If you can't take Mohammed to the mountain, don't.

"Oh my god I have spent so much money!" This is the thought that was pounding in my head. Days off are dangerous, especially in uncharted territory. Of course I needed to book tickets for the Fringe. This was an inevitable cost and it's preview week where everything is around a fiver. I am nothing if not a bargain hunter. But as a result this meant my day had started with an expense of £52. £52 for nine shows I think I can justify that, especially when tickets for War Horse can reach a sky-rocketing £85 for one.

It's Sunday. God's day of rest. Lyvia's day of shopping. Admittedly I was suppose to be sightseeing, but I was wearing the wrong shoes and I'd forgotten my camera - what else was I suppose to do?

If I didn't have a palpable hatred of football, fake eyelashes and general misogyny I swear I should have been a WAG. 

I decided to fill my afternoon with some good old-fashioned vintage and charity shop shopping.  If there is one thing Edinburgh is good for it's charity shops. Streets are lined with them, Nicolson Street in particular, which is where I was headed. One after another people wanting to save the children, feed the animals and help the homeless. And I single-handedly was attempting to do the same. Six shops down and two tops and a pair of shoes later I was feeling pretty weary. It was getting on 4pm. I hadn't had lunch and I needed a pick me up. It was coffee time.

Luckily I was in a good spot. I assessed my surroundings. In my periphery I could see three cafes. No bias remember, I did a quick "eeny-meany-miny-mo". Kilimanjaro was mo. Kilimanjaro Coffee, a big name to live up to in a rather unsuspecting building. I walked in and instantly wanted to walk out. "I know these places" I thought. But then bitch Lyvia kicked in and shouted "No Lyvia! You stay here and order a damn coffee!" You see the problem is I'm really not a coffee snob. Columbian, Peruvian, Ethiopian I can't tell the difference. I don't even know what defines an Arabica bean! So when I walk into a place like this I get the feeling I'm being judged, rightly or wrongly. 

The cafe wasn't particularly busy, but for the first few moments I was ignored over shouts for "Panini!" and other items of food ready for the awaiting customers. A man came to serve me, his nonchalance already concerning me. I ordered my usual and toyed between a large or a small. On one hand I didn't want to fork out £2.35 for a large (a regular and 20p more expensive than Starbucks), but then the small just looked too small. I went for large.

For some reason the man himself couldn't make it, so wrote it all down on a piece of paper for someone in the kitchen. I watched her make it. For some reason I felt I needed to. She poured it in leaving an inch and a half of the cup empty. Before she had time to close the lid I protested "Sorry, can I have more milk? To the top please?" She looked at me dumb-founded and replied "Ergh, yeah. That's just the way we make it." I want to snap back "What by ripping people off and giving them half a cup?!" Instead I just stepped back humbly. Because she hadn't made enough milk she had to go about heating more. Whole milk. The hippy used whole milk. I was very good and didn't say a word. I left with my coffee in hand, £2.35 in their till and a slight fury in my chest. I walked into the charity shop next door and tried to forget about the experience. Then I tasted the coffee. It, like myself was bitter. It took the purchase of two jumpers to finally get over the experience, when I had drunk the contents and put the remnants in the bin. 

This place might use the finest coffee beans, from the finest lands and maybe they excel in swirling leaves into the tops of their coffees I don't know, but that does not a good coffee make. A good coffee is a good addition to your day. A little treat. And this I'm afraid was neither. 

If you want to give it a bash by all means do, you can find details below;

http://www.list.co.uk/place/103386-kilimanjaro-coffee/

But personally I'd rather climb the real Kilimanjaro that walk into this place again!

Frothy Fun for the Day: Kilimanjaro was first climbed on October 5, 1889 by German geologist Hans Meyer, Marangu scout Yoanas Kinyala Lauwo and Austrian Ludwig.

That's dedication in dog Years.

It's my first Saturday in Edinburgh, the morning after my birthday and I'm happy in the knowledge that I have one more day of work until my day off. Off I trot crossing the appropriate roads to reach Rudi's. Rudi's is closed. Bugger!
This is actually the moment when the idea for this blog popped into my head. Under the realisation that I may indeed and on occasions have to try new places. I couldn't be bias and I couldn't be boring. So blame the owners of Rudi's, I know I do.
I decided to simply continue my journey and see what appeared. Not much further down as I approached the foot of George IV Bridge I had made up my mind. A funky, orange fronted sandwich shop called Bobby's was my next port of call. Standing vividly in front of Greyfriars Kirkyard, the graveyard surrounding Greyfriars Kirk and nestled in between art shops and pubs of the same name, Bobby's is an inviting shop. I imagine art students being suckered in my the sign's typography and the fashionably framed chalkboard denoting 'Today's Specials'.

There is something shabby-chic about the outside of the building that is suddenly lost as you walk through the door. Not that it's terrible, it's just more corner shop cafe than I was expecting.
Now I admit I walked into Bobby's already slightly put out. I knew I was going to pay an extra £1 for a coffee that was probably of the same or sub-standard to my bargain cup just down the road. Nevertheless it wasn't this man's fault, this man who was casually drinking a coffee and reading the Saturday papers at the counter. I always find it reassuring when you see someone drinking their own home-made coffee, they trust it's flavour and I trusted the look of it.
And as the saying goes "Can I have a skinny latte really really hot please?" Again no raised eyebrows, a simple side step towards the coffee machine. He made the coffee, we had a little chat, I looked at the chalkboard stealing cheeky glances towards the frothing milk. It was all very civilised if you ask me.
I asked him nicely for a little extra milk after he'd pour the milk. He obliged. Again very civilised. So I had to pay an extra £1 for the coffee, but what I got in return was creamy and hot and just what the doctor ordered.
When I started writing this post it occurred to me there was nothing particularly memorable about my visit to Bobby's, but that's a lie. It was memorable for the fact that there was absolutely nothing wrong with it. Good coffee, good customer service from a man that welcomes the advent of the Fringe. What more could a girl want? Oh yes...a gorgeous man to accidentally bump into me spilling my drink, thus offering to buy me another one and us living happily ever after just like all those black and white movies. But back to reality and back to Edinburgh. Is Bobby's spectacular? No. Would I recommend it? Yes. If for no other reason than to support your local arts festival supporter. And because it is named after one of the heroes of Edinburgh's epic history, Bobby the dog. Yes, a dog. See Frothy Fun Facts for details.

Frothy Fun Fact of the Day: Bobby's the sandwich shop as well as The Greyfriars Bobby pub are both named after Greyfriar Bobby himself, the little Skye Terrier who was remembered for guarding his masters grave for fourteen years after his master's death. Everyday Bobby who accompanied his master, John Gray, on his evening patrols as a Police Constable could be found sitting next to his grave. Attempts were made to move him from the graveyard, but everyday he returned, ever the loyal best friend. A sculpture was commissioned in 1873 and now a proud bronze statue of Bobby stands at the junction of George IV Bridge and Candlemaker Row just opposite the gates of the graveyard. 

More info can be found out about this little guy below.

http://www.greyfriarsbobby.co.uk/story.html

And if this has given you even more reason to visit Bobby's (the sandwich shop) follow this link!

http://www.yelp.co.uk/biz/bobbys-sandwich-bar-edinburgh

Rudi rocks beyond the 70's

This was an absolute diamond of a find. I was on my way to work one morning. I passed through the Meadows, walked over the newly scribbled chalk compass, beyond the man selling the Big Issue, glazed over posters advertising up and coming comedians, saw Starbucks to my right, one minute later saw Starbucks to my right and so looked left. There it was. This little shackle of a shop. Dark green exterior, pale yellow sign and completely inconspicuous size. I'd walked past it several times. The only thing that stopped me was the chalkboard outside advertising coffees for £1.30. £1.30! Well that's just ridiculous I thought. Maybe a filter coffee, but a latte for £1.30? That's surely unheard of. "It must be crap!" I thought, looked inside and carried on walking.

The next day I went through the same routine. 9:30am this is the ideal coffee time and one that I savour. I walked through the Meadows. Passed the Big Issue seller. Passed Starbucks number one. Passed a man in a gorilla suit playing the drums (this is the fringe I'm talking about). Passed Starbucks number two and there it was again. Rudi's sandwich shop standing proudly and discreetly with it's £1.30 coffee temptingly watering my mouth. I hesitated outside for a few moments. My feet were doing that thing where they try and walk away but something further up in your body stops you from doing it. For those of you that don't know me I am a born worrier and continual over-thinker. The idea of going into a new, unverified coffee shop is filled with the same doubt as a normal person's trepidation of getting into a cab in India for the first time. Instead of "How do they drive on these roads?" I think "How do they froth their milk?!?!" It's a stressful world I live in.

Anyway before I had time to think about the possible waste of a quid I walked inside. Rudi's is fundamentally a sandwich stop, takeaway only. There is enough space inside for about four averagely sized adults. Three if they're all a fan of hamburgers. I tucked in behind a woman leaning on the glass counter. From the way she was talking to the man behind it was clear she was a regular. This is reassuring, unless she also works on a construction site then I have my doubts. This isn't me being snobby by the way. I've simply noticed that builders and related workers seem to be connoisseurs of tea and therefore are less fussy about their coffees. 

The woman got her two Americanos, said her thank you's and left. My turn and here it comes. "Can I have a skinny latte really really hot please?" I've stopped saying extra hot, because they never make it extra hot. Instead "really really hot" makes me sound pleading and therefore they are more likely to accommodate. That along with the cringe on my face as I say it. There was no sigh, no look of perturbance to my specifications. He just cracked on and made it. 

Well, well done is all I can say to him. It was an absolutely perfect cup of coffee. Just how I like it, skinny and very hot. I happily sipped all the way to work and still had some left by the time I was sat at my desk. Now here is the point I have to mention another particularity about how I enjoy my coffee. It has to be full to the brim. I don't see the point in ordering a coffee and getting half a cup. In fact I think it's a blimmin' outrage.  I only recently learnt in Starbucks that you have to ask for it "wet" to have it free from froth, but somehow asking for a "wet latte" makes me feel even more stupid and fussy than I already do. Surely all coffee is wet? You spill it on you, you get wet. Anyway instead I used to measure it by the weight of the cup. As soon as I pick up my coffee I know instantly whether it needs more milk in it, much to the annoyance of many a barista. On this occasion, though, I was happily surprised. The cup was more than adequately heavy. Again, well done man. 

I returned the following day and was served by a woman, his wife I would assume. Again a bit of fear clotted in my throat. It's a new person. It's a new person who could ruin my coffee and thus ruin my morning and thus ruin my day. Genuinely this is how my mind operates! But yet again I was pleasantly surprised. A damn good coffee made to order. One point for a good coffee, two points for a repeat performance!

So I would have to give this humble little sandwich shop a honker of a score. It's just out of the Old Town Centre, but well worth a visit, particularly if you fancy a nice stroll in the Meadows after coffee in hand. It looks like they also do some pretty good-looking sandwiches at equally reasonable prices. 

Now while they appear to sell merchandise T-shirts they are yet to own a website, so those of you with a handy festival map scrunched neatly into your bag, Rudi's can be found at:

30 Forrest Road

EH1 2QN

Edinburgh
http://www.qype.co.uk/place/251845-Rudi-Edinburgh

I'm also going to be really geeky and add a "Frothy Fun Fact" to each post. So today's Frothy Fun Fact: Rudi is actually the name of a "punk rock/power pop" band from Belfast that was formed in the 70's, hence the title of this post. Whether this has any relation to the name of the coffee shop I have no idea. I prefer to think of Rudi as an old Italian man who emigrated to Scotland with high hopes and a passion for pastrami and good coffee. I'll let you choose.

You can take Starbucks out of the girl...

My name isn't Ed. My full name isn't Edward. I'm not even a man. In fact my name is Lyvia and I am spending this summer in the beautiful city of Edinburgh. Home to the Edinburgh Castle, birth place of Alexander Graham Bell, inspiration behind Harry Potter, the land of many a fine whiskey and most notably home to perhaps the most famous arts festival in the world, the Edinburgh Fringe.
This is my first time at the Fringe as well as my first time visiting Edinburgh as well as my first time in Scotland. It is a month of firsts and I am a virgin to all that is Scottish (except perhaps alcohol and Scotch tape).
Now obviously I'm not the only person to find themselves migrating north for the summer. Edinburgh's population has been known to triple during the month of August, from international travellers and nearby city dwellers to emancipated students. The city's cobbled streets becoming a battleground for those looking for culture, entertainment and a general post-show piss up.
I arrived a week in advance of the festival during which much of the city is still covered in tranquillity. There are no hoards of tourists to bustle past on the way to work. After work drinks are sipped in ones and twos instead of fives and sixes. Gardens transform into tents and stadiums and empty buildings become a breeding ground for technicians fixing lights and putting up signs. What you get is a concoction of impending and excited anticipation. Those that have worked the festival before are all too aware of what is to come. Those that haven't wait patiently for the tornado to hit, with the warning from veterans "Just you wait!"
And so this is what I am doing. I'm waiting and I have approximately 63 hours left.This week I dread to think about the amount of money I have spent. Between evening drinks, lunches out, general supplies and accommodation I have a nagging feeling that before arriving I should have taken out a bank loan. And that's before the festival has even started. But no one comes to the festival to make money, at least no one I know. Visitors and performers alike haemorrhage money pints at a time.
The city itself has many alluring qualities, from beautifully unique shops to independent restaurants, from historic landmarks to contemporary industry. It is like a village, in a town surrounded by a city and as the festival starts each part of it comes alive. Unlike London's already claustrophobic inhabitants who fear the threat of any event because of the disruption it will cause to their overcrowded streets and houses, Edinburgh residents seem to welcome the return of the festival each year. For them it offers job opportunities, increased revenue, a month's worth of entertainment and pride in their gorgeous city.
So here I am in this new and welcoming city and I've decided to write a blog. Now, what, you might ask would a ex-drama student who works in theatre find to write about during a month of the biggest open-access arts festival in the world? Dumb question. Coffee of course. That's right! Who wants to hear about the shows? Working at the box office I know there are over 2500 shows in over 250 venues across the city and that's not even counting the International or Jazz and Blues Festival. On top of that there are probably over 250,000 young and trendy theatre-goers who have decided to write a blog with reviews and fun show facts. Too much effort if you ask me. So instead I have taken my weary caffeine-drenched self out of London filled with it's Starbucks, Costa's and Cafe Nero's on every corner, plonked myself in Edinburgh and given myself a challenge. I will not go into a chain coffee shop for the entire month of August.
Don't get me wrong I am no coffee snob, but I am one hard customer. I am fussy. I am particular and as such am normally instantly apologetic. But for those of you out there like me you'll understand the importance of a good coffee, however you take it.
I predict there will be plenty of people this festival and the next one and the one after that who will be drinking their body weight in pints, be them pints of beer, wine or vodka and will work through the hangover only to repeat it the following night. I also predict there will be plenty of people soaking up the sights, sounds and atmosphere in Edinburgh dashing from show to show. And what do these people have in common? Their need for a good cup of coffee.
During the month of August, therefore, I will venture to get my daily cup each day from different independent coffee shops. Upmarket, low-market, organic, central, suburban or with a side of kebab I will try them all and report back.    
So tune in festival-goers, Caffeinated Ed is on a mission! This is the coffee drinker's guide to surviving the Fringe.