J.K. and María

After getting stuck in the rain, I sought refuge in a café called The Elephant House.  

A sign posted outside announced that J.K. Rowling worked on the Harry Potter series there, but the truth is that she worked on The Sorcerer’s Stone at a nearby coffee shop owned by her brother-in-law, but the original spot has since run out of business.  The story is that Rowling frequented this haunt to save money on her heating bill, which would be exorbitant considering she lives in frigid Scotland and the currency is the British pound.  

The Elephant House may not be the true birthplace of The Boy Who Lived, but J.K. Rowling did enjoy writing the fantasy series near the view of the Edinburgh Castle which can be seen the café’s rear windows.  Since the series have become an international sensation, Rowling probably can't write in public anymore, so Harry Potter fans are now the ones carrying that tradition in The Elephant House, even in the bathroom.

I sat down at the counter next to a tan woman absorbed in her tablet.  I ordered haggis, neeps, and tatties, a traditional Scottish dish consisting of a savory pudding of mashed sheep’s heart, liver, lungs along with onions and oatmeal.  Neeps refer to turnips, which are also mashed.  Tatties are potatoes, once again mashed.

Although the meal looked like pre-chewed food for senior citizens, it was delicious.  A pot of Scottish Breakfast Blend tea warmed me up from my travels in the rain. 

When I finished my meal, the lady next to me asked for her bill.  I was worried my money was no good here.  Inside a donation bin inside a church, I saw a ten pound sterling note with a label that said The Royal Bank of Scotland, but I had none of those in my wallet.  Were Scottish pounds different than British pounds?  Wasn’t this Kingdom, after all, united?  Is Scotland really another country?  It still waves the English flag, above its own.  I wasn’t really sure what to believe, so I asked Google.  Apparently, Scotland prints its own pound, but also accepts the Great Britain Pound.

I asked the lady next to me if you tip in Scotland.  She wasn’t sure.  She’s not from here. 

“Where are you from?” she asked me.

“America,” I said.

“Me too.  South America.”

I hadn’t ever thought of her neighbors to the south in that way.  Usually Americans from the U.S.A. stake claim to that name, but the title is shared.  Canadians, Mexicans, Argentineans, Americans.  Technically, we are all Americans.

“I’m from the States,” I clarified. 

“Me——Argentina.”

Her name is Maria, and she was traveling alone for the first time in Europe.  She already went to Italy, France, Britain, and now Scotland.  Before heading back home, she was stopping in Ireland.  She decided to book all of her hotels, trains, and planes in advance.  She adhered to a tight schedule because she was anxious about traveling alone. 

“Do you like traveling alone?” I asked.

“Yes.  I love it,” she replied.

“But isn’t it difficult? Lonely?”

“No. I think of my friends, my family all of the time.  They are with me always, but I don’t miss them.  I know I will return home to them soon enough.”

“It’s funny,” I began, “The farther you travel, the more you can appreciate where you come from.”

She works at the customs in Argentina and speaks four languages in addition to her native Spanish.  She’s in her mid-thirties and wishes she would’ve traveled sooner.

“Anyone can do this if they really want to,” I said, “I don’t make that much money.”

“Neither do I,” she said.  “But sometimes you find a relationship, and you can’t.  It is not easy.”

We chatted about our future travels, where we wanted to go.  She wants to go to the United States.  I want to go to South America.

“When you travel,” Maria told me, “You are never truly alone.  You can make friends.  You meet people.”

When you travel, the destination is not always important as the people you bump into.  Landscapes are pretty to look at and easy to describe.  But they do not fill you up like human experiences do.  Getting to know a complete stranger in a café can be much more thrilling than a jaunt through a medieval castle.