I like being a tourist; I like travelling and visiting places for pleasure. I hate tourists. Yes, I am aware that makes me a hypocrite but I believe there is a distinct difference between my idea of tourism and what others may believe.
When I go travelling I try my upmost to respect the local cultures, to blend in, learn the local customs and to try my hardest to make the least impact I can on the local infrastructure and everyday life. Whether I always achieve that is open to debate, but at least I try.
Don’t get me wrong, I have no animosity to other nations and cultures, far from it (in fact I am very fond of certain foreigners living here) however there are those who seem to believe that life in Edinburgh during August enters some kind of suspended animation, where businesses close and that we all have the time to wander about town like extras from ‘Dawn of the Dead’.
Edinburgh is a beautiful city, full of history and culture, however it is also a very small city with tight streets and compact lanes. The Festival and Fringe Comedy spectacular attracts thousands of people from all over the world every year and most of them seem happy to stand about blocking every street, shop entrance, business premises and establishment as they check an oversized map to see where the castle is. (Hint: it’s the big castle-like structure on top of the volcanic crag in the city centre. You literally cannot miss it, unless you spend your entire time here staring at a map.)
‘Tourist Dodging’ becomes a seasonal sport in August. By the time the festival ends most residents have hips so supple they’d make Roger Milla jealous (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6j78m7EArbY). Huge groups of rucksack wearing, camera-wielding bobble-heads walking sixteen abreast across the street at a pace that even slugs would call ‘laboured’ during rush hour. Trying to get anywhere quickly at the moment is nigh-on impossible.
Then there is just the plain inexplicable. Queuing for half an hour in line at the cash machine as a guy stares glassy-eyed at the strange hieroglyphics on the keypad. Correct me if I am wrong but the numbers 0-9 are the same in mainland Europe as they are here. You’d think some people were trying to crack into the Pentagon mainframe the amount of time it takes them to take cash out. It may be a small gripe but cumulatively over the course of this month alone it must have at least cost me a Sunday.
If you manage to negotiate the amalgous mass of human traffic then you run the gauntlet that is ‘crossing the street’. Between tourists playing chicken with the buses (a foolish game, buses rule the roads in Edinburgh and won’t stop for Alex Salmond never mind vacant Americans looking for Buckingham Palace) and the selective colour-blindness of most drivers – red means stop everywhere in the world apart from Edinburgh city centre it seems – it’s a miracle that there’s anyone left to attend any of the shows at the Fringe.
So please, by all means come to Edinburgh, enjoy the sights and the shows, laugh at the comedy, wonder at the street performers, but for the love of God get out of the way.
M.
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