Last night I went to bed with a rough itinerary in mind for the Saturday to come. When I woke this morning, things seemed to change a little. Although you should never set an alarm for a weekend day when you're off, I figured I would wake up early and go for a lengthy run, thus giving me more hours on a Saturday to enjoy all those simple things I like to do/see - art galleries, photography, coffee, walking. Waking a few hours later than planned, I decided I would need breakfast and a carafe of coffee before doing anything at all. After that, and a few hours of reading news, I decided spit polish and shine my flat top to bottom in advance of the arrival of my next couch surfer tomorrow.
So, as morning turned to afternoon, I decided it was high time I made it to the Hunterian to check out the Edvard Munch print exhibition.I took a short detour to the gallery of the Glasgow University to peruse Hunter's insane collection of ancient coins and stones, medieval maps and texts, abnormal biological test items, butterflies, musical instruments, pre-historic skulls and weapons - that sort of thing. There's a few Renaissance paintings as well, a mummy or two, dinosaurs.
It's one of the best museums in Britain, absolutely free like everything in Glasgow, and I was all alone for about an hour. Imagine wandering a collection of ancient artifacts - the most treasured in Scotland - by yourself on a Saturday afternoon while it poured rain outside. Fantastic.
Leaving the gallery, and walking through the cloisters past yet another summer wedding party, I made my way over to the Munch exhibit. After an hour of admiring the work of the 19th centre master, I figured I would wander down Ashton Lane, a wee cobbled passageway of drink and blether, in the shadow of the university to see how many drunks would be out enjoying the cleaning of the grey cloud on Saturday afternoon.
Running straight into my 'uncle' Frankie - who was on a one day stopover from Australia - I figured I should sit down and share a few lagers with old friends and family. It's a small world. An unexpected meeting for sure, considering I haven't seen him in 18 months, an we weren't meant to meet until next week after he returns from a trip to Dubai. I had no idea he was in town. On top of that, my land lady happened to be around, so she came along and I was able to hand over what I owed her for rent.
Also, one of the reporters I work with was having a drink with a friend across the lane, so she stopped by to say hello, and was around a little later when I had to find some ibuprofen for Frankie who had just traveled for 48 hours from Oz. Oh, and Frankie just happened to having beers with none other than my old foreman from my Scottish 'bricky' days - laying cobblestone driveways - of the summer of 2006. A bit random now that I think about it. In case you were wondering, it is next to impossible for me to be surprised.
I've seen it all, I really have. Going to bed. Getting up early to run a half-marathon before picking up my CouchSurfer. News to follow., plus a weekend in review. Cheers!
Also...articles:
i - Afghans thinking anywhere but Afghanistan.
ii - If you could go anywhere in the world? Today - Back to Istanbul for endless Raki-fueled nights.
iii - Cocktail with a catch.
iv -11 health myths: I have believed most of these my entire life. I guess that would be why they are called myths. Interesting, but please, please, don't crack your knuckles in front of me. yuk!
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2 comments:
It really is a small world we live in....and you seem to be finding that out! I don't even have to ask if you had a few laughs with Frankie......just wished I could have been around the corner as well. Have a great run tomorrow and we will speak soon!
On museum Saturdays – in from the rain under vaulted ceilings, giant cabinet of wonders, alone with only the sound of your own footsteps = perfect.
On chance encounters – crazy and also perfect… though I’m sure wherever you are, you’ll walk the streets and people will know your name, especially if it’s in one of your many homes across the globe.
Thanks for sharing, run for miles, enjoy another Sunday in Scotland.
Post Script: on earlier musings (July.abroad.forever) – As Calgarians yet again saddle up for another bacchanalian ten days in the Heart of the New West, I’m beginning to fear that Stampede is a stubborn tradition that has dug in its heels and is here to stay.
Don’t get me wrong, I have no problem with the whole Cowboy Mystique that is the ideological force behind the whole affair, but perhaps we should take a step back and revel at the intriguing hilarity of it all… Though I do kind of like the fact that horses parade around the streets of downtown, cowboy boots become a part of the work uniform, and hats can be spotted on 9 out of 10 people in the Core – and no one bats an eye.
Maybe I’m too young, maybe I need a better, more respectful sense of the history of this town, a less jaded and judgmental outlook. Maybe one too many drunk cowboys has spit on my shoes one too many times on the train ride home. Maybe I should just smile and go along for the ride. Think I’ll try that this year. Cheers.
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