New Years (Hogmanay)

A blurry demonstration of the happiness of a giant Mariachi hat

  On the first night of New Years Alan and I went out to a Tex-Mex restaurant.  Maybe I should explain.  You know how there are twelve days of Christmas (theoretically I mean, I've only ever experienced one) well, in Edinburgh there are three days of New Years, which is referred to as "Hogmanay" (mercifully pronounced, Hogmanay).
  We went out to Tex-Mex, because, even though Edinburgh is not known for it's latin flavored border cuisine, I had been craving Tex-Mex almost since I got here.  This is because Tex-Mex is culturally inculcated into my system.  It reminds me that no matter how far I travel, there are always cute waiters I can flirt with in Spanish, excellent friends, and a gigantic hat and mariachi band waiting for me back at home.
    So, on the Eve of New Year’s Eve Alan and I went out to a restaurant called “Pancho Villas”.  That should have been our first clue.  We sat down and were waited upon by a young man with a thick British accent (second clue)  and I couldn't help noticing there were no tortilla chips on our table... or anyone else's (third clue, and we shoulda left).

 

Hey look, a bunch of people with torches

To start, I ordered guacamole, which comes with a side of chips.  The chips arrived cold, and when I asked the waiter if he could warm them up he responded with, “Like... how?”  But then managed to take them away and imbue them with heat somehow.  I then tasted the guacamole... and a small part of me died inside.  It really did.  I have never been more tempted in my life to become a chef, simply so that I could then go back to the kitchen, and make good guacamole.
  I fail to understand why Edinburgh - city of castles, enlightened thinking, celtic music, the deep fried Mars bars, and first (and so far only) Unesco world heritage site of literature cannot come up with good Tex-Mex food.  It's really not that hard.  It's tomato, cheese, salsa, and some form of meat or beans wrapped up in a tortilla.  Every dish.  You guys invented the telephone for gosh sake.  You're the only society in the world that has managed to pull off having men walk around in skirts.  You should be able to make good Tex-Mex!
   Don't get me wrong, the food was edible.  It just wasn't... Tex-Mex.  It was meat and cheese and salsa and beans and rice, but somehow... it wasn't quite right.  Which was disappointing, but then we walked out of the restaurant into a very large crowd of people holding torches and I was reminded of why I love this city.

I should mention at this point that no one in the mob was holding pitch-forks, and that they were, in fact, part of a torch procession that wends its way throughout the city at the beginning of Hogmanny.  In order to get to my dorm we actually had to wade through quite a bit of the crowd, which was fine for me as I'm small and fit through things, but a bit more nerve-wracking for Alan, whose head-height is most people's torch-height.
    My dorm is on the top of a hill.  It has some pretty nice views of the city.  These views are even more astounding when a huge line of people with torches (when I say huge, it spread for about a mile) is wending its way through the city.  I immediately called Melissa, my photographically-inclined friend, to come down so we could get pictures.  Getting pictures somehow turned into walking along with the crowd, and next thing we knew we were part of the parade.
      Here are some interesting facts about the city of Edinburgh: it closes when winds get above 100 km/h.  In my dorm, we’re not allowed to prop our doors open, for fear of spreading fire and diseases.  There are first aid kits on every floor of every building I have ever been to.  And yet one day a year they allow an amazing influx of tourists (who are probably more-likely-than-usual to be inebriated) to carry torches all around the city.
   

Torch parade wending its way around the city

Witnessing this action, too, really does not improve one’s faith in humanity.  A guy next to me, for example, decided not to use one of the many bins labelled “Put Torch Here” at the end of the parade route, and instead dropped the torch on the ground.  Fortunately, in Edinburgh 90% of the days of the year dropping a torch on the ground won’t do anything.  However, the torch did not go out.  So the man began stamping on it.  By the time the torch went out he wasn’t really paying attention, because he was now trying to stamp out the fire on his jeans.  Which he did.  But it still makes you wonder.
    At the end of the parade we climbed Calton Hill, which is an amazing lookout that offers fantastic 360 degree views of the city.  Once on the hill we ended up standing right next to the place they were shooting fire-works off (again, from the city where it is illegal to prop my door open).

    The next day was New Years Day.  I was fairly excited to see what New Years in Edinburgh was like.  There are two answers to this.  1) Crowded.  2) Crowded. 
  For New Years Eve Alan and I went out to an enormous street party, which I had bought tickets to because all my friends were going.  And even though all of us did go, we didn’t really run into each other.  That was because the party (which happened over a few blocks) was so crowded.  How crowded was it?  Well when my friends called to try to meet up with us, we couldn’t.  We literally could not push a block through the crowd to find them.  But then we listened to some celtic music, and watched some more fireworks, and I have to hand it to the city of Edinburgh, which was selling faux beer bottles that night.  They look like glass, but they're plastic.  Brilliant.  Utterly brilliant.  Every other city in the world should adopt this. 

  At midnight there were more fireworks, (always fireworks) and everyone sang Auld Lang Syne while holding hands in small circles of people.  Which was really quite fun.  New Years day Alan took off for Malawi, (I'm sure he was happy about the timing) and I packed up to go visit mom and dad in Kenya.  More on that next week.