August 30th, 2011

Sitting in Bibi's on a beautiful Sunday afternoon. . .


The sky was a dark gray. Rain drops came down one by one. Edinburgh airport was in an early morning slumber. Upon seeing the arrivals from America, Scottish staff rose to meet them and guide them to the appropriate queue. Brits to the left, foreigners to the right. We weaved through the metal rails, each taking out his or her passport and immigration forms. Upon reaching the awaiting official each person looked upon him or her with confusion as each failed to comprehend the Scottish accent. The staff smiled, chuckled, and allowed us slowly through, stamping each passport as it was placed in front of them.

Outside the airport the mixed smells of cigarettes and rain filled my nose. People stood sulking as they waited for the right bus to arrive. I stood with them.

Minutes later I left the bus at the Haymarket train station. However, I could not find the station. I soon asked a lady passing by for its whereabouts. She gave me a quick, kind smile and informed me that the station was just down the road, a few buildings away. We walked together to the station politely chatting. At the station I purchased my ticket and chanced upon trouble. The gate and ticket machine swallowed my ticket without opening its doors to permit me through. I approached a friendly worker and explained my situation. Amused and questioning, he called over another worker to check the ticket machine to see if my words were true. Together, they found no ticket, but believed my tale as I held a receipt for the ticket purchased five minutes ago.

I soon found myself following the first worker across the station, down some stairs, across platform four, and into a small office whose door was hidden behind a stone wall. There I was presented to the station supervisor and my story was told. The supervisor looked at the receipt, agreed that I had misfortune, and wrote a note asking the conductor to please let this young man through as his ticket was swallowed. An official stamp and sheet of paper was presented to me and I was sent to wait for the train. Later on, the sheet of paper and receipt was checked and accepted by the conductor hesitantly. Under an hour and a half later I arrived at Leuchars.

With me was a man who had traveled the world multiple times and was on another round of doing so. He told me he stayed no more than three to four days in anyone place. On his current 48 day trip, he would stop in Italy, Scotland, England, China, Singapore, and many other places before he made his way back to Thailand. We took a bus together to St Andrews.

Departing the bus I made my four block journey with over 150 lbs of luggage to the letting agents. I picked the keys up to the house I am renting and sharing. I then took a taxi to the house. Leaving the taxi, I walked up the pebble driveway to the white front door.

The house appeared small. Doors stood blocking the clean carpet path at all five possible exits. A staircase led up to yet another barely lit white hallway. I found myself alone in an empty shell.