Thursday morning I wake before everyone else. This is no surprise, I am spinning between time zones, still riding on a plane over the Atlantic Ocean, it will be another several days before my sleep patterns catch up only to be thrown back into disarray.
I walk into the kitchen of our little apartment. Checking out the appliances I figure the process of making hot water with the electric kettle and proceed to make a cup of tea. By god, we are in the UK and I will drink like the natives. The window over the sink provides the view of all the back yards of the permanent residents here.
It is a beautiful day and I am ready to explore the neighborhood. Last night someone mentioned there is a coffee shop up the street a few blocks. I get the key to the apartment and my camera. Everyone else is asleep as I quietly close the door behind me and make my way down the stairs and out the door onto the street.
Back home, it was not long pass 3 AM. It is when I often find myself awake, with Max the cat digging at the blanket, my feet under the covers. But the day itself was alive and wide awake. It was a good thing too, as the double decker buses were daunting and unexpected surprises as I walked along the sidewalk. I followed the road and made notes in my mind of the buildings and unique landmarks along with memorizing storefronts. In this maze of stone walls, I would not be surprised if I found myself stupidly lost.
Before we left the States, I arranged to have our phones access service if we needed it on demand. So far, only Tina had activated her access. This way we could pull up Google Maps or call out for an UBER if needed. I was consciously trying to not activate the service on my phone.
I saw across the street a coffee shop, Machina Expresso was lettered on the window. I craved coffee and maybe a bite to eat. I had no way of telling if Tina, Sarah, or Queena were out of their jet lagged slumber. I walked into the cafe and looked around. The counter was to the left, a couple of tables were at the front and two more were outside on the walk. There was a back room beyond the counter. Several people were behind the counter; a tall blonde man asked if he could help. I tried to recognize his accent, but I was at a loss. “Are you Scottish?” I asked. No, he was from Italy, but he had been here for awhile. In our conversation, he said, “now both our countries have a clown and a criminal at the helm of the nation.” I had to agree, sorry that now in the eyes of the rest of the world we were on the same leadership level as Italy. A joke. There was a time when I rode my bike in the streets of DC, feeling proud and hopeful, I hadn’t felt that way in almost three years.
I ordered a slice of banana bread and a coffee with room for cream, but milk would have to do. There was nowhere in the UK a person could get some half-n-half. I spoke with my Italian Barista about living in Scotland. So far the only people I had spoken to at length were from Poland and Italy. Edinburgh attracted people from all over Europe. I would eventually find the diversity in this city was amazing and welcoming. From what I could see, they welcomed immigrants into their community. My coffee and banana bread came. Finding an empty table in the back room, I sat. I spread butter on the warm bread, making up for the lack of cream in the coffee. It was quite good and I was feeling comfortable in my surroundings.