Sylvia's Journal

We are learning to say ‘brilliant’ instead of ‘fabulous,’ or ‘great,’ or ‘wow!’ We saw more of Makintosh’s (and his wife’s) brilliance today in the house he designed for a German competition. He (they) didn’t win the competition and probably should have. The house (A House for An Art Lover) was not meant to be build. But it was built anyways by architects and crafts men and women who liked a challenge. 

The house is located in the middle of the grounds where the World International Exhibition was held in 1901 – a large park that now contains sports club, the Mackintosh house, a beautiful walled garden, glass (=green) houses, and even several ski slopes where young Glaswegians were preparing their slaloms to be ready for the first snow fall (apparently just a few months away).

We had reserved a table in the restaurant that is located at the ground floor of The House, following the recommendations of our newly discovered virtual guide, the chaotic scot. It was a superb meal (our umpteenth), which left us full for hours.

We had lucked out on sunshine and blue sky for a good part of the day, making our walk through the garden very pleasant. By the time we had figured out which bus would get us to the next attraction the rains had arrived. As someone pointed out, that was the weather more typical at this time of the year. 

Our last museum visit in Glasgow was the Riverside Museum, mostly to admire the late Zaha Hadid’s design.  We should have had Faro with us as it was full of mechanical things he would have liked, some very large and some very small (boats, trains and automobiles). A tall ship moored on the quai allowed for a nice view of the building.

We picked up our backpacks at the hotel and, in the pouring rain, headed to Queen Station to catch the express train back to Edinburgh. We had hoped to find a nice pub at the station for a pint before boarding the train, but unlike Glasgow’s Central Station it was more functional (get on or off the train and leave!). We boarded the train earlier than planned, to get out of the rain and have our pint in Edinburgh just in time for the cocktail hour.  A little impatient I got myself a wee dram of single malt from the catering man with the trolley who happened to have such things on his cart (of course). And here ends our Glasgow adventure.

In Boston, when you ask about the weather, you are supposed to say, “wait a minute.’’ But here in Scotland we learn what fast changing weather really means. Boston, and New England, have rather stable weather patterns compared to here.  You can literally have all seasons in one hour. A day in Glasgow required layers: a tank top for when the sun is out, a cardigan for when the sun disappears behind dark clouds which can come out of nowhere, a rain jacket for when it starts to sprinkle and an umbrella and more serious rain jacket  (a Mackinosh) when all hell breaks loose. No snow and sleet yet.

After my haircut and Axel’s nap we sauntered around the neighborhood of the hotel – which is visibly influenced by Mackintosh, all art nouveau and decently priced as well. Again, the staff is from other continents – it appears that Scots either cannot or want not work in the hospitality industry.

We found a lunch place that advertises its offerings accompanied by data on calories and proteins and such. We could have known since it is called Kcal. The name seemed rather boring or scientific but the menu was wonderful. It clearly catered to the young and health conscious working people employed in the neighborhood. Since I am not checking on weight these two weeks, we ate, as we do all the time, with abandon.

We sorted out the bus system and made our way to see various Mackintosh legacies – first The Lighthouse. We clambered all 500 or so steps to the top of the Lighthouse to survey the city scape of Glasgow. A friend had told us that Glasgow was industrial, awful, grimy, ugly. And besides it rains there all the time.  It is probably good to go to a place with no expectations at all. It led to some pleasant surprises.

Our second Mackintosh stop was the Hunterian Art Gallery to admire the family home of the MacDonald/Mackinstoshes that has been re-assembled inside the gallery. We arrived rather late in the day, just an hour before closing. 

After the Mackinosh’s house, we had just enough time to admire the many fabulous life size portraits of women painted by Whistler. The women in these portraits are truly ‘magnifique.’ I wished they’d been exhibited all by themselves against a white background.

Much like the fishmonger in Portobello, closing up time means turning the key and stepping out of the building. Thus, preparations for closing start long before the actual closing time.  By the time we were ushered out by a gaggle of museum employees hovering by the exit door the toilets were already locked. 

We ended our day in a pub, where else, me sampling another interesting whiskey and Axel a pint. Across the street we noticed a fish restaurant and, as by invisible threads, were drawn there. More oysters, more salmon,  and a gin tonic sampling a few more of Scotland’s great gins.  We think Glasgow is a cool place to visit and two days is much too short.

We are in Glasgow now. We took the slow train by mistake. The trip took 45  minutes longer than the express but it turned out to be a good thing, as sometimes happens with mistakes, because several thing happened that would not have happened otherwise (synchronicity I guess). One: we had a delightful chat with the conductress who had little to do since few people got on in Edinburgh and those that did, got off in small villages along the route. Two: we had a table and four seats to ourselves for the whole trip – which took place during the morning rush hour.  

Three: upon arrival at the impressive Glasgow central station, we had a chance encounter with a foodie guide who pointed us to the best coffee place in Glasgow. Four: we arrived at the hotel before normal check out time, yet there was already a room ready for us to move in when we had expected to just store our backpacks. This meant that Axel could take a nap while I went out to find a hairdresser to cut away some of my locks which were getting too heavy and too wingy.

We had passed by several hair salons on our way to the hotel and I picked one I could look into and that appeared quiet enough to take a walk-in. The sticker price was a little high but when the maestro himself checked out my head and hair and said he could cut it in such a way that it would last for 2 months, the price became very reasonable. 

All along the walls were pictures of the maestro himself with various famous people, including Bill Clinton (though he confessed he had not actually cut his hair). He set to work on my hair as if a painter in front of a blank canvass. We chatted about white/grey hairs and the wisdom of grey hairs – though he said he had encountered many grey-haired people who were not wise at all. His own hair was totally white, but it turned out to be dyed because his grey/white hairs were not thick like mine and had become transparent. Although he was nearing retirement age he said he loved his work and would not stop until he couldn’t work anymore. He said his haircut was going to make me look younger, and was that OK?

When he was done with his artistry (an artist he was indeed), he gave me a kiss on the cheek and his wife took my 65 pounds. Upon leaving the hair salon, with a bounce in my step because I was so much lighter, the sun came out and shone on my new coiffure. Seeing sun in Glasgow is, we were told, a very unusual thing.