May the best you've ever seen be the worst you'll ever see again.

Sunday night in Edinburgh was fantastic. It just happened to be the one evening out of the month that a group of my host's friends, most of them Brazilian (though they didn't know each other till they met in Edinburgh) get together and make feijoada, a traditional Brazilian dish. Basically, it's a whole pig, black beans, some spices, and whatever other random stuff you want to throw in. On top of it you put this certain flour-type stuff, which looks like parmesan cheese but isn't, and it tastes good by itself, too. Delicious.

Jony told me he suspected we'd start around six, so I promised to be back by then. I was, but we didn't even leave the house until 9:30. Apparently, Brazilian time is similar to Spanish time. They had warned me that the dish takes at least four hours to cook (it's one of those that is better the next day), so I knew we were in for a long night.



We shopped for a few last-minute things and met up with Pedro, Curgy, Leo, Sergio, and Patrick, the lone Scot. Jony and Pedro started cooking, and the rest of us kicked back around a couple of bottles of wine.



It reminded me of when I fell in love with the theatre crowd. We were at a party, and a handful of drunk actors were discussing directing theory. At a party! Drunk! I adored them. And travelers are the same, though they talk about where they've been, where they're going, where you should stay when you go, where you shouldn't bother going, what you should eat when you get there. It's fantastic. They're such an open, welcoming, fascinating lot of people, and I am delighted to count myself amongst them.

It wasn't until the feijoada was served that I realized we'd been there awhile. Soooo good. Curgy spilled his on my leg. Twice.



It was a truly magnificent evening. More than once, I was overcome by the absolute delight of it, and actually had to fight back tears of joy on two occasions. It was just so special. There I was, in Edinburgh, sitting around with a handful of Brazilians, a Spaniard, and a Scot, listening to them switch back and forth between the three languages, feeling perfectly happy and at home, wanting to stay in Scotland not for Scotland, but for them. Magnificent.