Sunday: Glasgow

We got in to Glasgow about 6 AM, EST, 11:00 AM local time. Glasgow is chilly, cloudy, gray---like San Francisco or Seattle---but beautiful. We passed through the most painless Customs visit ever. It was on the Honor System. "Do you have anything to claim?" a sign asked us. "Yes" led to the right; we answered "no" and went through the left hall which had a few unattended x-ray scanners and metal detectors. We consumed Nero coffee and boarded our tour bus.

I really wish I could record our tour guide, Ian, because the phrases he uses are so incredibly Scottish.
"Jolly good!"
"Years ago, before Maggie [Thatcher], you couldn't even buy a Bible on Sunday."

The road signs here are strange. Most of the distances seem to be in the English system---300 yds, 4 miles. There are a plethora of traffic circles (roundabouts), which are weird enough, but disconcerting to go around clockwise. Leaving the airport we met a set of barriers that required the bus to zigzag through in lieu of speed bumps.

Once we got to our hotel every one else opted to nap; I took off towards St. Mungo's Cathedral, about 2 km (just over 1 mile) away. It is amazing to me that Europeans are able to live in a city with such a depth of history. The cathedral, for example, was built in the 16th century. I understand that DC and Charlottesville have rich histories by American standards, but it is not the same as original flying buttresses and underground crypts. Needless to say, St. Mungo's had a beautiful, spiritual presence---and I thought it was just a name J.K. Rowling made up!

Behind the cathedral is, creepily enough, a Necropolis. A large hill covered in tombstones and masoleums. The gravemarkers closest to the church are so old that the writing has been completely eroded; the stones on the hill were mostly 19th century, from what I saw. I felt an urge to climb to the top of the hill, and I was rewarded with an almost unhindered view of the Glasgow skyline, with industrial buildings and functional office buildings mixed in with the medieval spires.

Another walk brought my parents to Central Station. I had never been in a train station, unless you count wandering in to Grand Central Station to find the rare public bathroom in DC. I am beginning to understand David's foreign friends who were amazed at our escalators---my thing might be trains. I have only once ridden a 'real' train, a passenger line in Alaska which was some double-decker contraption, but never anything like this. And the Station! It was obvious it was once outdoors, and the old facades were kept and converted into modern shops, but with a glass roof bridging from one side to the other. I stood in the center of it all, taking in the ticket booth and the sports news (a large majority of any news report in Scotland appears to be devoted to sports) and the luggage-bearing people. There wasn't anything physically seperating us from the trains, not like the Metro turn styles. A very small area with everything integrated together, not like anything I've ever experienced. Unfortunately I didn't take my camera on that excursion.

Before dinner we had a free "welcome drink" in the hotel bar. It was a little intimidating, this is the first time I've been of legal drinking age, and I'd never ordered a drink at a bar before. When I asked for a screwdriver, the bartender looked at me, "That's... uhh... orange juice and... vodka, right?" Maybe screwdrivers are American.