Introducing: Ben Treuhaft and the Portobello People’s Public Piano Project

This is the first of what may end up being many posts relating to an incredible saga of my 2014 travels.

To start from the start; I arrived in the UK for the first time early April, left my pre-arranged pub job in Bedford after a week for London, and after a week there I went for a week of hiking in Scotland, thinking I’d ‘tick Scotland off’, so to speak. I loved the vibe, from arriving in Glasgow, to the small pubs and towns along the West Highlands Way, and of course all the people and their accents. We bailed half-way through the hike to hitch-hike to the Hebridean Isle of Skye, via Loch Ness and Inverness, and I ended up arranging a two-week hostel job through Helpx. After a dynamic fortnight in a picturesque island fishing village, I took a tour bus down to Edinburgh for free thanks to my then company MacBackPackers, with 3 nights free stay in our sister hostel accumulated through the 6 extra hours of vacuuming, bed sheet changing, and, toilet cleaning, that I’d done that week.

I arrived in Edinburgh’s Royal Mile Backpackers to a warm, welcoming, largely Australian family of hostel dwellers, many of whom have ended up being very important to me. The night was spent in the pub and reception room, and everything was pretty normal backpacking until the next day.

I am a nerd: the first morning in my new city, I go to the library and join it; my fourth UK library membership in a month. Perhaps more on libraries later. After a morning being productive in Macdonald Road library, feeling liberated from the introverted island existence, I wandered down Leith Walk to get lunch. I first went into Tesco, the equivalent of Australia’s Coles, but it felt wrong to buy a bread roll and cheese, and despite being tight, I knew I should cough up an extra pound to experience this city.

I knew the suburb of Leith as being the ‘Trainspotting’ side of Edinburgh, therefore it was the only real district on the list. I peered at a dozen decent places before a pastel pink cafe with a green garage door caught my eye, tucked up down an alley. Nice enough staff greeted me, so I ordered a sausage sandwich and sat on a sofa in an empty back lounge room. I picked up an old favourite book: Agatha Christie’s Murder on the Orient Express, and flicked through, wishing I understood Poirot’s French and probably, that I had someone to talk to.

In walks a be-caned and slightly hunched man, neon orange goatee, matching Yankees beanie, and with a most pleasant smile and gentle Yankee accent, he greeted me and proceeded to compliment the cafe. I, taken back by his eccentric appearance yet engaged by his open-hearted nature, continued to half peruse Poirot in the gaps of our conversation, which crescendoed casually, until we reached a rinforzando.

The man, Ben, asked me what I was doing here in Edinburgh. I told him I had just arrived from Skye, that I was staying until Saturday and that afterwards I had no plans. He said, “I’ve got a job for you, if you’re interested. I’m going away for a week and I need someone to mind my tent, it’s on the beach and it has a piano in it.” I probably looked sceptical, so he proceeded to pull out a local newspaper article with the photograph featured below, proving that this was real.

I said yes. He got my email address and wrote me a friendly message from his Macbook, confirming our arrangement and CC’ing his then girlfriend. It’d been a productive lunch already, so we said fare thee well ’til Saturday.

I walked on to Leith Library, sat at an old PC between a video game junkie and a man on hold to social services whilst managing his fantasy football team, and googled the shit out of what the fuck had just happened. I used my daily computer time limit finishing my writing work and walked out as dazed or more than before.

I took a seat by the Water of Leith and rolled half a cigarette with my remaining crumbs; the rest of my duty-free tobacco was still in London. All I had here was a small backpack of hiking clothes, a group of friends less than 24-hours old, a library membership, and now a week of free accommodation/care-taking work on the beach in a tent with a piano.

This is how I met Ben Treuhaft, and his Portobello People’s Public Piano Project.

For yawn formation.