Glasgow #1

We bid a fond​ farewell to Durham this morning. The train was packed with people heading to Newcastle, including a few squatters in our reserved seats. They tried to ignore us, but Anne evicted them, and we settled in to enjoy the beautiful scenery as the train winds it's way up the coast towards Edinburgh.

After Newcastle the voice over the past changed to almost impenetrable Scottish.

We determined that the train was going as far as Motherwell. We asked the impressive looking chap who came to check our tickets what we should do. He assured us that we should stay on to Motherwell, and there would be a bus waiting to take us to Glasgow. Motherwell had a nice comforting ring to it, so we sat tight.  When we arrived at a rather Dungey concrete station in the middle of nowhere, a similarly impressive looking chap advised us to follow the crowd up the stairs to the bus. A flurry of cursing passengers dragging huge cases bounced their way up the stairs.  When we arrived, two other chaps in fluoro vests told the by now cranky crowd to get lost, no buses for the likes of you here, none of our business.  The passengers seemed to have a higher than average percentage of people with personality disorders. General chaos. Welcome to Scotland. We were sent to another platform, and eventually another train appeared, and despite a persistent clunking noise, it carried us all slowly and safely to Glasgow station. Feeling a bit frazzled by this point we sprung for a taxi, and the driver was friendly and helpful, a good antidote to the earlier experience. The girl who checked us in was lovely. And the young waitress who sprinted about 500 metres after us to reunite me with my phone which I had left behind, well she sealed the deal - Glasgow people are really nice.

I went for a walk around Kelvingrove Gardens while Anne had a rest, then we had dinner at what claims, probably with some justice, to be Glasgow's best Indian restaurant. We sat next to a group of young women all of Indian descent, all clad in beautiful bright saris, who chattered away in Hindi, but would occasionally switch to English, which they spoke with broad Scottish accents.

After dinner we went for another walk through the gardens and past the rows of fine sandstone terraces that face the gardens. There must have been some serious money in Glasgow in the 19th Century. This side of the city has some impressive architecture, but the Stewart fountain, which commemorates the men who brought clean water to Glasgow, is perhaps best described as quaint. 

We have noticed that the twilight's seem to be more peaceful and magic the further north we go - just beautiful out there tonight.