There are many places, I have noticed, that lend themselves to an experience that is easy to describe, whether because that place has been described so many times before, or because the feeling one feels in such a place is so specific. When describing these destinations to another, one can, with little effort, evoke those very same emotions he or she experienced while there. Glasgow – and Scotland as whole – is not one of those places. Perhaps, that’s what makes it one of my most-coveted travel memories and one of my most-recommended destinations…As badly as I want to share with everyone all the things I was feeling and experiencing in Glasgow, I fear that I will be unable to properly convey those thoughts and emotions. All I can do is give it my best shot…so here goes.
Our train crawled away from the Stranraer station at a leisurely Sunday pace. In a future lesson, you’ll learn just how much of a contrast this carefree train ride was from the previous twelve hours, but at that precise moment, the rolling hills of green to our right and the sprawling western Scottish coastline to our left had us in just the right state of mind to start our day. We passed numerous small towns, each with one steeple, one golf course and the Atlantic as a backdrop. See, Scotland is the home of golf and, me being such an immense fan of the game, I had decided that, for my birthday, we were going to take a day trip to maybe the most famous golf course in the world: The Old Course at St. Andrew’s. Seeing all these home-town courses from the train was an excellent appetizer to the main…course…that was to follow the next day. I know dad jokes were not in the syllabus, but plans do change.
We reached Glasgow, sun still shining, which, in our brief experience in that part of the world, was a minor miracle. As usual, we were ready to eat, and our trusty guide Frommer’s (see Study Material) had just the spot for us. So, in we traipsed to the Mussel Inn, massive backpacks in tow, but today, fate was our friend: the little corner window table was available and it offered a tad more space to stow our belongings while we dined. Lunch was invigorating; on the menu were (you guessed it) fresh, healthy-sized mussels steamed in one of about ten distinct and delectable-sounding broths – no wrong choices possible here – and served with all the crunchy bread we could handle for dipping. Now properly refueled, it was time to make the trek to our accommodations situated a little outside the city center.
Now, picture two backpack-laden, very clearly American travelers nose-deep in their maps, slowly navigating the Scottish roadways on foot. It gives us a chuckle when we reflect on it, and sure, it’s easy to laugh at ourselves, but also, I would argue that, if two foreign travelers were finding their way through the United States, they would just as likely be sneered at or ignored as they would be offered assistance. Not so, in Scotland. We couldn’t walk more than a few blocks without an offer for directions or recommendations for our visit. There is a portrayal in this country of the Scottish being a hard-scrabble, stoic, unfriendly bunch. However, the Scottish we came across were some of the cheeriest and friendliest people we’ve encountered in all our travels. On top of that, the Glaswegians seemed to take particular pride in welcoming their fellow man.
We caught the metro and zipped up to Kelvinbridge Station, the stop nearest our hotel. This area is a vibrant college town with small businesses, any kind of food you could dream up, and hundreds of students. We had just come from the very official-looking squares of the city center, yet here we were surrounded by shops and cafés on wide, hilly streets just a couple subway stops away. This is a bigger city, mind you, but not huge or sprawling; Erin and I just love cities like Glasgow that give us the feeling of very distinct neighborhoods without having to cover long distances to move from one to the other. Shortly thereafter, we were climbing the stairs of the Kelvin Hotel, and I remember ascending to our room, setting down our bags, turning to Erin and saying, “I feel like we’re back in Nashville…this feels like home!” Glasgow intrigued me to no end, and I had to see more of this vivacious city and its wonderful people. So, it was there in that adorable hotel room that I, Connor, the King of Planning, decided on a major deviation to the itinerary…in lieu of traveling to St. Andrew’s the next day, I chose to stay and enjoy part of my birthday in Glasgow. The golf course has been there for some 450 years; surely, it will be there someday when I return.
Feeling at peace with our new plans – and about 30 pounds lighter without our backpacks – we set off to explore. Seeing as our unprecedented day of no rain was still going strong, we charted a course for the University. The grounds and the large park adjacent seemed as ideal a spot as any to spend a clear autumn evening. En route, we did our best to absorb the energy emitted by the tiny neighborhoods. Glasgow just kept revealing more layers to us, each one full of life. Halfway to the University campus, Erin spotted a tiny, bustling alleyway (I don’t think she had her glasses on, but she could spot string lights anywhere). We joined the crowd amidst a slew of restaurants, bars and shops framed by white brick and dark cobblestones. We didn’t know it then, but we were presently traversing Ashton Lane, a very popular and well-known Glasgow hangout! We passed on through, but we now knew where dinner and drinks would be had later. Nearly to the campus, our progress was abruptly brought to a halt by, you guessed it…a torrential downpour. We ran for cover under a bus stop and started cracking up. We knew our luck with the finicky Scottish weather couldn’t have lasted too much longer.
Now, I am proud to say I attended a University with a stunning campus and some impressive architecture, but the University of Glasgow was like nothing I had seen before. I should note that my knowledge of architecture is limited at best; like most art forms, I judge these creations based on how long they stop me in my tracks. As we meandered in and out of the courtyard, I was truly convinced that some scenes from the Harry Potter films were shot here (they weren't); that is the level of grandiosity these buildings presented. Complementing the man-made beauty was an expanse of green sprawling down the hillside to the city center in the distance. A massive rust-colored rooftop poking above the tree line indicated that the Kelvingrove Art Museum was only walking distance from where we stood. Despite this being high on our list of things to do, evening was slowly but surely giving way to twilight. We poked around campus a little while longer, then backtracked to Ashton Lane to wet our whistles.
Surely, we would’ve been in capable hands at any of the quaint bars and gastropubs along Ashton Lane. We chose the bar in the downstairs of the Grosvenor Cinema for its outdoor seating and central location along the lane. It is now called The Gardener, but I believe it went by a different name at the time. Either way, the bartender was perfectly friendly and helped us pick a good bottle of Cab to share before dinner. From our front-row seats out on the cobblestones, the noises washing out from the pubs and the faces of passersby were of nothing but joy and merriment.
Erin left dinner plans up to me since my birthday was the next day, and little did she know that I had already scouted a place on our first pass through Ashton Lane. Indian food just so happens to be one of my favorite food genres, and wouldn’t you know it, the first establishment we came across when we entered Ashton Lane, up a wee little staircase, was the Wee Little Curry Shop. I knew that, before leaving the UK – known for some of the best Indian fare outside India itself – I was going to have myself a feast, Indian-style. We selected some fairly basic menu options (veggie pakora, chicken tikka, lamb vindaloo and garlic naan), but these classic choices made it abundantly obvious just how superior this was to any Indian food back home. I’ll confess, I don’t really remember the rest of the evening much…I was in curry heaven without a care in the world.
Erin chose our brunch spot, Cafezique, the next morning after checking out. This was a bit of a hike, but it was a block or two from an underground station, and it gave us a chance to explore more of northwest Glasgow. The streets were equally as alive on this bright Monday morning as they had been the night before, just in a more energetic, productive sort of way. My energy levels, on the other hand, were quite depleted after my night of food and wine decadence; nonetheless, I was a year older this morning, and I knew that a coffee and a plate of food, both bound to be large and steaming, were just around the corner. Erin’s breakfast pick was “bang-on” as the locals would say. I would guess it’s pretty rare to have a full Scottish breakfast in a Boho café straight out of a Parisian film, but it was just our style, and the hospitable and good-natured Glaswegians continued to impress us. The bartender even offered to keep our backpacks in the closet nearby, so they would be out of the way while we ate.
After breakfast, feeling like a new man, I was ready to resume my duties as navigator and we zigzagged a couple city blocks until we reached the underground station. From there, the train dropped us in majestic George’s Square, the heart of the city. It would’ve been a wonderful spot to wander around and spend half a day if it weren’t for the fact that, within 15 minutes of our emerging from the underground, the rains settled in with no imminent end in sight. We made a run for the closest cover we could find: an umbrella-stand for the ubiquitous double-decker, sightseeing tour buses. The weather worsening as it was, this seemed like as good a way as any to spend a couple of hours. Sure, it was about the most touristy thing we could have done not involving a selfie stick…but we learned about the sights around Glasgow, and kept our things and ourselves dry in the process.
As infatuated as we had become with our Scottish home away from home, it was time to catch our train for the short ride to Edinburgh. We tend to love everywhere we visit in its own way, but if I had to make a short list of must-returns, Glasgow would certainly be on it, and I think Erin would concur wholeheartedly. Thanks Glasgow, we’ll be back soon!
If you haven't read Lesson One yet, it gives you a good background on my vision for Graduate School...go check it out! We arrived in Glasgow on September 25, 2016 and departed on September 26. If you like the pictures here, there's a bunch more in the gallery for our Glasgow visit. Any questions about specific locations mentioned or pictured, or about our journey in general? Visit Office Hours! My door is always open.
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