We arrived at Queen Street Station hungrier than we expected, and made the poor choice to eat at the restaurant attached to train station (our hotel also being attached to the train station). The restaurant was a massive, empty hall, and it was only us and one other, large party. The staff felt it necessary to tuck us away, behind a pillar, perhaps to keep us out of view of the other patrons who seemed to be having some sort of event.
It was the longest dining experience of my life, having been completely forgotten by the staff for what felt like hours at a time. Of course, in the years since this adventure I've learned that European food service has a somewhat different vibe than its American counterpart, but this was still the least welcomed I've ever felt abroad.
Exhausted from having stayed awake for hours longer than anticipated, we managed to make our way to our room and crash for the night.
As I've mentioned before, one of the many reasons we chose this as our first international trip was the expectation that language would not be an issue. I was not, however, prepared for Glaswegian.
For those unfamiliar, Glaswegian is a dialect localized to – you guessed it – Glasgow. Not only does it contain a vast assortment or unfamiliar words, but the accent itself can feel entirely foreign. It can best be imagined as someone doing their most borderline-offensive Scottish impression, multiplied by a hundred.
Anyway, this language barrier became apparent early on our first day as we ventured to the nearby Caffè Nero for some morning bean juice. I will spare the details of the interaction, but it was certainly the most flustered I've been in my life over a question as simple as "do you have a loyalty card?"
The day started out like most good days – with a distillery tour.
The tour involved a tasting, of course, and an explanation of the process. I'd say some of the real highlights, though, were the conversations with the staff, and the locals who were also enjoying the tour that morning.
Prior to this, I would not have considered myself a Scotch drinker (or whiskey in general). This was the moment I "got it." 10 out of 10, would do again.
Unlike the locals, we opted not to drive ourselves to the distillery. Instead, we enjoyed the long, winding country view from the top of a double-decker commuter bus.
I have no idea how we had the energy, but the rest of the day was spent exploring the city, and the nearby, historic Glasgow Necropolis.
Due to some very poor planning, we decided to check out Sainsbury's for some local snacks before exploring the Necropolis...
The Flight Home
The best flights are the ones you don't remember. Generally, I'd say this was one of those flights. What was memorable was following the advice we received to show up hours early to an international flight. We were so early, in fact, that most of the airport was not yet open. The cab driver must have thought we were nuts.
The Glasgow airport is pretty cool and largely automated so getting through it, once everything opened up, took roughly 15 minutes.
After an eternity in the air, Home.