Return from Glasgow

I didn't wish to suggest that I had any doubts about the wisdom of visiting Scotland, a part of the UK I had not ventured to before this last weekend. As I suspected beforehand, it quite suited me as a place. I hate heat and rather enjoy a slight edge in the air even when it's sunny, and I do like a good bit of rugged landscape. So no, no reservations about Scotland. Until late on, I didn't even detect the slightest hint of the chippiness towards the English that others have claimed exists, and everybody was extremely friendly, yellow-jacketed bus station staff and all.

My worry was more about the way this trip was actually happening. My previous existence among the brethren was, frankly, sheltered and middle-class, and I had doubts whether I could adapt to night buses and hostels. There's good and bad news about that.

Firstly though, isn't it great to be able to schedule a trip to somewhere several hundred miles away with no need to worry about approval or an imposed agenda? I had never been to Glasgow, and now I have, and all it took was a weekend and a couple of emails and phone calls. I wish I could report more on what the city is really like as a result, but being in holiday mode we opted for relaxation over thoroughness. However I am happy to add my voice to what seems to be a generally accepted approval for Kelvingrove Museum and Gallery. Besides the wide range of exhibits (why not hang a spitfire above an assortment of stuffed animals and include a fibreglass Elvis in the entrance to the same hall?) the Cafe serves a really good lunch with practically no waiting. I would happily go back there tomorrow and wander around some more.

As I would to the Burrell collection, actually. Maybe it's my ever-distractable state of mind, but I found both places to be exactly to my taste by being remarkably non-specific.

I must also return (probably unaccompanied) to Loch Lomond or similar, as there are spectacular photographs to be captured, I'm sure. Photos and company don't mix very well, I've found, so company always comes first. Being specific about people is the firmest self-set taboo on this blog so I won't say too much, but one of these days I'll write a non-specific entry about hospitality and this last weekend will be very much in my mind. Good company enhances great experiences and makes up for bad ones.

Which leads me to the fact that I was very pleasantly surprised by the hostel. It was in a beautiful location and a very nice building, although a little shabby inside. We didn't get quite the room we were promised, either. But in general, I thoroughly enjoyed the easy-come easy-go attitude, and the way it was possible to go and cook a meal when it felt like the right time. I'm a self-service sort of person, and I suspect a hotel would feel stifling by comparison.

Sadly I didn't enjoy the bus, though. I have never been good at sleeping while travelling, so I was slightly apprehensive about using the journey as a sleep time. Sure enough, the journey up was cold and marred by being shoehorned next to the loo and the emergency exit (with the only light which couldn't be switched off). The people were fine, so we had hopes that if we turned up early enough to get a good seat for the journey back, all would be well. However, we hadn't reckoned on a troop of infantile football supporters, including one with the unfortunate combination of the most abrasive voice I've encountered for a long time and a need for constant attention and peer approval. So I didn't sleep, but did enjoy some soothing classical music delivered through noise-eliminating earphones.

Still, two hits out of three is pretty good. Scotland - tick. Hostels - tick. Night Buses - jury still out, but so far I've experienced two ways in which they can be bad.