This morning at breakfast, we struck up a conversation with the two Norwegians next to us. One now lives in Sweden, he is the talkative one. His friend now lives in Northern Iceland. Icelandic guy is bent over, head almost on the table, holding his coffee cup like a life saver thrown to a man drowning in whisky.
"So, did you spend yesterday tasting whisky?" I asked.
He cracks one eye open. "Yup."
The conversation off to a smooth start, I ask where in Iceland does he live, and he fills us in on life in north central Iceland. "We are the capital of the north, with 16,000 residents, so we have everything, you know, a university, ... but there is one thing I really miss that they have in Reyjkavik... KFC." Gail and couldn't help it, we burst out laughing, and the discussion soon turned to Starbucks; the Norwegians puzzled by the popularity of bad coffee.
Their plans for today: they are very excited to spend the day at Laphroig.
The whole day.
All. Day. Drinking.
At this part of the conversation the Icelander threw off his hangover, the sparkle entered his eye, and they were making excited plans.
Mary, eyes twinkling under her red hair, brought my full Scottish breakfast and looked at Gail eating her cereal, yogurt and banana and asked sweetly, "Aren't you going to eat any breakfast, dearie?"
I ducked, trying not to laugh: Gail was eating a big breakfast!
We left Islay in heavy fog. The CalMac ferry was even better than the last one, with a huge casino type light fixture in the bistro area, comfortable coffee shop, full restaurant on the fifth deck, a glassed in children's play area, an adults' play area (slot machines), gift store, a quiet lounge, lots of seating nooks, a sixth floor observation deck, elevators, and showers, actual showers in the bathrooms. It was fun to just wander around the ship looking at everything. Just yesterday everyone was out on deck sunning themselves, today everyone is inside huddled over coffee or whisky (Some of these people are hard core!); the wake disappears about 100 yards behind the ship, all the islands are invisible.
We drive off the ferry, into the sun, head back the way we came, then turn off to Inveraray. Quick break in this town to see the waterfront and different buildings, then we are back on the road to Glasgow. A news report on BBC tells of a mom who had her baby while trapped on an elevator. She named the girl Ella, of course.
We got to Glasgow, checked into our hotel, and were dropping the key off in the lobby when we ran into Rick Steves. It is nice to see he really does stay in the places he recommends. "This is next year's guidebook," he said, holding up a notebook. We asked, and he graciously posed for a photo with us before we started off into the city. We were just like tongue tied groupies with a star.
We ate dinner al fresco at Amarone, in Nelson Mandela Place (square). Gail got a salad and a pizza with tomato, lettice and parmesan; I ended up eating most of it. I got a great Italian sausage pasta. Bonus: good wine! A Primitivo from Puglia.
The wine popped, and the waitress said, "It's a very satisfying sound."
Some guy around the corner provided dinner music, beating on bongo drums. At least he is not playing bagpipe tunes! Our waiter spent two years in the US, Kansas of all places, on a soccer scholarship. One of his teammates still plays for the Wizards. All in all a very good meal.
After dinner we walked over to George Square, and then down to the river. Glasgow seems to me the most "European" city we have been in so far this trip. It is a combination of the architecture, the people and the dining outdoors. Where Edinburgh was more grey block and stern, Glasgow is red sandstone, more ornate, warm, interspersed with modern buildings and classic Roman or Greek lines.
The population seems younger, but that is just my impression. There is a lot less emphasis on tartan and whisky and bagpipes, thank god.
We sat on the steps of a store and watched life go by:
A toothless clarinet player, playing with such feeling, so much tone; I have no change so tell him that sure sounded so smooth. He asks where we are from, and breaks into The Star Spangled Banner (jazzy, big band version). I notice a surprising number of drunks out by 21:00. I don't want to be famous enough to have a statue, for two reasons: first, pigeons sit and shit on your head for centuries, and second, people do funny things to you, like putting a cone on your head. Kids on bikes jumping and doing tricks, just like at home. A man walks by and says hi, so we both say hi before we realize he is on his cell. The double decker busses here are white. A homeless man is taking out his change of clothes and setting up his sleeping bag in front of an abandoned storefront.
The street performer in the next storefront over, with great acoustics, "Ain't no sunshine when she's gone." Two girls, lovers, stroll arm in arm past a couple making out in the alley.
The grey girl: grey hair, grey tight pants, grey sequined top, listening to her iPod, oblivious. Two huge new backpacks sitting side by side on a bench, in front of the co-op, their owners sprawled out on the facing bench drinking a cold beer and eating chips for dinner; backpacking through Europe. I wonder: will they hostel or sleep in the park?
I wonder how the Norwegians are doing after a day of drinking?
Thus ended our last day in Scotland.