Day Two.

I'm Today was probably as good an example of a day in Edinburgh as I can muster. Comedy, music, buzzing energy, that mix of weirdoes and wannabes, grit and gilt - oh and loads of beer. 

Breakfast out started things off. I love eating breakfast out, makes you feel important. Light lunches are boring, tea is usually time better spent "eating a pint." Breakfast just works. Anyway, we then took a walk in the sun (the sun?!!), and took in the assorted vanilla milkshakes at the literary festival, before heading in the direction of Greyfriars (Greyfriars Bobby RIP - a story that still brings the potential of a tear to my eye). We had a beer to toast him and soldiered on. 

The last day of the Fringe meant it was our final chance to catch a few acts, so we decided upon some young upstarts and a seasoned pro. "Sheeps Skewer The News" was the former, based on the solo show "Capitalism" my dad had seen last year. It was basically a very meta, very oddball panel show. Some of it worked, the final round involving vinegar being poured in a chap's mouth having echoes of "Shooting Stars." We enjoyed it, along with the obligatory beers. It would've been rude not to swing by Brewdog on our way back, along with this cheesey family photo opportunity. 

We hurried off to watch Lewis Schaffer, a New York stand-up I've seen with my dad before. He's rude, obnoxious, self-deprecating, sarcastic and very funny (yes, we share some similarities). He always seems to play in some horrendous venues, this time in a fluorescent-lit sweat-box on the edge of a gallery, using a pallet for a stage. To give you a sample, he compared his penis to a Nazi in 1943 - still in love with Hitler, but starting to lose the faith. Yeah. 

He also managed to involve me pretty heavily in his act. When Rach ran out to pop the toilet, during a particularly lewd joke about his lady-boy ex, I told him she was leaving because Rach too had a penis. Long story short, he ended up kissing me on the mouth. Also turned out that, being a bit of a "comedian's comedian," Tom Stade was sat opposite me. The fact he approached me and said I was funny on the way out means I can now retire from my one performance at Edinburgh. 

After this we hurried off to see Sufjan Stevens at the Edinburgh Playhouse. If Schaffer was a "comedian's comedian," the Stevens is a "musician's musician." If that sounds pretentious then it probably is, but he is not particularly well known in the UK. Except he filled out a rapt Playhouse and played some of the most absorbing live music I will ever witness. I'll do it justice with a full review, as Bank Holiday breakfast is calling me. 

Day One.

Well I started writing my blog, then deleted it. Blame Blogger, blame the beers from the night before. Speaking of which, that's what we did as soon as we touched down in Scotland. Some craft beer pub, £4.50+ a pint, everything around 6% and with descriptions like "heavily hopped" - speaking my language. We scuttled off to the hotel, then straight out towards the Royal Mile. Street performers on every corner, from funk bands to casual mermaids. It all beats the usual "man-making-dog-sand-sculpture" (though maybe not quite eclipsing Liverpool's "man-singing-loudly-with-toy-microphone"). 

We headed into a church that doubles up as a music venue for the Fringe and caught a cool folk singer, all trackie bottoms, ironic t-shirt and unkempt facial hair. Nice version of "May You Never" by John Martyn. Nice can of Dead Pony Club to accompany things. This was followed by the more typical pursuits of watching my beloved blues scrape a draw against Spurs, people-watching as various hen parties competed with each other over who had the most overweight friend with the lowest esteem. Top marks to the chunky lad who tried to pull an entire party with a tray of blues shots though (note. said chunky lad wasn't me). Thumbs down to the man with the receding hair-line and three shirt buttons undone though, seen here being awkward by the Pimm's bar (note. said mid-life crisis bloke wasn't my dad). 

For some light and shade we headed for the middle-class mayhem of the BBC tent; craft lager, queues for slam poetry and wireless headphones to enjoy Alt-J. In this mindset we went to watch the rather funny Kate Smurthwaite, a lovely, leftie comedienne I've enjoyed at the Fringe previously. Always a bit bonkers watching a comedy gig in the basement of an Italian restaurant but why not? 

We wandered elsewhere for a pizza and pasta before the real drinking commenced. Even tucked away in the most nondescript boozers you'd find a guitar and fiddle duo playing Radiohead, to a man of a very Scottish kind of drunkeness. It was that level of drunk we were teetering towards when we got back to the hotel. A successful start. 

Och aye!

The Mac is back. I'm bringing back the travel blog for the weekend, as I'm winging my way up to Edinburgh for the Fringe. My last blog was way back in December 2013, on my trip out East to Macau. I've been travelling around since then - mainly screaming at the M1 at 4am after a gig - but nowhere I felt really warranted my writing. But me and the lady friend are heading to Prague and Brussels over the next few months, and gigging takes me some cool places, so I thought it was a blog worth revisiting with my trip to the homeland. 

It wouldn't be an Adam blog without a moan. Trains are the one at the moment. Trundling through the countryside at no speed, full of overweight people carrying overweight suitcases, struggling to locate a numbered seat as though they were searching for the Grail. I wonder what the Japanese tourists sat close to me are thinking as we pass Rotherham at about 5mph, when they could be zooming through Osaka at a nightmarish speed. They're probably also wondering why I'm cracking a can open for breakfast but c'est la vie. 

I love Edinburgh though. It's a proper city, with a skyline, and old buildings, and new buildings, and proper pubs, and some character, and shortbread. It's not Hull. I'm headed there with my dad and sister - three McCullochs going back to our roots and attempting to break our own personal best drinking records. We will be hitting some comedy gigs, possibly destroying some form of deep-fried chocolate bar and definitely making Brewdog count. We are also off to see probably my favourite musician, Sufjan Stevens, at The Playhouse tomorrow evening. 

It should be a great weekend. I'll keep you posted. For now here's my sister getting into the spirit. 

Long. Way. Home.

(Long Way Home is yet another terrible Asian name joke - I'm tired and sat waiting for a ferry so that's my excuse for constantly repeating material). 

Here we are, folks. My last blog from out east. What a fantastic month has been, flying by faster than a scooter in Hanoi, or the phlegm of an elderly Chinese man who just can't help himself. This was my first trip to this side of the world and it hasn't disappointed. I've been reunited with an old friend and made lots of new ones too, so I'll take this opportunity to say thank you to all of them. 

From Sasha and Fanny for having me in their home, to Johnny for his Vietnamese nail girl impersonation and pole skills, to Tim for crossing the (metaphorical) friendship bridge with me, and to all of the cast and crew from The House of Dancing Water - you're all great and have made me feel so welcome. I've got to give a big special thank you to Ben Milot for a great two weeks travelling around Vietnam and Thailand, for being a father figure and for being too drunk to stand in Bangkok. And, last but not least, to my bestest best friend in the whole of Taipa (if not the world)...Sophie "Insert Stage Name Here" Robinson. I am so proud of her wee face for all the amazing work she is doing and the life she is living over here. She deserves all the good things that are coming her way and it has been brilliant just catching up, let alone all the travelling/feasting/drinking. So, in the last bit of Derbyshire I can muster, ta me duck for everything. 

With feasting and drinking in mind, that's exactly how I spent my last day in Macau. Me and Soph met Ben and Johnny for an Italian buffet in the Venetian. The four greatest words in the English language...all you can eat. We had a wander before heading to the Ild Taipa Tavern for some farewell beers and festive port. For some reason a Chinese family sat their infant child next to us and made it pose with a glass of wine. If anyone sees the photograph, I haven't adopted a Chinese baby. Yet. We then gathered my luggage, met Tim for a farewell sherry and I am now just outside of Hong Kong on the ferry. Land, sea and air people. 

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Hong Kong airport is huge. They also gave me about £15 in a tax return. I bought some hideous chopsticks to celebrate. I'm now waiting for my flight to Munich, and then my connection to Manchester. Eighteen hours altogether so I'm banking on more complimentary red wine to ease the pain. 

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Made it to Munich. Seemed to be ahead of schedule so now I'm having to wait here for three hours. Quite a few Man City fans knocking about, seeing as they beat Bayern on Tuesday night. I haven't really got any great plane stories. I drank red wine, watched 'Meet The Millers' (which Soph had weirdly recommend to me earlier in the day), and about three quarters of 'The Hobbit.' I slept. It was really foggy as we landed. Getting off of a German plane is a far more relaxing experience than getting off of a Chinese one. This blog is petering out faster than Robbie Williams' career. I'll put it out of its misery when I land in Manchester. 

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Currently freezing in Chezterfield. I'm back safe and sound. It's afternoon but it's night but I just ate breakfast but...you get the picture. I just drank Vietnamese coffee, think that's my 10th of today (or yesterday, or tomorrow...). I need a beer. Here's a picture of me in a mask. Thanks for reading everyone! I'll be blogging again soon on my next madcap adventure. 

More of Macau/Hong Kong.

Sunday night was spent drinking cocktails in the Lisboa casino. It is strange to be a visitor in these places. What hits you first is the smoke. Even the high-end areas like The Venetian have a distinct working-men's club feel to them. The Lisboa was even more old school. Dancers performed the can-can while I drank Black Russians. It's not a bad life. 

Me and Soph spontaneously decided to try the rather fancy looking Chinese restaraunt next door to her building. The sight of huge fish swimming in the window was apparently tempting, and despite it being nearly empty, it was open until 3am. We ordered crab and shrimp dumplings, a whole chicken (including face) that was beautifully cooked, a strange but incredible mix of pig's intestines, chilli and a lot of cloves, and probably the best rice I've had on this trip. It was a pretty incredible meal, and the first authentically Chinese one. 

Monday involved wandering around Venice. The fake one. It is now completely normal to see Chinese tourists taking scores of photographs of a ceiling painted like the sky, or a gondola drifting along a canal of chlorine. To make things worse there is even a Manchester United shop. I wonder if they watched the Everton game last week. What a corporate mess they are. Me and Soph went for dim sum before this traipse around, making up for lost time on the Chinese cuisine front. 

I watched the show for a final time, moving to a different area and getting a bit wet in the process (from the pool). I managed to do some filming, so I will chuck up some videos on Facebook when I get chance. I sadly missed Soph slipping in one scene though. Afterwards I did some Chinese shopping and cooked a group of the guys from the show some traditional food from my homeland (pizzas). By now you know the drill - I drank the night away and carried on my unbeaten record of every single day in Asia containing alcohol. That's commitment. 

Tuesday was my last full day (sniff), so me, Soph and Ben took our weary heads over the water to Hong Kong. Those guys had some tattoos touched up briefly, I spent a large amout of the day photobombing tourists, and of course drank. We went for a lovely French lunch after another brief ferry - think cheeses, charcuterie and foie gras - and then drank Stella to my heart's content. We pottered around the shops, went to a couple of wine bars and caught a ferry back to Macau around 1. A successful last full day all told. 

And now it is upon me! I'll do a blog at the airport later to try and sum up this Asian Odyssey, but for now I'm off for an Italian lunch that my body needs/deserves.

   

Adam is back in Da House (of Dancing Water).

I had a pretty easy day yesterday. Can definitely feel myself and my trip winding down, just as Sophie and everyone in her show is gearing up for a busy Christmas schedule. With that in mind I went to watch the eight o'clock performance, where I was made aware that I would be seeing the full show. Given that what I had already seen was pretty wild and whacky, I was intrigued. And I wasn't disappointed. 

From the moment a giant hydraulic boat rose from the water, accompanied by music that bore a striking resemblance to 'The Pirates of the Carribean,' I started to understand why everyone had been so apologetic. There were so many elements that I had not seen: besides the boat there were fighting scenes in the water, high dives (and I mean high) and the sheer lunacy of the Russian swing. It looks more dangerous than Duncan Ferguson holding a can of Stella and a dead pigeon. Soph was there swimming in the water one minute, the next up in the rafters, part-fish, part-circus flea. Bonkers is about as good a word as I can find. 

After stumbling out amid a bevy of drunk gamblers fighting around an ambulance and police car or three, I found Soph. After ascertaining that the giraffe with the broken neck was ok (note. not a real giraffe), we headed for beers and cocktails at The Venetian. I could get used to this casino business. If someone can wangle me a Celine Dion style gig in Vegas, I'm there. I would accept blue man group though. 

I'm off into Macau now for a wander and some gift buying, cos I'm just that nice a guy. I'll be seeing the show again tomorrow, then Hong Kong on Tuesdsy and then...homeward bound. 

Coloane.

Thursday night was spent recovering from the sights of hundreds of fish being butchered...by eating sushi. I then helped Soph and her friends put up the Christmas tree in their flat. Listening to Buble and drinking sherry is a little surreal so far from home, it must be said. I have been surprised at the number and scale of the Christmas decorations in Asia, especially in Thailand. I guess over here they just call Father Christmas "Ho". Or Jin Gul Bell. Or something else that isn't funny. 

I actually had a kind of lie in on Friday morning. Well earned I would say. I scuttled off to my last unvisited area of Macau, the old town of Coloane. It was supposed to be a lot quieter and more Portugese in influence, and so far it hasn't disappointed. Soph had time to join me for coffee and croissant before shooting back to work, leaving me to explore. It is a small area - the odd temple or chapel, small back-street cafés, dogs sleeping in shady alleys. It definitely makes a pleasant change from the melee that was Three Lamps yesterday. 

And yet staring across the water from me is mainland China. A little more than a stone's throw but not by much. Technically I am already in China: Macau is classed as an S.A.R (Special Administrative Region), as is Hong Kong. It is controlled by China but has it's own currency and a certain degree of independence. In some ways I am getting a China-lite experience. Yet with the sheer popularity of gambling means that a huge number of mainland Chinese are here. Soph told me before that they are limited to visiting twice a year, so that they don't waste too much money. 

As if to remind me of the fact that I am actually in China, whilst kind of saying that I wasn't, a ridiculous number of fireworks just blew up next to the temple I was sitting by. Nobody batted an eyelid. I assume it was some kind of funeral or wedding tradition. But it certainly killed the solitude. I'm not one for blogging about stereotypes but generally Chinese people are loud. And I mean loud. I'm hoping for a quiet flight home via Munich but it won't happen. Guess I will need to knock back the free wine again. 

A strange old woman with a face like old fruit came up to me while I was sitting, and put her hand out. She said "no tea." I really hope she wasn't a prostitute. I moved further down the water and a man was chattering away to himself. As you can see there is little peace. 

I did explore more of the old village. I tried some of the local food; Lord Stow's bakery is an institution famous for its egg custard tarts, and very nice they were too. After some more wandering I went to Nga Tim's Cafe, recommended by Andy for its salt and pepper squid. Very nice! It certainly prepared me for a bus jammed full of Chinese men. It was so unpleasant I got off early and walked past the casinos lit up at night. They have certainly gone all out for Christmas. 

I decided to be boring and have a beer back at Soph's tonight. I am watching the show again this Saturday night, and will get to see the full spectacle for the first time. Only four nights till I am back to the cool embrace of Manchester.