I grabbed my stuff and hopped on a bus closer to the center, where I landed in my new little room. I was met by a black guy again, and a jacked one at that. To add to the weirdness, his name was Giovanni. He turned out to be originally from Nigeria, and I barely held back a joke about princes and millionaires. Giovanni was an electrical engineer, studied in Edinburgh, and worked at the uni.
Meaning, he'd passionately tell all sorts of stories and ask for things, offer all kinds of help, complain about the rent, and talk about how he's friends with his tenants. I easily believe that; I'm a veteran couchsurfer myself, and here they even pay you money — beautiful.
The new room was a bit bigger, the furniture there was nicer, even solid wood in places. Unfortunately, it wasn't without its own bullshit here either: it turned out that there was a window leading from my room to the kitchen, covered with nothing but a piece of cardboard. As a result, whenever someone was chatting or cooking in there, all the smells and noises were front and center. I'm a sensitive guy as it is, and here on top of that, it's a strange bed where you feel the joints, and I had to take a blanket that smelled of the owner to stay warm, plus the window to the kitchen. Moral of the story: if you want to have a delicate soul and travel at the same time, get your wallet ready, and a big one. Fortunately, I didn't spend as much money on this trip as I feared, probably no more than two grand for everything.
On the plus side: Giovanni gave me a barbell and some dumbbells, so I could at least keep in shape a little bit. The flat also had a backyard, where it's probably nice to sit with friends on a warm day. I lifted weights there, and it wasn't used for anything else.
Water in a flat like this is heated by a boiler and a tankless water heater (sic) The bathroom is tiny, and the toilet blocks the way to the shower. There was no heating in the summer (unlike the previous flat). Not quite what you expect from such a rich country. Not to mention the eternal British tradition of installing cold and hot water taps. This is beyond my comprehension, and I don't think anyone in their right mind would want it that way. They say this is becoming a thing of the past, and the British have finally realized that there is an abundance of mixer taps in the world.
I get that the building is old, close to the historic center, and hence these quirks, but it's still annoying and gets in the way. The pluses of the flat were that transport was a stone's throw away, and the center was a 25-minute walk or 10 minutes by bus. I exploited this mercilessly, and saved quite a bit of time compared to travelling out to the boonies of the previous flat every time. There were also shops and pubs nearby, in case I suddenly needed the latter.
Speaking of pubs and bars, Andrey told me a few curious things during the time we spent together.
First, it happens that there is only one shower tap, but the water mixes on its way to the showerhead, and therefore simultaneously burns and freezes you.
Second, no stupid adapter for British sockets is needed, you just have to press down the protective grounding pin in the third hole, and you can easily stick our plug in. Here I risk catching flak from a lover of caution and privacy, who doesn't read travel blogs but made an exception for me. As an indulgence, the only merit I can claim is that I've already butchered the text and redacted from it an inappropriate disclosure of private life.
Third, pubs and bars in Scotland usually stay open until 1 AM, because alcohol can only be sold until 1 AM. Clubs often have a license to sell alcohol until 3 AM, which is also not great for avid partygoers. Only on big holidays, as an exception, do you come across a license until 5 AM. A very strange system, don't you think?
It came about historically. First, because it was cheaper to distill the hard liquor gin than the more noble beer, and the population was drinking themselves blind. Attempts to ban gin head-on or tax it were unsuccessful, and led to riots. They had to take a roundabout way and limit the time of sale. Later, this restriction was linked to the World War, so that people wouldn't get distracted from their duties and wouldn't stay up late at night with booze. Nowadays, apparently, the city authorities simply don't consider it a good idea to lift these ancient restrictions, even though they have the right to do so. Once, coming home at night from a club, I ran into a flock of Americans who were bewildered that all the pubs around were closed. They were looking for somewhere else to hang out. I had to enlighten them.
By the way, I remembered an interesting story Stefan told me (one of many). Scots really love one particular song, and when it comes on, literally everyone goes to dance. However, not everyone goes, because they know: the end of the party is near. The thing is, the bartender takes advantage of the fact that everyone steps away, and closes the bar, and the song is put on at his request. So, when a Scot hears this song, he is faced with the hardest choice: skip it and not go dancing, or know that this pint of beer is his last, because the bar is going to close.