Glasgow

Day 14-15

First impressions of Glasgow are great. Driving from the airport, I can see this is a big, sprawling, busy place. The taxi pulled up outside my central city hotel, and I could see many people around. Some are clearly tourists like me, while most appear to be locals.

I arrive at my 6th-floor hotel room, which seems to back onto a train station. It’s an interesting view of other buildings and a roof cover that, I believe, covers trains and the like. The view is so different from home.

I’ve heard and read good things about Glasgow's changing face, high-end shopping, cafes, and incredible art scene, and I can’t wait to get back down to street level and walk around to see the place. Unfortunately, though, my Google searches never warned me to pack a bulletproof vest.

It’s true; there is a Rolex store nearby and various other high-end stores in a big shopping district, and for those with balls enough to be seen stepping out of a store like that in this area: respect!

So, I stepped out of my hotel doors and onto the pavement. I’d only been here ten minutes and had taken my first dozen or so steps from my hotel exit when I heard a commotion. I realise it’s a group of people under the influence of drugs, so I make a point not to stare and begin to move away amidst other people on the footpath.

There appear to be groups of addicts in click groups here and there, but I had no handbag, so I wasn’t worried and never thought much more about it. Until…I look across the street and see my reflection in the shop window opposite. I see a crackie man push off the wall and charge toward me. Knowing I was in trouble, I spun around and saw that he had one hand in his leather jacket pocket and the other arm out swinging with his run. His eyes are full of intent as I high-speed-process my response, deciding I will run around a large metal bin nearby and try to keep it between us. A blurry yellow vest passes in front of my eyes. It’s two police officers that came out of nowhere and dove in front of me, grabbed him by the scruff, pushed him backwards, slamming him against the wall. The police officer yells in a thick Scottish accent, “whada ya think yoor doin?”

Feck! I thought while standing back and taking a quick photo of this wonderful travel memory.

Oh well, it’s part of travel. No harm done, onwards.

I passed many busy cafés and restaurants, but I was not hungry, so I decided to go shopping and find some Scottish gifts to take home for my family. In the centre of a wide mall path, I find myself in the middle of some Muslim demonstration. There are loads of photos of Muslims enlarged and on display. The man with the microphone is pointing to the photographs and yelling, but with the accents, crackle of the microphone, and crowd jeers, I’m clueless what this is all about, so I keep moving.

I’ve walked several blocks, stopped at a bar for a drink, and people-watched for a while. I head back toward my hotel and grab a few small items in a souvenir store.  

It's late now, and I’m pretty tired.

It’s not the sirens, the poltergeist intermittent door rattling, or the party of wild nanny-vine types yeehooing and cackling loudy until 2 am a few rooms over, but I can not get to sleep.

Well…okay, it may have something to do with all that.

I message my friend back in Australia who used to live in Glasgow. She's disappointed at my experience during this short stopover but tells me my mistake was staying near the station.

Will I return with my family? she asks.

Probably yes. I'm sure Glasgow has more to offer than one lone lousy day.

I’m off to cram a few wee hours sleep in noow, and then I’ll head for Edinburgh sprightly.

Mar sin leibh an-drasta = bye for now.