May 21, 2007
Excited to begin our big trip and just hours after landing in London, we spend five hours on a train, alighting in Glasgow in the evening. The skys were grey and spitting, so we bundled up and walked around for supplies and then boarded another train to a campground that we had found in a guide book, which we hastily borrowed from Irene in the drop off zone of the airport in Washington. (Yes, your image of our frantic departure is correct.)
Stepps, a quiet suburb of Glasgow, was only 10 minutes away. Just after setting off from the train station, a nice man (unsolicited) directed us to the campground. He was just the first in a seemingly endless string of pleasant, funny and helpful people we've met so far. He also recommended a "watering hole" called, and I'm not making this up, the Wee Pub and then ambled off to get a refreshment from the same. We continued with his directions and were soon stretched out in our comfortable tent listening to the pattering rain.
Later that evening, and just out of a freshly assembled tent, a huge Great Dane bounded toward me and a man yelled, "Hola!" The dog smelled an offered hand and walked off uninterested. I started talking with the man and discovered that he was Spanish, named Hacho (sp?--the H is silent, right?) and worked in Glasgow, although I was told there was no work that day. His wife, Goi (short for Goiatz), was the manager of the camping section of the caravan park. The dog was named Chaos. Apparently, Hacho thought I was Spanish because there were many of his compatriots in Glasgow for a big football game. Hacho and Goa were pleasant and we chatted for a few mintues before heading off for dinner.
The walk to dinner was drawn out, due to the spread of the town and the scarcity of restaurants. Eventually, with help from two women at the Ironing Basket, we ended up at the Buchaner Inn Cafe or something and had a filling, if generic, meal before returning for a hard sleep.
End of day one.
