I left Edinburgh on the 10.30 train to Glasgow. While standing on the platform, I had an informative discussion with a guy about the appropriate price for crisps. It seems the 80p they were charging in the vending machine was “a travesty.” A small bag of crisps should cost 50p or less. He also thought that a Coke was too expensive in the machine. When I told him that everywhere I went in Paris a coke was €2, he just shook his head. “The French,” he shrugged.
The train was a mob scene. I was glad I was early, because I found a seat. People who came after me weren’t so lucky. It was standing room only for the duration of the trip. Nobody seemed to mind. Some younger guys had brought beers along, and sat on the floor in the aisle, drinking and teasing one of their friends. It wasn’t until the journey was half over that I noticed that most of the people on the train with me were men.
It’s only about 50 minutes on the train from Edinburgh to Glasgow. The Queen Street station was twice as busy as Waverley had been an hour previously. I followed the signs to the subway entrance and was met by a bunch of police officers directing people where to go. I got in line to buy a ticket, and the guys behind me started singing songs and chanting things about the Glasgow Rangers. There were two boys standing in front of me with their dad. Finally, I couldn’t resist asking one of them, “who are the Glasgow Rangers?”
The kid looked at me like I was the stupidest woman he’d ever met. “They’re a football team, aren’t they?” His dad smiled and asked where I was from. “You’re obviously not from here,” he laughed.
A moment later, the police yanked the chanting guys behind me out of line. They’d been passing around a bottle of whiskey, a behavior I was told was “bang out of line.” I couldn’t believe it. I’d been in the presence of real Scottish soccer hooligans, and I hadn’t even known it.
I had to walk to the hotel. The subway didn’t go as far south as I needed to go, and the buses were running on a special schedule. I didn’t mind. It was a sunny day and the hotel was only supposed to be 2.2 miles. Unfortunately, the iPad walking directions were crap. It took me much longer than it should have. When I arrived, they let me check in early.
The best part: I had my own room!
I went across the street to Queens Park and enjoyed the sun for a while. Then I got some dinner and went back to the hotel. I fell asleep ridiculously early, happy that I didn’t have to climb anything to get into bed.
Sunday was pretty quiet. I went in search of somewhere to print out my bus ticket to Liverpool, but couldn’t find any place that was open. I took some pictures around the city center, browsed though some bookshops and spent most of the afternoon in the park across the street from my hotel, reading. It was great. I fell asleep early again, watching the BBC news report on the killings in Oslo and the death of Amy Winehouse.
