Glasgow

I arrived in Glasgow at their main train station, then had to take their subway or tube to my stop. When I got on the platform, I found out that the term tube was literal. It was the smallest subway I had ever experienced. The cars were in almost perfect cylindrical shapes and seemed to glide easily from station to station. The inside of the cars was a little cramped but stylish, looking like something out of the technicolor 60s. 

I got out at my stop and fired up my trusty Google Maps. Looking around, I could tell that Glasgow was going to be more gritty than the idyllic Edinburgh, which I appreciated. Sadly, while I thought the hostel was walking distance from the station, it was uphill through a park. For obvious reasons, I was not a big fan of pulling my suitcase with my backpack on with my iPod out going through a public park, especially when the rain started. I got turned around a few times but eventually found where I needed to go.

I checked into the youth hostel, without realizing that they also took the term literally. It was a posh mansion that had been converted into a huge hostel. I set my stuff down, got acquainted with the building, then made reservations to get a ferry over to my next locale when it was time to leave. I cooked myself some leftovers that were in the communal kitchen, then went to my room to relax. It was a six-topper and a little cramped. Also, there was a big sign in the bathroom saying that the water was not potable; not really that comforting. 

I got into bed and tried to watch some YouTube videos to relax but there were site blockers on the hostel network, a first for me since Dubai. Luckily, I was able to get around them with my virtual private network. My roommates arrived as I peeked out of Fort Awesome to make introductions, then I tried to go to bed. 

I say tried because the hostel door had a sensor on it that when it was not closed completely, an incredibly loud and annoying buzzer went off. The only way to make sure that didn’t happen was to slam the door. As the roommates came in and out all night, I was treated to a cacophony of noises that would rouse me from my slumber, even with tightly affixed earplugs. Another fun noise was that my roommate slept through his phone alarms that he had going off at all hours of the night.

Not too refreshed, I headed out for my walking tour after having a breakfast of leftovers. The tour was fantastic. My guide, Johnny, had lived in Glasgow his whole life and it was obvious he loved his hometown. Our initial meeting place and our first stop was the Duke of Wellington Statue with his very interesting hat.

Apparently, since the 1980’s, drunken Glaswegians scaled the statue and bested the man that bested Napoleon at Waterloo by putting a parking cone on his head. Every time the city government would take it down, another would be donned in its place. They tried raising the statue 6 additional feet. It did not work. They tried putting up CCTV cameras. It did not work. They tried imposing outrageous fines. It did not work. Considering it was costing the city £10,000 a year (as a cherry picker would need to be rented and a worker hoisted into the heavens to remove the cone,) the government did what they tend to do when they know they cannot stop the will of the people, they acquiesce and claim it was their own idea. 

A stop later in the tour was an incredibly interesting one I was not expecting. It was the Britannia Panopticon, a turn of the century vaudeville-esque theater that had since gone from shows on the stage to the screen. It was like stepping into a time capsule. They had a peddle organ that some on the tour tried to maneuver. We were told of the history of the place and its rather unique fire-retardant. There was a balcony and those were the cheapest seats in the house. Since it was Glasgow, a lot of the people in those stands were habitual drinkers and were packed in. In-door plumbing was not really a thing, so when they had to go, they went where they stood. While some of the piss leaked onto the people below them, the floor was generally wet, so when the occasional cigarette fell, it was immediately put out. But the truly fascinating fact about the Panopticon, at least for me, was that a young performer got his very start in this theatre before he became an internationally acclaimed actor. Stuart Laurel was a staple of the stage here, making his first appearance at the Panopticon at 16, in 1906. His career continued to grow and when his tour group signed a contract to go to America, he took the same steamer as a young Charlie Chaplin with whom he also worked. He found his way to Hollywood and was eventually paired with a portly American actor to be his foil with whom he worked before, and they became one of the most famous film duos of the Silent Era, the team better known as Laurel and Hardy. 

As we continued walking, Johhny shared some of the darker aspects of Glasgow and Scotland’s history. Since it was on the Western Coast of the United Kingdom, it became a very important shipping center for the Empire, especially during its high time in the 18th Century. We stopped in front of a building in the Merchant sector. He pointed and said that this was the Trades Hall of Glasgow. He told us that the local captains of industry at that time met there to have ridiculous lunches and dinner, no doubt with the finest Scotch and French Champagne. He said that they were indispensable parts of the Triangle Trade Route. Goods from Europe were traded to West Africans. In turn, the West Africans would offer people from lands they conquered to then be taken to the New World as slaves. The slaves would then be traded to tobacco or cotton farmers in the Caribbean or North America for their products, and then they would be transported back to the United Kingdom for the cycle to begin anew. The men in the club were getting fat on the very milk of human misery. 

After that downer, Johnny lifted our spirits with the promise of a treat. He said that no tour of Scotland would be complete without sampling some IrnBru. IrnBru was the Scottish answer to Coca-Cola. It was an incredibly potent soft drink filled to the brim with sugar and caffeine. He stopped in a local convenience store and came out with a soda for everyone. He said he did not expect us all to finish it, let alone have any teeth left after sampling it. I took my drink, threw it back, and could feel my heart on the verge of exploding a few seconds later. I loved it. 

Newly energized, we continued our walking tour past a lot of interesting street art along to our final stop on the tour was Glasgow Cathedral. Before we entered, Johnny shared with us that to our left was Glasgow General Hospital. He said it was here where the scale of brain injuries was developed abbreviated to the GCS or Glasgow Coma Scale. He said that now every time we watched (or were forced to watch) Grey’s Anatomy, we would know what it meant and where it came from. We entered the Cathedral and it was absolutely beautiful. On my way out, I slipped Johnny a £5 note and told him that I really appreciated his enthusiasm for showing us around his hometown and promised him I would leave a stellar review.

I then headed to my next walking tour. I got to the main train station where we were supposed to meet. I said hello to the guide and without even saying hello back, he told me that four people canceled due to the rain and that unless he got paid £20 he was going to cancel the tour himself. I ended up releasing him. As he was walking away, I asked him if there was anything to see around the station. Not even looking back, he told me to go to the tourist desk. La-di-fucking-da. I then just decided to make my way across the Clyde River through the rain to one of the bars Johhny recommended.

The neighborhood that housed the Laurieston Bar reminded me of one of the more industrial ones around my home in Pennsylvania. Walking through its doors, I was the only foreigner, which suited me right. I took a seat at the end of the bar and ordered a pint of Jarl, a Scottish Blonde, chitchatting with the old gray-haired bartender about the football match on the screen like I was a regular that just happened to talk funny. It was a man’s bar, like something you would see from the ’60s, replete with photos and boxing memorabilia. I really like it. Afterward, I headed home.

I did not sleep too well as my roommates left their phone notifications on all night again, but woke up at 6:30 AM, had brekkie, then headed out to meet my tour. Our guide and driver was Stewart; a tall, wiry, kilt-wearing Glasgow ex-cop. We got in our Sprinter van and, using the high road, made our way to the bonnie bonnie banks of Loch Lomond. It was foggy and colder than I expected, but still beautiful.

We then went to Ivarnay castle, home of the infamous Campbell clan, but I opted to walk around the town instead of the castle. We then drove to the town of Oban for lunch where I got a mincemeat pie and Scottish pie from a convenience store. I checked the internet and got warm in a coffee shop before we headed out to Glencoe.

We stopped at a rest stop in the middle of a beautiful forest, so I decided to walk around as I did not know we would be stopping again. A few minutes later, we were by a river in the Scottish Highlands, which was both serene and beautiful. We stopped again by the Three Sisters mountain range, fed some Scottish deer, saw where Skyfall, James Bond’s familial Scottish home was digitized into the landscape, then started out way home. I saw no less than three full-sky arching rainbows. I took this as a sign I was doing good. 

We arrived back in Glasgow and I decided to get some fried haggis and saunter to the Steps Bar for a pint, another one of Johnny’s suggestions. It was a truely lovely day. 

Again, I did not sleep well. The next day, I had breakfast and headed back out as Stewart warned us that there would probably feature some world-famous Glasgow hooliganism as there was a soccer match planned. Wanting to avoid that and a possible Glasgow-grin (a trademark face slashing of the area,) I got to the city center early. I walked up and down Buchanan Street, the main pedestrian thoroughfare of the city. Then headed to the Necropolis, back towards the cathedral. I climbed up, took a seat under the watchful eye of John Knox, founder of the Presbyterian Church of Scotland, and just took in the scene. As I began walking down from the Necropolis, I saw a gentleman that was wearing an LSU shirt that then asked me to take a picture of he and his family.

Since I was right by the cathedral, I headed inside and listened to a little of the mass and some of the choral music. It was lovely. 

Famished, I did as the Romans did and helped myself to a Glasgow delicacy, the deep-fried Mars bar. Having been to my share of county fairs, it was nothing incredibly new, but still delicious. After, as there was a myriad of souvenir shops, I wanted to commemorate my time here by buying a Gaelic ring. I then went to the bus station to figure out the protocol for the next day. 

After picking up some canned haggis, I made myself an early dinner of haggis and rice while I did some laundry. It was close to a deep clean, so I hung out in the lounge in my robe and shorts. Apparently, it was too revealing as I got a stern talking-to from one of the halfwits helping to run the hostel. I was the only person in the lounge. Needless to say their OK rating I was going to give them tanked. That and I went to buy a beer at the front desk and their prices were 50% over what they advertised simply because they “forgot to update them.” So, I went back to the lounge, had my beer, folded my laundry, and went to bed. This would prove to be difficult, as a cavalcade of pre-teen girls just moved in on my floor; giggling, stomping, and screaming all fucking night. 

I woke up in the morning, gathered my things, had brekkie, and got the hell out of the hostel. I walked through the park back to the subway, caught the bus to the ferry, boarded, found a seat, and headed out into the Irish Sea.