having a cigarette. Bingo! So I went in.
Eventually we made it from that bar to Bar Loco and then on to a dorm party in the Newcastle University dorms. Wow! It's been ages since I've been to a real-life dorm party! Check it out! Wait... why is there a 10 year old kid there?? Can you see him? It's like Where's Waldo. Except with children in inappropriate settings. I think he was one girl's son. Ruh-roh.
Anyway, we were joined just prior to the dorm party by a third couchsurfer destined to occupy the 6' x 10' living room space. Yea, it was going to be tight. His name was Alex and he was from Germany, had previously lived in Newcastle, and was coming back for a visit. At some point we thought we had run out of beer so I was drinking a variety of Captain Morgan's rum with a splash of apple juice. Warm. Do NOT recommend. Finally, we decided to leave and head back to Bar Loco. On the way I got to talking with Kara from Portland, Oregon and Monica from Bucharest, Romania. Two awesome ladies studying at Newcastle. Monica offered to show me around in Bucharest (and maybe even put me up in her house :D). Another cliffhanger for a couple weeks from now when I actually make it there. Meanwhile, at Bar Loco, this picture was taken:
Me, Eric, and Alex. Notice that I'm FINALLY, on my last night in Newcastle, actually drinking a Newcastle brown ale. One of the beers I first drank at UNC. One of the first beers I actually liked. You could say that I grew up on that, Bass, and Guinness. It was a glorious and overdue homage. As the night wound down, the birthday girl from the dorms seemed worse for the wear.
And we weren't too far off. The bar had closed and we had run out of beer. But new friend Kara, becoming a wizard in her own right, produced some pops she had commandeered from the party. So we hung out at Bar Loco sipping these artifacts long after the official bar closed. Finally, they were ready to shoo us away but before they did we got a picture of Eric, our awesome host, and the three gentlemen sharing his floor/couch. Me, Alex, Eric, and West the Wiz.
So, you must be thinking. Three dudes. One small space. Sounds a bit cramped. Well, it wouldn't really bother me, especially after those nice Newcastles, however, I was saved miraculously from that potential plight by Kara who offered to let me crash at her place. So I was technically couchsurfing within a couchsurf. Whoa. It's like Inception. We need to go deeper.
Only downside to this tactic is that after a short night's sleep I had to navigate my way back to Eric's in the heavy, sorted, and viscous dawn. Ragged. Shuffling. Perhaps in shambles, or, maybe just the other side of shambles. But it was more than a task to navigate my way back, pack, get myself together, make my way to the station, and eventually catch my train to Edinburgh. I fell asleep mid-breakfast sandwich sitting upright in a chair on the platform. The good news- I'd be meeting up with Michelle and James from York for some serious Fringe Festival action. If I survived the train... where is the rest of that sandwich??.... zzzz.... hm?... zzzz....
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