Edinburgh: MaDeb African Shop

Out on a discovery

I stepped out of my hotel this evening to go for a meal and thought I’ll walk to a group of restaurants around London Road and Leith Walk in Edinburgh. However, instead of walking up London Road, I had a sense of adventure to go down Easter Road where I had noted from Google Maps that an Italian Restaurant might be open.

Half a mile down Easter Road, the restaurant was closed and I am beginning to realise that some restaurants and takeaways are closed on Mondays.

Unsure of what else to do, I decided to take a side road that I thought would get me to Leith Walk even if my bearings thought I was on the wrong path, I did end up on Leith Walk, one of the longest stretches of road in Edinburgh that seems to have so many names, you better not look at the road signs.

A homely wonderland

I crossed the road and walked upwards into town as my eyes caught the sign of an African goods shop, my curiosity got the better of me as the two ladies in the shop beckoned to me, and so I yielded and walked into the shop. All indications were they thought I was from Eastern Nigeria, but I introduced myself differently as my eyes darted around the stocked shelves to see familiar goods and wares that excite the West African palate.

I could not decide what I wanted when I was informed they had frozen jollof rice and stew, and if I had access to a microwave oven, that would do just fine.

MaDeb African Shop had only been open two months and whilst for me it was a chance discovery, it might well be the only purveyor of goods and wares the West Africans would only be too familiar with. The African Flavour Restaurant that I wrote about over a month ago had closed, it was a bad business that failed to take advantage of the monopoly it had to serve a particular clientele and that is just a shame.

More and more

The list of things to get from Madeb African Shop is almost inexhaustible, the shop uses three areas, the main shop, the back where perishable goods are kept and refrigerated and the basement with cosmetics and hair products.

In the main shop, there are spices, flours, canned foods, dried and smoked fish, Agege bread, ingredients to various stews as Egusi, Ogbono, bitter leaf, fermented peas (iru), mint leaves (efinrin), palm oil, kola nuts, plantain bananas, tubers like yams, sweet potatoes, suya packs, Nigerian drinks and beverages. Ointments like Robb and Aboniki, this is your perfect nostalgic corner shop.

For those who prefer their West African dishes ready-made, the shop provides a cooking service as well as preparing meals for events. I have the feeling this outfit would be a better replacement for that lackadaisically useless restaurant.

Get there and shop

The ladies were humorous, pleasant and nice, on getting back to my hotel, I defrosted my jollof rice, added some stew and downed it with a can of Afrimalt, I must be tipping the scales on the wrong side of zero.

MaDeb African Shop,
5 Croall Place,
EH7 4LT
Edinburgh

Photos

Edinburgh of the dead

And so, I strayed,
To places that made me afraid,
A city of many hills,
That surely gave me the chills,
It has so many ghosts,
Beware they might be your hosts.

By Regent's Park, I walked,
In the wariness of the stalked,
To wit, in the rubble, I saw,
A hand outstretched live and raw,
Before fear gripped me so to run,
My senses deigned it belonged to someone.

In this stroll, I wrote and thought,
What a place to be highly wrought,
Stones and memorials mark the places,
Of souls and works of long gone faces,
A city strewn with graves,
Of the dead, we became as slaves.

A deluge in the Lothians

From new moon to new moon,
Marvelled I at the city,
For not once did the eyes of heaven,
Shed a tear of nature,
The month of April thirsted,
When May shrivelled for the heat,
Told of a turning that never came,
My unbelief hardened by the day.

Then suddenly was a drizzle unexpected,
To hand a brolly to hold,
Then in a moment not too wet,
The petrichor rose to the nostrils,
Nature sweetly wafting a fragrance,
Of coolness fresh and life,
Then for many dawns beyond,
The damp was of the dew.

Cats and dogs will hide this time,
Whales will play tunes with their blowholes,
Edinburgh became heaven's drain,
The clouds flushed through without end,
Umbrellas tested by winds and gusts,
The dull became a sad pall of the horizon,
For to see not too far ahead,
This is not stopping for a while.

Edinburgh: Then I found a hotel that shouldn't be in this business

I’m a sleeping dog, let me lie

As a tourist to a city, a guest in a hotel or a customer in a restaurant or any establishment that provides a service, I am a quiet unassuming, disinterested and unperturbed person, quite so if everything is just as it should be. I am rarely effusive with praise and loath to excoriate.

However, shift out of the standard deviation of expected service and I have a broad tolerance of excellence to incompetence and you will for posterity become a search result on the Internet, my perspective of my experience.

Having worked in Edinburgh for 5 weeks, I have found myself in a variation of the theme of The Frog Prince, I have already stayed in 5 hotels and have proverbially kissed just as many frogs seeking a prince. Now in my sixth hotel, I seem to have kissed a toad, maybe even something as dreadful as a lamprey.

Why were they advertised?

This Centre Townhouse is anything but what it purports to be. From the next day after I booked the place on Hotels.com, it has been an ever-increasing debilitating nightmare. The warning signs were there, I gamely ignored them and considering the booking was made late at night, I probably was not alert enough to the little troublesome elements this establishment and that word I use under advisement.

I had booked a room with an en-suite bathroom and it was one of those instances where I decided not to pay up-front but pay at the hotel, the first clue being there were no reviews of the place yet. Hotels.com as the broker of the transaction guarantees my booking and acts as an escrow service, my booking was confirmed through my credit card.

The next morning, I received an email from the hotel, suggesting my card had been declined and that I should offer another means of payment. That should never have happened and so I contacted Hotels.com to inquire as to how my card that was accepted through my booking on the website could now be declined by an establishment that was only to get paid on my arrival.

Hotels dot incomprehensible

Hotels.com informed me that my booking had been cancelled by the establishment and that the issue of my declined card was being investigated by their internal transactions team, they had no other information for me, however, someone from the team would call me in under three hours.

The status of my confirmed booking did not change on the Hotels.com website through to the next morning when I called to remonstrate about the unsatisfactory customer service and unnecessary distress about having a declined credit card, a long way from home.

The staff then called the hotel directly, gave them assurances that the booking will be paid for on arrival and reconfirmed to me that everything was fine. Not an hour after that call, I received another email from the hotel still asking for a guaranteed and alternative means of payment.

A dishonest ruse

I then called Centre Townhouse directly to determine what the problem really was and as it transpired, they did not have a means to take credit/debit card payments. So, rather than come clean that they were unready for modern hotelier business they set up the ruse that my card had been declined to prompt me to contact them to agree to pay cash on arrival. Dishonest does not begin to describe my view of that behaviour that I called Hotels.com the next morning to complain about this underhand business practice.

Hotels.com did not help ameliorate the situation and had I not accrued a loyalty reward scheme over 4 years of being a customer, I would have immediately transferred my loyalties to a rival hotel booking site. The agent at the other end of the phone, probably in an outsourced location completely oblivious of typically first-world problems and angst could not for the want of trying comprehend the distress of having a card declined and the risk of carrying around hundreds of pounds in a society that is progressively a cashless society.

My feedback to Hotels.com on this situation has not garnered a response yet. The Hotels.com agent seemed to have taken the side of the hotelier and their cock and bull story. I was none too pleased when I learnt that the hotel would hopefully by the weekend have a card machine, it was not going to happen, these people were chancers, they got by, by bending the truth without scruples.

Is this the hotel?

I arrived at the ‘hotel’ by taxi and there was no signpost outside, the main door which was ajar and the cab driver was a tad suspicious and concerned that I might have arrived at the wrong place, but that was the address I had. I walked in and I was welcomed into what seemed to have been a big townhouse converted into a number of apartments. The self-contained living quarters on the ground floor had been rejigged into a configuration with a big bedroom accessed by a keycode lock which became my room.

The living room had a split function as my sitting room and the hotel reception, with access to a kitchen where I could use the microwave oven but not the gas stove or the oven. The combined toilet and bathroom was not en-suite, the lock insecure, the toilet brush broken, and the toilet was exclusively mine to use except when others came to use the living room to entertain guests and their cacophony became my disturbance.

On my first morning there, I had a face full of shaving foam only to find that the shower was not working. I sent an SMS text message to the hotelier to have it fixed which was sorted whilst I was at work.

There were no towels in my room and when I asked for towels, I was told I had to pay £2 for the use of a towel. My room does not even qualify as a bed and breakfast arrangement, but for the perfunctory wireless internet complimentary service, I am at loss as to how to class this rip-off.

These are bounders on the make

The £400 for my 5-night stay I had already withdrawn from the bank and put in an envelope that I gave the albeit pleasant hotelier with whom I had a long friendly conversation, but the truth of the matter cannot be lost to pleasantries.

At the very minimum, an establishment masquerading as a hotel or at the very least aspiring to the standard of a bed and breakfast would have a signpost outside, a reception, the room and bed as advertised, a chair and table, a television, tea making facilities, a hair dryer (not that I need one), toiletries including a towel, probably ironing facilities and everyday housekeeping. I was not aware my bed would not be made every day.

Close this travesty

The setup as it stands at the Centre Townhouse is probably best suited for a motel for a night or a brothel by the hour, going by the charge for towels. This is no hotel, these people though pleasant, have no business being in the hospitality business, it is disastrously amateurish with a money-grabbing hand absent of understanding what it takes to run any semblance of a hotel facility. To suggest I am appalled is to be effusive with praise.

I should have at the first opportunity cancelled this booking, I will endure the 5 nights, it is not the end of the world, but the end of this charade running in the hospitality industry and having a berth on a hotel booking website cannot come soon enough. One is not by terms impressed.

This is a review of my own personal experience of staying at Centre Townhouse for five nights at the end of May into the beginning of June. It is written honestly, without prejudice and truthfully, each individual experience in a hotel establishment varies, I cannot speak for others, I speak for myself.

Centre Townhouse
70 Gilmore Place
Edinburgh
EH3 9NX

Blacket Avenue, Edinburgh

I turned onto Blacket Avenue,
One lonely road in Edinburgh,
An eerily quiet street,
With columns at each end of the road,
Like the gates of hell fell off them,
The way winds and wends,
And an avenue indeed it is,
With trees older than the earth,
Standing still with tales untold,
Little plants clambering up walls,
As if inhabited from yonder,
Houses looking lived in but deserted,
Walls so high that the residents sigh,
Almost forsaken if not for a cat’s meow,
There is much to be scared of,
The cemetery two streets up,
The dark holding court,
Yet I trundle with hesitation,
Shaking like I am eighty,
Walking no faster than the escargots,
That blessed my palate an hour ago,
In my youth, I like ancients spoke,
As I aged I became like the aged,
Yet I think like the demented,
Making stories of the unintended,
It is no accident that of crazy forebears,
Has arisen a crazier offspring,
Before I could imagine a fear,
I saw another two columns,
Blacket Avenue at an end,
Turn right on Dalkeith Road.

Edinburgh: Returning after two decades

Of memories, past

As new adventures go, my arrival in Scotland was not necessarily auspicious, but interesting all the same. The last time I was in Edinburgh was 20 years ago when I met up with a Brummie just like myself who lived in Scotland and was literally the antithesis of the company that people who saw us together ever thought I would keep.

He was in full skinhead attire at a time when many antisocial activities attributed to skinheads involved street violence and racial abuse. He was a SHARP skinhead, friendly, lovely and amazingly good company.

We kept in touch for a few years after my visit, at which time, he left Scotland for the West Midlands and with the passage of time, we have both completely lost contact with each other.

A yearning for the new

I stayed at the Ibis Hotel which had only opened a few weeks earlier and going online required a modem connection over a phone line, I was able to cross-charge the rate through my BT phonecard, now a collectible, how times have changed.

I was in Leeds on a Microsoft training course when I received a phone call from an agency about a role in Edinburgh, for some reason, the moment I heard of the role, my heart seemed to be set on the possibility that I would get the job.

It was another 8 days before I heard of their interest in interviewing me, it was to be a telephone interview in the morning, the Thursday before Easter. I attended with my mobile phone hooked up to a headphone because I was not sure taking the interview over a speakerphone would work so well.

Blog - Thought Picnic: My Interview Weaknesses

Whilst I cannot say I was the most articulate in my answers to the many questions posed about my skills and what I would be expected to do, the interview appeared to go well. I had not interviewed for a role for over 3 years, so there was no practice in the kitty to ensure I would exude any confidence that a person of my experience would be expected to have.

Plans, proposals, and prospects

I was not to hear anything until after the Easter holidays when on Wednesday I was contacted that they would want a face-to-face interview in Edinburgh on Friday. In the meanwhile, some terms of the contract changed unfavorably, but I was still willing to put my lot with this prospect.

I considered spending the weekend in Edinburgh but some deeper premonition suggested I go up for the day and return home for the weekend. In the process, that meant I found time to attend my goddaughter’s birthday in Dorset.

At the interview, we started off on a very friendly note, some comment made about my dressing and the reference to my father whose thoughts to me at one time were, ‘Appearances matter always.’ That I have found in some places of work that I have the best dressed is not one of extraneous effort, just that inclination to be well presented.

And so, we agreed

In that sitting, after I was asked if I was up for the challenge and a challenge it would be, I dedicated myself to the cause and I was offered the role without recourse to the agency first. We agreed I would start on Tuesday and Monday was spent sorting out the contractual details and other finery.

Sunday had me out to Dorset and then Monday, a 5:40-hour journey up to Edinburgh where the first 4 nights are being spent at a University of Edinburgh apartment accommodation. I did more on Friday discovering Edinburgh than I have had the time to do since I arrived on Monday. The statue of Sir Walter Scott, 1^st Baronet, author of Ivanhoe and Rob Roy amongst others.

My office faces onto the craggy steep rocks that form the foundations of the Edinburgh Castle, I will probably spend a weekend here soon to explore the city. However, without any doubt, I am enjoying this new adventure north of Hadrian’s Wall. On reflection, I have now worked in the three nations of Great Britain and just one left of the United Kingdom.