Up a little late, we burned the toast on Barbara and Oliver’s aga, but managed not to set off the fire alarm. (If you’ve never toasted bread on an aga, basically you lift the cast iron cover over the hot plate, set the bread down, wait 30 seconds, turn it over, and take it off. You do not walk away to do something else, allowing the plate to fall onto the bread and smoosh it into burning within 5 seconds. So now you know.)

All the luggage and all the people (just three of us but if felt like moving a people caravan) up the steep staircase to street level and off we went to the tram stop.

Where I looked up to behold a young girl walking across a rooftop peak, like a tightrope walker in a hoodie.

When she had perched herself on the gable end of the house, nothing between her and the street but about 20 feet of air, she realized I was watching her and made a “get lost” gesture with her arm. A big gesture that made her teeter for a second.

I made a “you don’t want to do this” gesture with my hands. She put her hands to her eyes and indicated she was looking at the view, not contemplating ending it all.

Trying to hold a conversation without words across 400 feet width and three stories height is tricky, different cultures notwithstanding. I tried to vibe “I understand you are not planning to jump but I also understand that it rained last night, you are wearing cheap sneakers with slick soles, and you are clearly not yet old enough to drive, so even though you are not intending to commit suicide, you are in danger and no view is worth that. Get down at once. I do not know you but I care what happens to you, and I suspect other people do too even if you don’t think so.”

Again, complex ideas can be difficult to convey by mind meld, so the girl repeated the swatting gesture. I raised my cell phone. “Come down or I dial 999.” Maybe a simpler message would penetrate.

She put what I think was a cigarette back in her pocket and recrossed the peak, one foot in front of the other, moving so swiftly, I wondered if my interference would be the cause of her demise. One intends to do good, but…..

The tram pulled up just as she reached the ladder at the far end of the second house and descended. Probably cursing the interfering bitch at the bus stop, but she lived to curse another day. And maybe had some things to think about. Who knows?

Well, it was an interesting start to ten days of looking after people. We reached the overcrowded airport and quickly located Maria, looking pale and strained and close to panic. She had arrived late, getting in at 1 am from Paris (singing with a choir there) but her luggage had not. Operating on five or so hours of sleep sans suitcase, Maria was trying to bear up bravely, but I could see her full tuning fork quiver shimmering below the surface. We called some numbers that were supposed to help her track the suitcase, figuring it was in the airport someplace, but they did not work. Perhaps it’s policy to give people fake numbers—cuts down on complaints.

Meanwhile we found Zahnke, party of three easily and located the Meadors, looking mildly intimidated by the crush of people pouring off planes in this compact yet horrifically busy airport. My all time worst airport is Toronto, but Edinburgh might run second. The Meadors wanted Out Of There. So did we all.

Our hope that Maria’s suitcase waited in that scrum someplace was quickly dashed by being told in baggage claim, in a Scottish accent so it didn’t sound quite so mean, to get ourselves gone, they weren’t looking for anything right now, someone would deliver it to the hotel if it did arrive.

I didn’t like the way that man said “if,” but off we went.

This was only the first three hours of the first day, which was so eventful we’re going to pause here and pick up tomorrow. With such an inauspicious beginning, where could we go but up?