A Visit to Nepal in Scotland
She darted across the street, leapt onto the footpath, and walked at a pace that was almost a run. Considering she was also in 5 inch heels, she moved as if she were wearing sneakers.
She held up her left hand and looked at her Kate Spade watch. It was one of her first watches and still one of her favorites. It had tiny diamantes on the face, designed to look like a champagne bottle popping. In her right hand she clutched a bottle of Montepulciano from Spain.
It was a warm July evening and she wore a light summer dress. She loved Edinburgh at this time of year. She loved Edinburgh at any time of year really, but this time of year was one of her favorites. The festival was approaching, everywhere you turned something was happening that indicated a party was upon them. Streets were lined with potted flowers, signage hung from street lamps and windows, tents and temporary stands were being erected in parks with manicured lawns that would be destroyed over the coming weeks from the three million and something people that would place their feet upon them during their visit. But now, the calm before the storm gave off a sense of knowing a secret only those who lived there had heard. The locals were in good spirits, everyone was happier when it was warmer. You could feel joy in the air as you strolled along the cobblestone streets. They were about to share their city with the world and in these moments, they embraced the ease in which they could move around and grab a pint without a lineup.
She rounded the corner onto Leith Walk and passed by the vast array of restaurants that attracted white collar workers from offices that sprawled around the streets of St Andrew’s Square, movie buffs catching a bite before or after their trip to the cinema in the Omni Center, the locals who lived nearby, and the tourists who were visiting Edinburgh Playhouse.
One after the other; Italian, Indian, Spanish, another Indian, then a seafood spot. She crossed the small side street and looked at the gorgeous pink walls adorned with pink and white flowers. Laili was a recent addition to the landscape and the pink aesthetic continued should you find yourself inside the chic wine bar conveying a strong message to empower women. On she walked past a Canadian inspired hole in the wall, and another Italian. Then she found herself standing outside the bright blue building with stupa spires carved above large windows that allowed passersby to see the smiling faces of its diners. She pushed open the heavy door that had been on its hinges for at least a hundred years, and stepped inside. The walls were a terracotta yellow with the eyes of Buddha painted throughout. Above her hung the colorful prayer flags that she had been told you could find strung along the trails and peaks in the Himalayas.
She spotted her friend as soon as the door closed behind her. It was a small restaurant, no more than 30 guests at a time. With small wooden tables that were covered in white tablecloths, napkins skillfully crafted into tents placed upon colorful plates waiting for hungry visitors. There was a low hum of chatter and an ambience of the good times being had. You couldn't help but be enveloped by it. She was always curious how some restaurants managed to pull off a vibe so well, when others fell flat. Not because their decor wasn’t inviting, or their food not tempting, but somehow, in some way, some establishments had the X factor. They get a yes from Simon Cowell that even he can’t explain why.
A kind waitress welcomed her as she stepped inside and she pointed to her friend who had already been seated and was waiting for her. The waitress smiled and gestured for her to make her way over unaccompanied, making her feel like she was part of the family and knew her way around the home. She excused herself as she squeezed past other patrons, some digging into their starters, others half way through their curries, saying they don’t know how they’ll finish their large portions. Some eagerly waited to place their orders, and the rest were leaning their backs on the light brown wooden chairs that promised to hold them while they rubbed their bellies and laughed at how they had indeed eaten all of their meal.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she apologized as she sat down across from her friend. She raised the bottle of wine above her head and declared, “But I have wine”, before she placed it between them. Another reason she loved and frequented the restaurant was because it was also a BYO ‘bring your own wine or beer’ venue.
She had met her friend at a running club she had joined almost three years ago. She had not long moved from Greece to Scotland and thought it would be a good way to meet new friends. She hated running, but somehow thought the sights of Edinburgh would make it much easier. It had not. It was a silly notion to think running past ancient walls and above haunted underground tunnels would elicit any newfound love of running that the white sandy beaches of the Greek isles could not. While she could win a gold medal at walking in strappy sandals, maintaining a running pace was not her forte. She was much better suited to any other type of exercise, no matter how much she longed to be one of those runners you see casually jogging by, looking like they could enjoy a conversation and a latte at the same time. She had made herself look the part, had spent too much time and money in Lulu Lemon on George Street, then flirted with the sales attendant at Nike, which is why she walked out with not one but two pairs of shoes. One for running, and one for she wasn’t sure what, as she didn’t feel like she was the kind of girl who could pull off wearing bright white sneakers with preppy dresses from Abercrombie.
Her friend on the other hand was a seasoned runner to the extent that when she mentioned her mile time it made other runners' pupils dilate. On her first day of the runners club, the kind soul now sitting opposite her had watched her fall behind and had slowed her pace to run, which must have felt like a walk, alongside her. They formed a fast friendship that had taken them both by surprise. Both single, they had found themselves spending much of their spare time together. They bonded over their love of true crime stories, enjoyed dressing up for a night out on the town, starting at the fancy cocktail bars that continued to pop up all along George Street, before ending their nights in Old Town at a bar with a live band and a bagpipe encore. They shared their heartbreaks with each other, trusted one another with their deepest insecurities, and laughed so hard together that it made them cry. It was the kind of friendship that if in the years to come, when separated by time and seas, no matter how many new memories are forged apart, when they came back together it would be like they had sat across from each other at this very restaurant just the day before.
A waiter who looked like he originated from Nepal appeared at their table. He was tall and wore a loose cotton shirt that looked handmade, with a collar and cuffs made of colorful patterns that adorn the fabrics worn by traditional Himalayan peoples. He also wore jeans and a traditional shoe from the West, Converse canvas sneakers. As he poured them some tap water, he greeted them with a thick Scottish accent. She loved when this happened. It was a reminder of the diversity she was surrounded by and that one should never make assumptions by the look of a fellow citizen of the world. He handed them each a cardboard menu that was folded in half. Aloo puri, vegetable samosas, bakhra tikka, chicken pakora, tandoori dishes, biryani dishes, masu batt dishes, house specialties, traditional curries, naan bread and chapatis, and finally a European dish section for those too afraid to step outside their comfort zones but still wanted to experience the X factor. The waiter opened the bottle of red and poured wine into their round wine glasses as they scanned the menu.
She sat back in her chair and placed her hand on her belly. “Oooft, I don’t know how I’m going to finish my meal, but I want it all.”
The end.
