Travelog – Go Fiddle Go

The Ayes Have It: Edinburgh

A benefit to going to Scotland when I did is that I got to be there during the Fringe festival. (I’m probably the only person in the country who went to Fringe by accident.) On the downside, I couldn’t stay anywhere near Edinburgh. I ended up in Kirkcaldy, an hour out of Edinburgh by train and bus. Oh well. It was a lovely ride, both from London to Edinburgh and from Edinburgh to God-Knows-Where. Turns out, if you have a validated Eurail pass, you can just jump on. 🙂

My dear friend Arlene Patterson and her daughter Fiona were in Edinburgh playing fiddle for the Edinburgh Tattoo. I got to have lunch with Arlene – it’s so great to catch up with friends on the other side of the world!

Note the sign behind us. I didn’t notice it until I uploaded it onto this page, haha

I was so fortunate to be able to have a lesson in person from my Skype teacher, Gregor Borland, who lives in Edinburgh. We went through the air I played for the US National Scottish Fiddle Championships, and as you can see, it was a valuable lesson. Check out the video!

Wandering around after my lesson with my fiddle on my back, I was approached by an elderly woman who insisted I come play with one of the buskers who was there for the Fringe. We played a little bit, and then my fiddle was borrowed by a young lad for a tune – it was his 21st birthday, how could I say no?

Finally, up to the Royal Mile! First stop, Whiskey Experience. Turns out the tour should be booked ahead of time (which is why I missed out on it on my last-minute adventure), but you can stagger up to the tasting table with no notice whatsoever.

I also loved the city’s support of street performing. It was so cool to see performers of all types, all over the place!

Wheels spinning in the street, going nowhere…

Click here for a video of these cool violinists!

All of the hubbub surrounding the Fringe made it easy to find something to do that evening, if the sheer number of choices was a bit overwhelming. I finally settled on an hour-long one-man show by someone who did a stellar impersonation of Trump -in stockings and high heels, of course (not pictured).

The show could have been a spectacular 30-minute show, or even a great 45-minute show, but because it was an hour (and lagged significantly near the end), we’ll leave it as just having been “pretty good.” Spoiler: it ends with Trump pushing “the button” in front of a homemade fangirl poster of Kim Jon-un.

It was all very weird. Still, I’m glad I went, and there was plenty of time left to back to Kirkcaldy that evening.

Arriving in London

On the flight from Iceland I had the whole row to myself. ‘Nuff said; I slept most of the flight.

I had a layover in Hamburg in the middle of the night, and a new experience for me was to take busses to and from the terminal to the planes. It was strange to actually stand on the ground next to an airplane – but none of the huge jets seemed like they were actually going to squish me, and I was too tired to care anyhow. I don’t remember anything about the flight to London; I assume I slept through it. I got maybe 4 hours of sleep, which is, naturally, devastating for me.

Just like in Iceland, I was able to take the train from the airport to my friend’s apartment. That had been the idea at least; I fell asleep on the train and missed my stop, but fortunately was able to double back and change trains at King’s Cross.

Wait, I thought; THAT King’s Cross?? I was elated; I was actually there!! I finally got into my friend’s apartment to drop off my stuff, then went back to investigate.

London has fully embraced the Potter. I contemplated standing in line for the picture, but decided to stand in line for the store instead as the wait was about an hour shorter. No sooner had I had them print my boyfriend’s Hogwarts letter (#girlfriendpoints) than they evacuated the station! They instructed us to drop our unpaid merchandise on the floor and leave immediately. I don’t have it in me to walk out without paying so I dropped it on the floor, but I bet they lost more than one stuffed Hedwig in the commotion that afternoon.

As we made our way verrrryyyyy sllloowly to the door (no one was running in a panic! I couldn’t believe it), the unconcerned, gum-popping security guard was saying “nothing dangerous, they’re just evacuating. Keep moving.” After the past couple of years of US news I can’t imagine such a thing, and my eyes darted around nervously as we shuffled toward the exit.

It was probably just a power outage that was delaying the trains, not a mass shooting or anything like that. Of course, I’m an American so I decided not to stick around for the station to reopen, and walked back. No particular pride in that; far from it. I just figured, I’m on vacation; why spend my time in London doing something that’s so commonplace at home?

I spent the next couple of days sightseeing, going to the wax museum, having lots of afternoon tea, and finally getting that pedicure.

Protip: Groupon.

I highly recommend the circular cruise on the Thames – even without a regular tour guide and only a member of the crew to show us around, it was still highly entertaining, even if the seats were wet.

Straight out the gate: “On the right, you’ll see a building that was named by Prince Charles as “The Ugliest Building in London.” And he knows a thing or two about ugly things, doesn’t he? Buildings, of course, right.”

Or in reference to one of the many glass structures that line the Thames: “Like all new buildings in London, it has a row of shops on the bottom, a fancy restaurant at the top, and unaffordable housing in the middle.”

I did manage to get a nice dramatic picture or two in, just before it rained all the way back.

Unfortunately they were doing so work on the Tower, so I wasn’t able to have any closer a look than this.

It’s either construction, or a very expensive condom campaign…

I also visited Madame Tussaud’s, and although some of the likenesses appeared not to be very alike, I was happy to get some photos with some of my favorites.

Of course, the first ad I saw after I left the museum was too perfect to ignore. I’m convinced even British humor wouldn’t have thought of this.

More Fun in Iceland: Jam Session, Icelandic Musical Instruments, and of course… The Penis Museum

Note: There are penises in this one. Consider yourself warned.

Jam Session!

Just before I arrived in the country, I was invited to the Wednesday night jam session by Chris Foster of Funi. I had a great time, and was pleasantly surprised to find that I knew many of the Irish and Scandinavian tunes which were common at the session.

Icelandic Musical Instruments

Even given that they are probably related somehow, it seems unlikely that Sigrun and Chris should live on the same street. Nevertheless, I woke up Thursday morning and walked the two blocks to Chris’ place. Chris was so kind as to give me a thorough explanation of the history of the Icelandic folk music tradition, although I discovered it was largely a vocal one.

The Penis Museum

Left to my own devices in the afternoon, I did the responsible thing and “headed” to the penis museum. While a bit overwhelming, the Icelandic Phallological Museum has to be seen to be believed (including by the elementary-aged kids of one particularly open-minded mom.) For those with an active imagination or who would rather skip this “part,” well – just know it’s exactly what you think it is.

This part is literally just pictures. For more information, check out their website https://phallus.is/en/.

The gift shop is a lot of fun too; after such “scientific” study, it’s nice to be sure that they don’t take themselves too seriously after all.

They also have the Leaning Tower of Pisa, is case that’s a better fit.

Grocery Shopping, The Pool, and Candy Tasting

For my last day in Iceland, we went grocery shopping (stay tuned for the video), went to the pool (no video for obvious reasons), and finally, did a tasting of various Icelandic candies (stay tuned for a video of me hating licorice over and over).

I loved Iceland, and I know I’ll be back! Thanks for the memories!

The Golden Circle

Check out my video of the Golden Circle tour here!

Fortunately for me, Sigrun had briefly picked up a job as a tour guide when she moved back after grad school. Not only was she willing to drive me all over the place, but she filled me in on the history of her country to a level of detail I am certain I would not be able to match were I showing her around even just the San Francisco Bay Area.

Certainly in San Francisco, one would not be able to see this variety of active geological wonder in so short a timeframe, even without the traffic.

Our first stop on my own personal tour of Iceland was Kerid, the dormant volcano which is now home to a very blue lake. You can hike around the outside, or take stairs down to the edge of the lake – but if you want to fly a drone, you are out of luck.

Drones – for how long has this been a problem?

The vegetation reminds me of the plants at home. They’re very similar, but not exactly what I’m used to.

Except the dandelions. Those are the same.

Since we’d gotten off to a late start (my fault, as always), the next stop on our trip was “the tomato place” for lunch. Fridheimar is a greenhouse complex where the majority of Iceland’s tomatoes are grown. Geothermally heated water is pumped through pipes, keeping the place pleasant (if you’re a tomato) for the whole, unnaturally long growing season.

They also have some really energetic horses.

*It can’t be jet lag; she doesn’t know what time it is.*

There are three or four things on the menu, but you’re supposed to get the soup and bread, so we do. We also get a red tomato beer to try, and Sigrun only has one sip, because she’s driving. (Iceland has a zero-tolerance policy on driving while intoxicated.)

Over the best tomato soup of my life (sorry, Mom), Sigrun informed me that everyone Icelandic is related to each other, and they even have a “Book of Iceland” which outlines exactly how everyone is related to everyone else.

“See, the founder of Rekjavik is my 33rd great grandfather,” she began, “and my roommate is both my 8th and 9th cousin…” As my eyes began to cross, she pointed at the waiter behind us. “And that’s my cousin, too.” I turned to look and chuckle at her joke, but he smiled and waved, and Sigrun waved back. She explains he’s her first cousin, and they grew up together.

Ah. Welcome to Iceland.

I didn’t realize we actually have a word in English that comes from Icelandic! The next stop on our trip was Geysir, a now-dormant geyser that lends its name to a park full of geothermally powered spectacles. After a strong earthquake in the early 2000s it would erupt again about once a day, but it has since gone back to sleep.

Totally apart from spending time with my friend, I loved the opportunity to hear Sigrun’s stories of visiting these places as a child. Apparently her little brother, aged five or six at the time of this story, had been waiting all day to see Geysir erupt. Finally, he kicked the side of the opening with his little rubber boot in frustration, and the geyser went off less than two minutes later.

Next up, the waterfall. This is the waterfall that one of Iceland’s first environmentalists threatened to throw herself into if Iceland sold its natural resources abroad. Fortunately she didn’t have to, and Iceland considers her a hero. I can see why – who’d want to give this up?

No leprechauns, I checked. Could still be elves, though.

Our last planned stop was to go swimming at the Secret Lagoon. We thought it would be a pool heated by geothermal energy, but it was not a pool – it was a warm pond fed by hot springs. As an American, I’m used to chlorine not just in our pools, but in our public drinking water – so this was a real treat! Of course, I still overheard an American child saying “I’m getting out, the water feels yucky.” I wonder how she felt about the mandatory nude showering in the women’s locker room.

The water goes straight from the springs into the pool! Amazing!
Someone would definitely pee in this in the U.S., no question.

After a visit to some more horses, we ended up at Sigrun’s family’s house for a traditional Icelandic dinner: lamb, potatoes, and some type of leafy green. Of course, there was ice cream for dessert (which Icelanders apparently enjoy no matter how cold or dark it is.)

Thanks, guys!

TAC, and the Minneapolis Airport

There’s something oddly comforting about your computer remembering the WiFi network in a place you haven’t been for a while.

It’s been over a year since I was last at the Minneapolis Airport (for a marathon weekend of a Suzuki Conference followed by a friend’s wedding), but my trusty little laptop was on the job. I love knowing that although so much has changed in the past year, this one little thing is still the same. Feeling grounded at the airport isn’t always a bad thing. #dadjoke

I’d spent the previous week subbing in the house band at the Scottish Country Dance Teachers’ Association of Canada summer school, playing more cello than I ever had in my life, and falling in love with playing something other than fiddle in a fiddle band. Don’t get me wrong; fiddle is my first love, but it’s pretty great not to have to be the musical face of the ensemble for once.

For the record, I also got roped into playing oboe and musical saw. (Read: an instrument I played for about three years in high school, and an “instrument” pulled off the wall of a local’s garage. You guess which is which, ha!) No, there are not going to be videos available. But do check out my first attempted fiddlecam video on the lovely Mount Royal campus!

I taught a few music classes – fiddle, sure, but guys – I actually taught a piano class twice! Think about it – that means they actually let me come back a second time – but largely the week consisted of playing for lots and lots of dance classes. By the end of the week I may have finally gotten the hang of playing cello for the Strathspey, a type of dance and tune unique to Scotland (just in time to leave, ain’t that always the way?). But the highlight of the week, of course, was playing with the full band for the evening dances.

Playing with Reel of Seven is a lot of fun! I’d missed playing with a drummer, and Gary is one of the better folk drummers you can work with. You can’t beat four strong fiddles, each with their own unique background and set of strengths, and Sherryl’s recorder sits nicely on top. Andy is a solid pianist and a good bandleader; he knows what he’s doing and he’s not afraid to apologize when he’s messed up. They even get along well enough to have a band-only party one evening, and everyone seems to actually want to be there (at least enough to work together to sneak extra cookies and pizza from the dining hall for the occasion). A bar set this low may sound like a joke to the uninitiated, but trust me: a long-running ensemble made up of genuine friends is, sadly, not the norm in my experience. All in all, it’s a good situation musically and personally.

But wait, wasn’t that eight people in Reel of Seven?

Yep.

I asked; they don’t remember why.

The week was long, but fun, ending in jam sessions nearly every night. Fortunately Scottish country dancers don’t seem to mind live Scottish music until the wee hours. Check out a video of 3/8ths of Reel of Seven and me playing for an impromptu afterparty dance. As a result, I ran a rough, summer camp-like sleep deficit by the end of the week.

Waiting afterwards at the Calgary airport, I had nearly dozed off when a dancer on my flight approached me. We had been at TAC together all week, but had never been introduced; she recognized me from the band (and I’m sure the fiddle case I had with me helped). Despite copious airport warnings not to watch luggage for strangers, she agreed to keep an eye on my stuff while I ran some errands.

We weren’t seated together, but once we reached Minneapolis we became fast friends. We spent her three-hour layover having a late lunch, introducing her to the Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory, and bitching about the state of the world. We’re now Facebook friends.

Once her plane took off, I tried unsuccessfully to get a pedicure (one location was closed and the other was booked up), and then spent the rest of my six-hour layover at the bar, nursing a scotch and troubleshooting the code for this website. (Please pardon the dust – who knew a blog had a higher technical barrier to entry than a YouTube channel? Well, I suppose anyone who’s browsed YouTube for five seconds might have suspected as much, silly me…)

My section of the international terminal was filled with iPads from which you could order food and drink from the restaurant nearby.

The upside: less human interaction, when all you want to do is sleep.

The downside: no one to ask about your onion allergy.

Oh well, at least the presentation was amusing.

Time to settle in for my first Transatlantic flight!

“Diphenhydramines are a girl’s best friend…”

See you in Iceland!

On leaving home, again

It was a humbling experience, after a decade of living on my own, to find myself back in my childhood room. It was clear that it wasn’t just time that had passed – the room that had once been full of my junk was now crammed to the gills with the last crap and testament of nearly half a dozen of my deceased relatives. Fortunately the relatives themselves have all been laid to rest, as my allergies seem to be worsening as I get older.

How a musician packs to travel cross-country

Of course I’d always had the choice not to move back in; I’d had a secure, well-paying job teaching public school music in Colorado Springs. From the outside it appeared that I was pretty well set up ($40K a year will get you pretty far in most of the country) until a combination of burnout, a bad breakup, and my grandpa’s steep decline sent my mom and me hobbling across the Nevada desert in my $1500 overheating-prone Subaru towards home.

*****

Then: my grandparents bought the house I was raised in for $13,000 in 1963.

Now: Today, Zillow prices the house at over half a million dollars. The only thing that has changed about the house itself is that it’s 56 years older.

*****

Thanks to my choice of career (i.e. anything other than tech), living even in a remote corner of the East Bay with several roommates tricky to pull off, and impossible to do so without a job already lined up.

I graduated from college in 2009, when no one was hiring. Most of my high school friends chose to stay in the Bay Area and tech it out, achieving widely varying levels of success. One has bought a house, others are employees at Google, Craigslist and OpenTable. Others are flailing, some even adding to their student loan debt by going back to school, hoping for a better job that will simply allow them to continue to live in the area where they were born and raised. All but one of my high school friends have chosen to put off having kids for the foreseeable future. My graduating classmates and I are 32 years old this year.

There are things to love about the Bay Area, of course

I thought I’d never move back; but here I am, and I’m getting ready to leave again. I’m grateful for this precious time spent at home; I’ve been able to reconnect with my family in a way you can only do as an adult, after years away. It’s because of this, coupled with watching my grandparents age and pass on, that I’ve begun to see my parents in a new light. I now really understand that my parents will not be around forever, and I am grateful for this time spent with them while they still have their faculties.

A benefit to moving back was that I’ve also met the man with whom I’m hoping to spend the rest of my life. He’s the sailor (don’t worry, I’ve taken a few classes) and although this started out as his life’s dream, it’s now our life’s plan. +1 Commitment.

As this brief chapter of my life comes to a close, I tie up what loose ends I can. I scramble madly to finish recording my first-ever solo CD. I madly line up appointments, dental visits and travel vaccinations before my work benefits run out and doing so becomes much more expensive. And, I say goodbye to my grandfather for what turned out to be the last time. Life is long, but life is also short.

Now, tethered to my family only by their Netflix account, I prepare for several years of long-term travel. It is honest-to-goodness cheaper than living here in the Bay Area. What adventures await me? Stay tuned.