From Glasgow with Peas

Now this is a city. More than one person, upon hearing I was going to Glasgow for the weekend, remarked that it was too bad I hadn't chosen Edinburgh, as it was the much better city. Although I have not been to Edinburgh, I just cannot see how this is possible (the truth is I didn't choose Glasgow as much as it was the city I could get a flight to for cheap). Here is what Glasgow can offer you: if you like architecture, pubs, art, clubbing, or especially shopping, Glasgow has it in spades.

I arrived on Friday via no-frills airline Ryan Air on a flight which took half as long as the bus ride from my house to the airport: about 45 minutes. How no-frills is Ryan Air? There are no seat assignments. That's right, general admission. We were up and down before you knew it, so I didn't mind getting a seat in the middle of the row at the back of the plane.

From Prestwick airport, it's a 45 minute train ride to city center, 5 minute walk to the subway, 10 more minutes on the subway and then a meandering walk around town until I finally find my hotel. The hotel was on Alexander Terrace, which, where I'm from, just means a short street in a new subdivision. In Scotland, it was quite literal. Above a set of storefronts, set in the side of a hill, was a wide walkway and a row of four story buildings including my hotel.

I checked in and headed back downtown. After all the running around, it was almost 4pm. I had landed at noon. Oh well. I hustled to George's Square in an attempt to make the last open top tour bus. I missed it by a few minutes, but this actually turned out to be a lucky break - the next day I got a ticket first thing in the morning and learned it was good for 48 hours, hop on and off anywhere in the city. So I walked around the square and took in a few of the statues and incredible buildings surrounding it.



I tried to walk to a couple of minor attractions after that, but things were closing up. Next, the weather turned terrible. It had been windy and cold since I arrived, but it started to rain and quickly turned into a downpour. Plus I was starving and thirsting for a wee drop. I followed my excellent guidebook's suggestion (Footprint Glasgow) as to the best pub in town: The Horse Shoe.

This pub has the largest island bar I have ever seen, with plenty of friendly staff jumping about to serve everyone. It was the right kind of crowded when I arrived - a bustling, happy to be out of work crowd for a nice Friday, but I was still able to find a nice spot to sit near the fire. You don't usually think of pub décor to be visually appealing, but at The Horse Shoe, it was.

At the bar, I was reminded of the old Saturday Night Live skit that goes - no pepsi, coke. You want coke. I went up and asked if they had a Carlsberg.

"No Carlsberg. Tennet's?" She offered, directing me to the local brew.

"Um, do you have a Miller?" Don't ask me why, but Miller Genuine Draft is a huge seller in Ireland. Even though you can't find a Miller Lite to save your life.

"No Miller. I have Tennet's." She looked at me expectantly.

"Tennet's it is." When in Rome . . .

I sat by the fire and realized not all the smokiness was coming from it. A gentleman came in with a load of shopping bags smoking a cigar. I cleared a space at the bench I had covered with my stuff.

"No reason for me to take up two spots."

"Ooo great, sew long as ya don't mind me smoke. Gut to get in me last few puffs."

My benchmate soon explained that Scotland's ban on smoking was to go into effect on Sunday. It was strange to be back in a bar with smoke. It does give the atmosphere that I expect in a bar, but of course it's so much nicer without it. I talked a bit, drank a bit, and generally just tried to dry out and soak in The Horse Shoe.

Consulting my guidebook, the weather, and my general mood, I realized that it would be silly to try and tour the city at 6pm on a Friday. I picked out a spot to eat and one to drink, and headed out.

At The Maltman, I had a typical Scottish meal: the smothered chicken breast. Take a cooked chicken breast, pour barbecue sauce on it (do not marinate or cook it with the sauce - this is wrong), top it with Canadian bacon and melted cheddar. Serve with fries and peas. Yes peas. Welcome to Scotland. Here is where I experienced something I never have in Ireland, and it would recur throughout the weekend. Scottish people couldn't understand my accent. Even my trick of talking slowly and over enunciating did no good. Eventually, I risked being seen as condescending and imitated their accent to the best of my ability. This did work.

I stopped quickly at The Pot Still, a nice pub with a strange name. There was a big sign outside explaining where the name came from, but in the pouring rain I didn't have the patience to read the seven paragraph explanation. The staff was friendly here, chatting away with me, as much as they struggled to understand. The Pot Still has over 500 types of Scottish Whisky to choose from, and they're displayed on shelves that reach to the ceiling - they even have one of those ladders on rails like you'll see at a library or bookstore to reach them all. One thing I noticed was becoming a pattern was that there are no stools up at the bar. Over the course of my research, I found that about three of four Scottish pubs do not have stools at the bar. This would be fine if I was travelling with a group, but where it's just me I feel a bit strange taking up a whole table, especially when it's crowded like it was at The Pot Still.

Heeding the "when in Rome" tenet, I asked the bartender to recommend a whisky for me, keeping in mind that I almost never drink it. He brought me a fine Glen-Fiddle-Macka-Something. It was good with my Guinness, but I'd have to admit when pressed that it tasted like Dewar's to me.

After that I caught the subway home. Just at my corner, however, I noticed The Western Bar. I peeked in and noticed Miller on tap, a nice fire and stools at the bar. Apparently God does have a plan for me. Inside, the big screen telly showed early 80s videos. When I sat down with my beer, they were playing "Say Hello Wave Goodbye" by Soft Cell. Did you know Soft Cell had a second song? I sure didn't. It was so very 80s I almost couldn't keep from laughing - these guys made Boy George look like Hulk Hogan. Now, before you start to think this was Xanadu, I should tell you that Drunk Girl was there. And try as I might to avoid her, she just had to talk to everyone. At least it was a misery shared with my fellow drinkers. Two beers and half an hour later I trudged up the terrace and into bed.