Pay No Attention to the Man with the Knife

Well, here I am in Edinburgh. The hostel is nice, and, as the online reviews said, "Not much fun." I wasn't looking for fun then, and I don't so much miss it now.

I went out for Indian food last night because I wanted to treat myself for making all connections and finding the hostel in good time. It was good. I didn't order rice, so they didn't bring any.

Some mental math told me that I couldn't eat out for every meal if I wanted to come home with any money, so I scouted out the kitchen facilities here at the hostel. They have a very clean, nice looking room with four stovetops, three sinks, two fridges, and a set of cubbyholes for keeping dry food in. For all that, the place doesn't seem to get much use. (No, you wouldn't be able to tell, but I've been in there most of today.) I popped over to the local TescoLocal to pick up some goods, and made myself scrambled eggs. And yes, I will be able to get part way to my dream of making a delicious pasta meal at home by making a pretty good pasta meal here.

But during my time in the kitchen, I gradually saw through the veneer of ‘great kitchen’ that first presents itself to the eye. I tried to make some broccoli for lunch, but could find no knife. I looked and looked, and it occurred to me that maybe they didn’t keep sharp knives there for safety. I inquired at the desk about this, and the man there confirmed my guess, and suggested I ask at the little hostel cafe for knife from the kitchen. But those fellows seemed never to have done this before. “Did you check the kitchen?” they asked me. Yes, of course I had, and why would I be anywhere else looking for a knife? They fetched a knife from their kitchen, no doubt deliberately seeking the bluntest knife, and handed me a nine or ten inch blade.

So I walked around the hostel with that for a little while, cut my broccoli, ate it (with the knife at my side, for safety’s sake), and walked back upstairs with it. Strolling into the lobby with a giant blade, I tried not to make any sudden movements or make eye contact. The man in the cafe was different from the men I had borrowed it from, and when I set it on the counter, he was quite shocked. I could tell he was running through every possible comment in his head as I explained why I had this and why I was giving it to him. “No blood on it, at least,” he said.

Anyway, that happened.

I’m in a room with four other men, all older than I. Two are in town, up from Leeds, delivering phone books or phone booths or phone boxes, I’m not sure which. The Leeds accent is very strong. And the man of this pair to whom I talked more almost never uses the word ‘the’. He had left the other man “at pub,” they only had enough books/boxes/booths “on van” to do four jobs, despite being contacted about five. When talking with his significant other on the phone, he also said, “I love you and all,” and, “I miss you and all.”

Of the other two guys in the room, one is Australian, and I don’t know why he’s here, and the other is a very strange fellow, and I don’t know why he’s here either. The latter I’ve seen a dozen times today, in the lobby, dining room, kitchen, and we haven’t passed a word between us. The guy from Leeds told me that he sleeps all day and stays up all night watching TV. I did see him watching TV once, and he is now in bed again (it was 4:30p when I saw him there).

I’m not sure what I want to do in this town. I hear there’s a good museum, and there are probably a lot of other old places I could tour. A big castle sits in the middle of the town on a hill, looking down at the rest of us peasants. Maybe I could see that view. But I’m rather enjoying having nothing to do, and I’ve done some reading, writing, and cooking, which could fill all my time here if I so chose. I might hear from two of the Oxford Americans who will be in Edinburgh tonight and tomorrow morning.

This kitchen is only making me more excited to get back to my own kitchen, where I have a VERY sharp knife that I don’t have to wield in any lobbies. If only my kitchen were so clean...