Snoggmanay
They call it Hogmanay. We call it Snoggmanay.
You call it New Year's Eve. And here in Edinburgh, Scotland, it's the biggest
street party in Britian.
The streets were blocked off at about 7 pm, about
two hours after we had started drinking. I had been training for this night
for the past two weeks. Staying up late, sleeping in late, pouring pint after
pint of Scotland's finest ale down my gullet (at a reasonable pace mind you--these
are sipping brews) into the wee hours of the dawn. I was up to the point that
I could dance until 5 or 6 in the morning if needed. Conditioning. That's what
it was all about this year. And I had been training hard.
At about 8:00, word of "the competition"
spread around the hostel where the pre-party was going strong. From one Aussie
mouth to another's ear. 52 beds here, and 80% were filled with Australian bodies.
I am the only American in Residence. It began by one small girl telling another
(in confidence, of course) that she was going to snogg (kiss) 52 guys throughout
the course of the night. Within minutes, everyone was in on it. Lips did not
remain unattached for long. Whether it was another pair of lips, or a can or
bottle of drink, the debauchery had begun. I heard she only made it to 36, and
I am happy to say that I was not one of them. I decided right away that if I
was to join in on the "fun," I would be in it for quality, not quantity.
And with that in mind, I made it to 7 before I fell asleep at 1 AM.
I am actually really disappointed in myself, and
I don't need anybody else telling me what a sorrowful effort that was. I was
looking forward to watching the sunrise on the first day of the third year of
the second millenium. But at least I made it to Midnight! Not like Disco Sean,
who woke up in the dry tank at 9:30 the next day after his four consecutive
shots of Absynth (which apparently seemed like a good idea at the time) put
him out by 10:30. Or Leo, the Brazillian, who got himself arrested before he
even made it to the street party. 100,000 people, 15 arrests, and I knew one
of them! How's that for odds?!
Good times.
But even with all the excitement that night, there
was one pair of lips missing. Lips attached to someone many miles away. I would
have gladly traded in all seven quality snoggs that night for the perfect one
at midnight from that one special lady.
The whole thing had kicked off two days before
with a parade of 10 thousand people marching down the "Royal Mile"
carrying torches, and creating a river of fire and warmth in the freezing temperatures.
The guys and I jumped into the parade and walked down the route with the Piper
band. Jimmy, Disco, Oz, and myself marched along with Bag Pipes so clear they
sent a chill up your spine that had nothing to do with the cold air and brisk
breeze. Drums so tight and crisp they pierced your chest and tapped away at
your heart like a tiny woodpecker. But in a good way. We walked with the piper
band to the top of the next hill where we found a bonfire, a drum squad, and
a group of synchronized jugglers with lights in their pins that changed color
at the touch of an off-stage button. All we could do was "oohh," and
"aaahh." And occasionally, a heartfelt "WOOOWW!!" Then we
turned around to watch the pipers again, and moments later the fireworks began.
We could do nothing but stare into the sky with ear-to-ear grins on our faces.
There's something about fireworks that make people feel good. Maybe because
they're only used to celebrate good things. Things like New Year's, July 4th,
the day I finally return home, and...no wait, I'm getting ahead of myself. But
I had found another "it doesn't get any better than this" moment,
like the cookout in Switzerland, the jazz band on the bridge in Prague, and
the sunsets in Riomaggiore. I now add to that list the fireworks in Edinburgh.
And it wasn't until after the pipes had stopped, the last firework had come
streaming down upon the crowd like something out of a Disney movie, and the
cheering had died away that we noticed just how cold our feet really were. The
moment was gone, but the feeling remained. Like a gentle afterglow that warmed
us from the inside out. And we walked home across the hard frozen ground laughing
and joking and looking foward to the next few days of celebration.
Other then those memorable few nights, this is how my last few weeks has gone:
<Selected Exerpts from my travel journal>
Thursday, 6 Dec. Bath, England.
Looking the wrong way trying to cross the street, almost got hit by a car. Able
to leap out of the way and manage to survive. Drank the natural hot spring water.
Smells like eggs, tastes like lead pipe. Reminds me of tap water back home.
Friday, 7 Dec. Leicester, England.
Greet Paul with a high 5. First words from
his mother as we walk in the door are "Nice to meet you. Cuppa Tea?"
There is no doubt I am in the heart of England.
Tuesday, 12 Dec. Edinburgh,
Scotland.
Met Aunt Judy at house of Robert Louis Stevenson to film documentary
on the writer's work. We recreate scenes form Dr. Jeckle and Mr. Hyde.
Friday,
14 Dec. Edinburgh, Scotland
On location in Edinburgh, people constantly ask
what we're up to. I tell them various things from "A new episode of Buffy"
to "the new Spice Girls video." It's amazing what people will believe
if you sound confident and have a walkie-talkie.
Saturday, 15 Dec. Edinburgh,
Scotland
American Matt tells us that he's in Edinburgh because he had a dream
that told him to place a single red rose on a mythical stone. Somehow he knows
the stone is in a small town just a day's travel from here. Others give him
patronizing looks, and laugh at his foolishness for chasing a dream. I press
for more information and admire his dedication to adventure. I encourage him
on his quest.
Thursday, 20 Dec. Edinburgh, Scotland
A frost has settled over
the city. West End Hotel pub. Traditional Scottish/Irish music. I sit at the
table with the band as they jam. You can't create surround sound like this from
any stereo in the world. Another "It doesn't get any better then this"
moment.
Saturday, 22 Dec. Edinburgh, Scotland
Met a Dutch girl with dark curly
hair and rich blue eyes the color of the Mediterranean Sea off the coast of
Northern Italy. Dark hair, blue eyes, and a sexy dutch accent. A lethal combination.
Sunday, 23 Dec. Edinburgh, Scotland
Jimmy: Want some beef flavored potato crisps?
Scrooge: No thanks, I'm a vegitarian. Me: But it's Po-tay-toh! Scrooge: Yeah,
but I don't like the taste of meat. Jimmy: So if I gave you a steak that tasted
like broccoli, you'd eat that?
Monday, Dec. 24 Edinburgh, Scotland
Blue-Eyed
Dutch girl leaves, but takes with her a small piece of my heart. Try out progressive
Yoga at Hostel. I feel it might actually have potential.
Saturday, 29 Dec. Edinburgh,
Scotland
Jimmy claims he can fit himself through a wire coat hanger...and then
does. Jimmy is 6'4", and about 160 pounds.
Sunday, 30 Dec. Edinburgh, Scotland
Ma and Pa's 35th wedding anniversary. Remembered to call. No answer. Left message
of love, congratulations, thanks, and good wishes for the next 35 years. I miss
'em.
Monday, 31 Dec. Edinburgh, Scotland
Two Americans ask what country I'm
from, as they cannot place my accent. Aussies tell me I sound like a red-neck
Australian. Eight months of travelling through so many countries has apparently
had an affect on more than just my mind and spirit.
Tuesday, 1 Jan. Edinburgh,
Scotland
New Year's Resolutions: Start Smoking, Stop Masturbating, and never
sleep again. I've never had a resolution I've been able to keep, so why start
now?
Wednesday, 2 Jan. Edinburgh, Scotland
I fail at keeping all three resolutions.
But I feel great!
Friday, 4 Jan. Edinburgh, Scotland
Ice Skating in the outdoor
rink. I must be getting old, I didn't do anything risky enough to fall, and
managed to stay upright for over an hour! I emerge uninjured despite the number
of people falling all around me and grabbing on to me to hold them up.
Saturday,
5 Jan. Edinburgh, Scotland
Decide to figure a way to keep traveling for the
rest of my life.