Sunny Scotland

Off the airplane and into the brisk air of England, I thought that I might have to steel myself for the stereotypical weather of Scotland: Wet, cold and windy. That estimation proved to be far from the mark and I enjoyed beautiful sunny days during my stay in Glasgow and Glencoe.

I had thought at one point that flying from London to Glasgow would be the best way to head north, but I decided to take the (significantly) cheaper option and go by bus. My flight from Istanbul landed just after noon and I made my way into the city centre to catch the next available bus. Unfortunately my first available option was the 10:30 PM overnight bus that would get me to Glasgow at seven in the morning, so I hunkered down in the bus station for a long wait. I can't think of a better place to people-watch than a bus station, and I did just that for a while, until I struck up conversation with the old guy sitting next to me. With his shapeless felt hat and shoulder-length grey hair, he looked to be an ageing hippy, and after we got to talking it turned out he was pretty much that. The lead guitarist for Manfred Man, he had stepped out of the band after the drugs got too hard (from the little I gleaned they would have had to be pretty hard for him to qualify them as such) and is now operating a hemp farm outside of London that was passed down to him by his grandfather. "Of course, a little weed somehow slips in there now and then," he said, grinning as he told me how he was still sticking it to The Man. I thought that would be my most interesting conversation, but after - well, I never did get his name - the musician-turned-farmer left, a dazed skinhead sat down near me and tried to get me to buy a FIFA Playstation game. He had apparently blown all his money on booze and cocaine over the course of forty-eight hour rave and didn't have bus fare to get to the airport for his flight. He did have a litte baggie of coke that he checked to see was still safely tucked away his sock, but no cash. And if that wasn't enough, he had a new eight-inch tatoo on his forearm: "Cynthia." "Who's that?" I asked. "I dunno." he slurred. "But my girlfriend is not goin' to like it." When I finally caught my bus he was sleeping, hunched over his bag, apparently having given up hope of selling his Playstation game.

I rolled into Glasgow where I stayed for two nights, walking around the city and seeing the sights. There really wasn't that much happening, at least not much that I was interested in, and after wandering through the parks and the free museum of Kelvingrove, I headed further north up to small town of Glencoe where I stayed with family friends.

Vilma and John Deighton, grandparents of friends I grew up next door to in Fort McMurray, fed me to the point of bursting and made me feel so welcome that I stayed for the rest of the week. It was a great way to catch up on years-worth of stories as well as recharge my batteries for the last two weeks of the trip. I really did precious little, seeing a bit of the town and going on a hike up the glen one day, though most of the time I spent eating, reading and sleeping. Fantastic.

On Monday I caught a bus from Glencoe, then another bus, and then a ferry, and then one last bus to arrive in Belfast in the evening. Stay tuned for an Ireland update to follow.