Life

My first short film…is forthcoming

Edinburgh Expeditions

The last few weeks haven’t been all fun and games. I haven’t been out enjoying the sun as frequently as I should. No, instead I’ve been working on my dissertation.

What am I doing? I’m writing an essay on the construction of narrative through surveillance and making a short film based on Nineteen Eighty-Four. Which reminds me, I need to think of a good title for it. At the moment, it’s “She Loved Big Brother” but I’m not particularly fond of it.

So, I’m editing the footage that I’ve filmed. I’m sure I’ll get a lot more over the next day. Film’s got to be complete by 31 July, that’s when I’m premiering it!

Edinburgh Summer, you are such a tease.

Edinburgh Expeditions

I’ve always been the sort of person to prefer cold weather to hot. As my fellow New Hampshirites complain about the snow, the wind, and the negative temperatures, I laugh and damn the summer. I would rather be cold than too warm–putting on another jumper, hobo gloves and wrapping up in a blanket with a cuppa and a good book is my idea of the perfect relaxing winter’s day.

Notice that I said “winter.”

Edinburgh’s summers are apparently very short. Like, a week in May. Absolutely gorgeous weather, then nothing but rain and cold. I’ve been very happy that I haven’t packed away my jumpers, and that I didn’t listen to my mother and continue to wear my winter boots.

Yesterday, the first day of summer, was cold. I wore jeans, sheepskin lined slippers, drank hot tea, reorganized my workspace. Which, believe you me, was a lot more work than I initially anticipated.

I return from my digression. I’ve never been one to complain about the cold–until now. I don’t want weather to be too warm, but I would like to wear my dresses. And maybe, just maybe, my sandals. And my new sunglasses. So my reasons for disliking the cold are vain.

It isn’t just that. It’s the rain that keeps you from wanting to venture out, that keeps me from going to the library (as in this weather, I’d rather be cold in my own home, where I can get as much tea as my heart desires, thanks very much). Even trips to the neighborhood Tesco become daunting affairs. “I ventured out to do the laundry, that’s enough,” I said.

Though, I’m pretty fortunate compared to New England. Temperatures in the high 90s to low 100s? No thank you. I’d rather freeze.

Balkan is the new punk.

Edinburgh Expeditions

“You might want to change your shoes,” a friend said to me.
I looked down at my ballerina flat clad toes. “Combat boots then?”
She nodded. “Combat boots. Have you never been to Balkanarama before?” Seeing me shake my head, she continued, “The dancing is a bit like being in a mosh pit.”

Despite my (joking) claims that I was a punk in a former life (can’t help it, I have a soft spot for ’70s punk music) , pogoing and moshing have been two styles of dancing I’ve never been particularly keen to try. Needless to say, that’s exactly what I was going to attempt, I just didn’t know it at the time.

Balkanarama is a popular club night in Edinburgh. It features, surprise, Balkan music, both live and DJed. I hadn’t listened to Balkan music at all prior to Thursday night, when I ran into two-thirds of Bobok serenading my friends. When I got a text from another friend suggesting that we go on Saturday, I was completely on board.

What I found at Studio 24 (an independent club just off of Edinburgh’s Royal Mile) was not what I expected–in a good way. I had no idea what would be waiting for me, not only where the club was (we got ever so slightly lost, ending up on Calton Hill and looking down on the club rather than standing right by it), but what it would be like inside. Two floors, of which I only made to the first; reasonably priced beer (a can of Red Stripe for £3); some seats near the bar, and a pulsing pit of dancers in front of a live music stage.

I took a swig of my beer and looked to my friend. We both looked to the pit, to each other, and nodded. The loud, blistering sound of violin, accordion, trumpet and percussion greeted us, along with the undulating mass of bodies and reek of sweat. The pit was sweaty, smelly and alive.

Alive sums up Balkanarama. There’s something about bouncing up and down to energetic music, bumping into those around you, somehow ending up right by the stage, dancing like a madman and being knocked against the metal railing. Something wonderful, endorphin-inducing. I had a massive smile on my face even when we left, sometime after the band Smash Kafana left the stage.

As we wandered home, we said, ‘why on earth had we not gone there before?’

I’ll surely be at Balkanarama in coming months, still in my combat boots.

The Spontaneous City

Edinburgh Expeditions

One thing that I love about Edinburgh, and indeed my friends, is the spontaneity that exists like a heartbeat. The city is magical, alive with its own way throwing things at you, opportunities wonderful to behold, that must be grabbed and enjoyed.

I was returning home from an event in Leith and got off at the wrong bus stop–not a problem, as it was only slightly more out of my way. If I hadn’t departed the bus at the National Museum of Scotland, I wouldn’t have stumbled upon a group of my friends having an outdoor dinner (complete with table and chairs) being serenaded by two-thirds of the Balkan folk group Bobok.

Never being one to turn down the opportunity to hang out with friends (and listen to awesome live music), I pulled up a chair, sat down, and enjoyed a glass of wine. We laughed, danced, chatted as the sun continued to fall.

Being Edinburgh, the darkening sky brought some rain, and the musicians were anxious to keep their instruments dry. We scurried beneath the Potterrow underpass, bringing our table and chairs with us. The concert continued, with the Balkan music reverberating in the under-road pass. People passed us by, admiring our full dinner set up, and the musicians playing.

Needless to say, everyone who walked by wished they were with us.

Home is where the heart is

Edinburgh Expeditions

It’s funny. I’ve given a lot of thought to what it means to feel at home in a place. Is it the place where one’s born, where one grows up? Or is it where one chooses to settle?

In my case, I think it’s the latter. Edinburgh has become my home, more than where I was born. This is the place where I have decided to live, where it is I want to be. It’s the place I feel I belong: here I am a member of the community. There is a vibrant life to this city, small though it is. At times I find myself longing for someplace bigger, but then I look to Arthur’s Seat and realize just how lucky I am to live here of all places.

Poetry in the Park

Edinburgh Expeditions

This weekend, a group of my friends and I celebrated May Day a little late. Being of a literary mindset, we decided to hold a late-night picnic complete with good company, decent-to-good wine, and good poetry.

It was a laid-back affair, a gathering of just under twenty crazy cats bundled up against the cold May night. We had stacks of poetry books and an iPad, letting us flip through and find just the right poem for our moods. The poems read were insanely varied, from Tim Burton’s “Match Boy and Stick Girl in Love” to Shakespeare’s “Sonnet No. 2” to Dante Alighieri’s “Tanto gentile e tanto nostre pare” to dirty limericks recited when the mood got too serious. We laughed, we chatted, we decided that “The Jabberwocky” was really written by Robert Burns.

The poetry reading was a success. We sat out in the cold for four hours, leaving just before midnight, carrying the tea lights that had lit our circle as lanterns as we wandered back into the Edinburgh night.