Market Moments

 

It was in a Berlin flea market we accidentally stumbled upon that we saw someone selling old antique doll heads. Making our way across the world, and with sometimes as little as a hand full of hours, we’ve found the most entertainment in markets. Not only good for the people watching aspect, but the variety of what the world has to sell.

 While in London we paid a visit to Camden Market. This the largest open-air market in London, open 364 days a year (closed December 25^th) and one of the best flea markets I’ve seen. It’s like your spice rack of flea markets. Vintage stores, strange Japanese flare, neon underground selections, DJ’s, antique stores, foods from around the world, henna tattooing, record shops, artwork, graffitied clothing, all-leather stalls and even eating areas with seats made out of the back half of old scooters and Vespas. 

We had four hours to make of Brussels so we decided to see its flea market. A local market that ran seven days a week from 4:30 am till 1 pm sounded promising and surely interesting. It has been our plan to pay a visit to a flea market in every city that we visit and the Brussels flea market has been the most memorable. People’s old photo albums still full of pictures of people, vintage bottles of wine from the 80’s, rusted antique cutlery, plastic toy drills for kids and shoe laces. Morgan was able to exchange a pair of Price Less shoes he’d picked up in Reading for a wedding for a pad lock. Starving, we stopped at a cafe and ordered a Crocque Madame (toasted ham and cheese sandwich with an egg on top) that too an hour to make and left us running across the city of Brussels to make the next train out of Belgium.

 

Sitting in the Milano train station waiting on our night train to Prague, I realized that we hadn’t been to a market in Milan. “In Italy the market comes to you and it’s crap!” Morgan says. It’s true. In Milan, the shopping metropolis of Italy, you’re more likely to end up scoping out the Nigerian selection of friendship bracelets than designer decal. They approach you with a tray of bright friendship bracelets saying that they have something nice and “free” for you or “it’s for Africa”. Sternly saying no and walking away won’t help you. Morgan had one of these guys grab his hand and tie a ‘free bracelet’, but to have it then ask for a euro. It’s funny what you find yourself doing to get across your message of “No, I’m not going to buy anything from you or give you money” across. To the gypsies in Berlin, we pretended we were deaf and practiced some sign language. The young gypsy girl looked at us confusingly, realizing that there are crazier people out there than her gypsy-kind, laughed and moseyed on.  In Milan, some guys pushed flowers on Morgan to which he replied “No thanks guys, I’m not hungry.”  Walking into our abuse of the language barrier, they walked on leaving us in stitches. 

Looking more closely, street toys are really some of the oddest. The Arab guys outside the Milan central train station sold the exact same five toys only a few feet away from each other. To be that close in proximaty  would only make sense if they were running bets on whose dancing cow jived best, or who had the longest running wind up jet airliner. I still can’t for the life of me understand the blob balls – those sticky balls that when thrown against a flat surface they flatten and slowly regain their shape. I think by far the best street toy so far has to be what we’ve coined, Stupid Barbie.  At first glance, it’s Barbie pedalling around in circles on a red bicycle, but looking closer you’ll notice her 10 speed has training wheels. It would make us laugh harder when we celebrated Barbie’s 50^th birthday at the Toy Museum in Prague.

Prague’s largest flea market was dead on a Saturday. It consisted entirely of Asian vendors selling the same cheaply made and miniature sized knock off items and had been creatively dubbed the Yellow Market. I was in the market for a nice set of thermal wear since Poland would be the next pit stop, but was unsuccessful in my search. Had I been in market for brass knuckles, health cigarettes (fake plastic cigarettes) or stuffed top genitals I would have hit the jackpot. Instead, we tried some local Prague Kelbasa (menu read:  bread, kelbasa and paper plate), potato latkis and hot wine. The hot wine was a hit. Tasting like a hot cider, it was made of cloved wine, hot water and cubes of sugar. Another recipe called for a slice of orange. It’s delicious and a great way for wine lovers to liven up a disappointing bottle or cheap wine.

We have many market moments to look forward to. We hear they’ve got a bucket of goat heads on display in Morocco.

The Limey

The Flanders Field Flop and a Midget Pony

The celebrated Flanders Field rests in Waregem, Belgium. You would think that Belgians would recognize the site as a tourist destination, but it’s actually one of the hardest sites to see. It would appear as though Belgium couldn’t care less about the historic American site (which is also home to many Belgian/Americans who fought in WWI and II). They don’t even have a bike rental option in the area. There is absolutely no transportation that will take you to the site other than pre paid couch tours that are only organized via hotels. From a website, we were advised to take a taxi – it would be the only way. When we arrived at the Waregem train station we asked the ticket booth administrator how we could get to Flanders Field and if there was a bus.  He scoffed out a “No bus!” as if it were funny and then said it was quite far away, maybe 5-6 kms.  We asked if there was a tourist information centre around where we could get some more help and he kindly wrote out “Stadhuis” on the back of a train ticket.

 

We spent nearly half an hour trying to find this Stadhuis only to find out it was conveniently closed. Asking a lady in what looked to be a derelict library slash cultural centre where Flanders Field was, she too looked stunned as though she’d never heard of it, but gave us a map of Waregem. Looking at our route, it appeared we’d just wasted the last hour trying to find a closed down tourist house and were almost half way to the fields. We decided to walk to rest of the way. Feeling down in our luck, we were sad we would miss out on a visit to Bruge now that we’d had this run around, but our spirits were oddly lifted at the sight of a midget pony in the middle of a Waregem neighbourhood. It must have been our inner children that found the pony just delight allowing us to forget our Flanders Field flop. 

 

Missing out on seeing Bruge was upsetting, but Morgan made us see it in a better light. “At least we could still visit the home of The Muscles from Brussels.” “Who’s that?” I asked. “Arnold Schwarzenegger” he replied. “Isn’t Arnold Schwarzenegger from Austria?” I said. “Oh yeah, I think your right, then who’s from...? Oh crap, it’s Jean-Claude Van Damme. That makes it way less cool.” We laughed, good and hard.

 

Although peaceful and very well kept, Flanders Field was disappointing. There wasn’t a poppy to be seen. On our way out, the American gentleman working the information booth and also owner of the lone van in the parking lot branding an American boxing glove dangling from the rear view mirror, said that there wasn’t a bus around, but a cosy little walk back to the station. We had made it barely five minutes down the street when the same lone boxing glove van from the field drove up with the information man behind the wheel. He offered us a ride the rest of the way. The man was an ex-vet who had spent the last 20 years in Italy and was now in Waregem awaiting his nearing retirement. He was a U.S. war memorial grounds keeper and was probably the nicest person we experienced in Belgium.

The Limey

Antwerp Spits

A local city map we picked up at our hotel - New International Youth Hotel - written by local Antwerpians, offered some useful hints and survival guidelines about local behaviour. And from how it read, it explained a lot about the people. It read: "Refer to Antwerp as "t stad" (THE city, as if there's no other in Belgium). Why? We are proud of where we live. Look around you - wouldn't you be? We even have a saying that "The rest of Belgium is parking space." Other Belgians consider us snobs for that. Jealousy, what can you do about it?" Hmm, I did some looking, and so far, the only thing that's worth the praise is your train station and some colourful artwork that made up the graffiti forest under a bridge.

To see the city of Antwerp, we rented bikes. It was a solid plan except that we had to return to the bike depot twice on account of Morgan’s breaking bike. First, because of a flat tire and second, because of the handle bars going loose and making it next to impossible and super unsafe to ride. We returned the bikes early and were refunded for the faulty bike. At one point during our ride I happened to glance down and notice a big glistening glob of saliva on my shoe and pant leg. Having had a recent doctor’s check up before leaving Canada, I knew that my motor functions were up to snuff so I was fully confident that my brain hadn’t given out and allowed me to drool on myself. I knew instantly, someone had spat on me.

Taking a pit stop at a local cafe after four hours of riding, Morgan and I sat down for some traditional Belgian cuisine - mussels and frites. A young couple sitting next to us spent their entire time eating each other’s faces. When they decided to come up for air they would laugh and stare at us. I'm not sure what it was. It could have been Morgan's bright orange Netherlands futbol jersey, if they were die hard Belgian futbol fans (if Belgium is even big on fubol?), it could have been his pretty, paisley green rain jacket or it could have just been because we looked out of place looking like total circus clowns after a month of travel. Whatever the reason, it was painfully annoying and lessened any warmth we were hoping to get from Antwerp yet.

At the top of that aforementioned hotel map, in big red lettering it read: `Act Like a Local’. The locals suggest that if tourists simply act like as they do, then everyone will get along. By this I am to suppose that in the case of the young laughing couple it would have been appropriate to laugh back in their faces; and the culprit who spat on my shoe, I could have returned the favour with a healthy sized loogie right back. Maybe my interpretation is a bit off?

Further down the authors list of other important hints on Antwerp it reads: "Treat men like nouns: do not only speak of 'the chair', 'the fries', 'the water', but also say 'the Paul' or 'the Michael'. Women are kindly treated as possessions: we call them 'our Nicole' and 'our Isabel'. I had a hard time trying to talk Morgan down from the idea that I would be calling him `the Morgan’.

The Lindsay?

Space Cakes, Heaven on Wheels and Lindsay Gets Locked in Toilet

I heard a funny story about Amsterdam once. Not being a huge pot smoker, my friend found him self in one of Amsterdam's famous coffee shops. He requested something mild and giggly. He was handed a pre-rolled doob and shared it with Friend Number 2. Friend Number 3 didn't smoke and wanted to make a move from the coffee shop. Already feeling the affects of the mild joint, Smoker Number 1 had become temporarily immobilized and spent the next several minutes conversing with Smoker Number 2 about having lost his legs - "I've lost me legs" said Smoker Number 1. "Where've they gone then?" asked Smoker Number 2. The same two sentences was as deep as the conversing would go. When disinterest began to set in, Smoker Number 1 attempted to make his way out of the shop and found Smoker Number 2 with his nose pinned up against a mouse-trap type chocolate dispensing machine. He was putting in euro after euro. It wasn't the chocolate he was after, it was the cycadellic journey each candy took to come out that he was lost in.


Finding ourselves in Amsterdam, we set out to find some coffee shop inspiration ourselves.

Double Reggae; it was our first official coffee shop in Amsterdam - not to be confused with a cafè shop where you buy coffee beverages. We split a Space Cake and a very skunky Amstel Light. We didn't stay to trip out on the raspberry goldfish, but headed outside to find the famous Red Light District. We didn't know where it was and felt a little embarassed asking since it seemed like something everyone would be required to know upon entering Amsterdam, kind of like knowing not to eat food with your left hand in India. It's a factoid that would save you a lot of future embarassment. We decided to follow some random men around thinking that that would be where they most likely would be heading only to end up asking for some help. Trekking through the district, we waited for the effect of the cakes to kick in and could't help but think we had just bought a really expensive chocolate muffin sans The Space.




Amsterdam is heaven for bikers. Bikes own the street. There's a tram line that runs through the middle of the streets, a single lane for car traffic and then red bike lanes running on both street sides. Biking is so serious here it's not even considered a hazard by any means. No one wears a helmet - not the little kids who double up on mum's bike (one on the front and one on the back) and not even the bike police. They even have custom designed bike seat covers for the rain. No one rides a bmx, just regular townie-type bikes and most of them are decrepid and rickety. It's very common to see bikes that look as though they've been left behind by tourists who have purchased a cheap ride and left them chained up together and are now all mangled together. There are seriously so many bikes that Amsterdamians just leave their bike locked standing upright in the middle of the sidewalk.

Our hostel in Amsterdam was the Hortus Hotel. We had booked a private room, but arrived late due to our delayed Easy Jet flight in London. We ended up getting a private room roughly the size of an extra large shoe box and kiddie-sized bunks. There was litterally two feet between the bunks and the wall, but it was home for the moment. We unloaded our bags and payed a visit to the promised ensuite washrooms we would be sharing. I've made it a habit to check out the toilet situation at each  new abode. A toilet says a lot about where you are and this toilet was great. It came equipped with extra toilet paper rolls, a towel for hand drying and a seated toilet complete with a westernized flusher. All good. Except the exit. I couldn't unlock the door and found myself trapped in the flusher for what felt like forever. Morgan, who had heard my feeble attempts to free myself, thankfully came to the rescue. On the verge of tears, but half laughing out of sheer panic, it was there and then that I fell in love with Amsterdam.

The Limey

"Idiot Abroad" and Impressions of England

Been awhile since I've written.  I don't have a lot of  huge observations so I will default to my favourite form of writing, bullet points.

-"Idiot Abroad" is an English program where Ricky Gervais (Office UK) and Stephen Merchant (?) send their former radio show producer Karl Pilkington on a tour of the Seven Wonders of the World.  Aethiest, Karl, generally dislikes people, travel, foreign food, and anything not as comfortable as home.  He's kinda like one of my best friends Blue, except Blue likes people and doesn't mind travelling; it four stars minimum for Bluesy.  These guys torment him by making him stay in dodgey hotels, homestays, go to all sort of religious festivals, sites, and travel in excrusiating circumstances. It's simply hilarious.

-Futbol coverage on the tele is tragic.  They show only selected games on the weekend.  If you can't go to a game and your team isn't one of the choosen, then you can't watch it until they replay ALL of the games all night long.  This is one angle I'm gonna have to fully side with the NFL and most North American sport leagues with.  If you team can draw the crowds let the "have nots" like myself see it.  I could get better coverage of my adopted team Tottenham in Canada if I so choose.

-We mentioned a show called "This is England" previously.  There was only 4 episodes.  Very disappointing!

-Lindsay is writing about our trip to the southwest coast.  I just wanna say it was awsome.  Beautiful beaches, greenery, stone walls, picturesque villages, harbors, ports, and I wouldn't have thought it, surfing!

-Our last day in England with the family we went to Camden Market.  A lot of it's held in a massive old stable.  We were there for near 3 hours and saw a drop in the bucket. There's a good variety of goods, not the same 10 vendors selling the same crap like in most markets.  Highlights include authentic vintage shops, back end of vespas as seats, Korean pedicures, a.k.a. little fish nibbling your feet!!  A great variety of food, my favorite being the fallafel sandwich. 

-Lindsay and I are starting our two month Eurail pass tomorrow.  We're gonna record the value we're getting out of the pass and any tips we pick up along the way.  I'm  not sure if we should publish our findings as we go along or book report like at the end.  Let me know what you think in the comments section or on face book.


-Wanted to thank Ralph and Jane Wiseman for their insight regarding cheap flights and luggage charges.  Saved us a couple times so far by either travelling lighter out of a homebase or "booking" our bags online in advance.

-Finally I wanted to thanks Lindsay's family:  Marlene and Frank for their hospitality, Kevin and  Krysia for taking us on their adventures, and Ian Perry for being the best host possible.  Thanks you so much for letting us stay with you for a month, see you in Milan cuz!!

the Yank

Near death, Peeing in Public and Countryside Cows

The Road Trip

It has been called the English Rivera by the Lonley Planet. The south western rim of the English coastline is a popular vacationing spot for the English and a great place to catch the last of the autumn sushine. For £75 you can rent a car for three days. It's a great way to see the English countryside, just make sure you bring along plenty of knickers with you because the getting there could leave you in a wet mess. Countryside roadways are barely two car widths wide and with trucks and coach buses coming at you from behind blind corners, it'd be a surprise if not one passenger came away from the experience unsoiled if not alive. Holding your breath won`t help.

Padstow is a quaint little fishing
village in Cornwall. It's famous for its cornish pasties and incestial family lineages - "this is me wife, me sister and me goat" jokes a local Englishman who will be left unamed.  Walking along the emerald green cliffs overlooking a sea of breaking white caps you can spot kite surfers taking advantage of the tantamount surf. Opposite the bay you can see a bank of honey coloured sand, lush green pastures and a 32 hole golf course. You can see the moving bodies of people and farm animals who inhabit the island or have made the £3 ferry ride across to visit. This sandy formation is called Rock. When the tide goes out it leaves acres of open space for exploring. Gusts of wind kick up the sand blowing it about like the a Middle Eastern desert; sand bits stinging your face like millions of tiny needle pricks. Everything was peachy until the annoying  little pangs of nature came calling and a toilet was no where in sight. I decided to brave it and attempt going behind a big mound of rocks and tall grass. In full squat and keeping in mind the delight of near reprieve, I failed to notice some tourists who had been slowly making their way down the cliff directly to my right. Oblivious, I shifted my gaze and saw a man staring straight at me, with a camera. In one fowl swoop I hiked up my pants and trying to save myself any more embarassment, walked quickly, but with as much elegance as I could muster, to catch up with my family feeling the burn of judging tourists` eyes all the way. Barely 100 meters further we found the public water closets.

An English countryside trip wouldn`t be complete without a bizarre incident with farm life.  Take the narrowest English road add some traffic, then throw 30 rushing cows and bulls into the mix. It`s one of the craziest things I`ve witnessed in England, other than die hard futbol fans. The splotches of  white and black hurling at you is like watching a farm tsunami. You haven't seen the shepard and dogs several yards behind yet, so you think Old McDonald's farm's just let out  for the afternoon hay sale.

The Limey

Eurail Pass - Is it worth it?

After much deliberating, advice giving and bad mouthing that we'd heard about the pass, we've decided to buck up and buy the Eurail Pass. A two month continuous pass that will allow us unlimited access to 21 countries. If you travel with two or more people, you can opt for the Saver Pass, which gives you a little bit of a deal and automatically puts you in 1st class cabins.

The beauty of hopping on a night train in France and waking up in Italy sounds incredible.  We could muck about Venice for a day then hop on another night train and be off to Austria the next day. We are looking forward to abusing the pass to its fullest. The savings on accomodation are helpful. We'd be sleeping on a night train instead of paying for a hostel or hotel. Canadian Denny from Glasgow's Blue Sky Hostel told us how he'd made it half way out of some Eastern European country only to get a message from a friend who demanded he turn around for an epic party he'd be missing. Like a true Canadian, Denny's well trained resistance to the word party failed and he got off at the next stop, turned around and made his appearance at said function. He said it was worth it and we believed him.

Yes, airlines like Ryan Air and Easy Jet offer insanely cheap flight deals daily (a recent posting listed a flight to Dublin for £9) and how could you resist? However, there's always a catch. These airlines will get you with their hidden or added fees. From having to pay for a cup of coffee on your flight, to having different sized bag measurers for onboard baggage. A friend recently told me that he had met the bag size limit when he checked in, but once he entered the gate for his cheap airline the baggage sizer was different (smaller). The airline then claimed he did not meet the baggage limit and would have to pay for his bag to be checked. So we've decided to stick with trains.

Inside the Eurail pass, they take full advantage of quickly pointing out that trains are green.
 "Dear Eurail Traveler...by choosing to travel with Eurail, you are using one of the most environmentally friendly modes of transportation. On most European journeys, high-speed trains generate between 4 and 40 times less CO2 per passenger than other modes of transport. Travelling by rail uses 2 to 3 times less energy than journeys by road."
And the advantages that come with the pass are vast with discounts on ferry rides throughout the Greek Islands and many other European countries.

This doesn't come without some areas of possible concern. Ticket entry, reservations and extra charges. You basically use the pass as if it were money, but you could end up paying for the full ticket price if you simply blip and forget to log your journey onto the chart they provide you with, you risk a fine and payment of a full fare ticket. The Eurail guide also notes that there's a good chance you might not even get a seat unless you make a reservation in advance. Reservations are necessary for many trains and ships at an extra charge and you have to pay extra for sleeping cabins. And, if any portion of your journey goes through a country that is not included by the pass, you are required to buy a ticket for that leg of your trip.

When purchasing your pass there's an option to buy coverage for a lost or stolen pass, but here's the kicker, Eurail cannot issue you a replacement card. They state that you must purchase the rest of your travel (keeping all receipts) and they will refund you; however, there is a Maximum Coverage Amount applicable, based on the amount of remaining days of your trip. And, you have to file a police report (and keep a record) within 24 hours of your pass being lost or stolen.

We have decided to keep a running log comparing the cost and usage of our Eurail pass and find out if it's really worth it. I can tell you that it is 20% less expensive to buy the pass online than at a travel agency or transportation service that deals with Eurail.

Woot woot
The Limey

Dungeons, Gothic Space Ships and a Creepy Dog

On September 22nd, we hopped on a coach and made our way to Edinburgh. "It's like being in Disneyland" Morgan raves as we walk through the regal streets. "This is NOTHING like Disneyland" I immediately reassured him. "I mean it's like being in a fairytale" Morgan quickly replies. So then we agreed, high fived and were off to find The Art Roch, our hostel home for the next two days. Would it have the same limey green walls like the Blue Sky Hostel? I was almost missing them.

Edinburgh is a much more stunning city than Glasgow. Everywhere you look there's another more extravagent, more beautiful castle or cathedral. From banks, pubs, clothing stores, museums, you name it, it's a castle. I think even the lone Starbucks had been medievalized. Besides the stone city is the land itself. The rolling hills and cliffs are mesmorizing adding a softness to the sharpness of the castled city.

The Art Roch hostel was fabulous. It was located right behind Edinburgh Castle (the second most visited site in the United Kingdom, behind London city) that could be seen out of the reception windows. Chic, urban and cosy is how I could describe the ambiance. Animal skin blankets, trunk coffee tables, oddly placed picture frames within picture frames and no pukey lime green walls. Although, the people in the Blue Sky Hostel back in Glasgow were much more entertaining and had their shit far more together as far as check ins were concerned. These guys had no idea who we were, where our online booking had gone and all looked to be the ripe old age of 16. After finding our eight person room, and fixing our beds with the provided linens we made our way out. Leaving through the lobby we found two of the16-year-old Justin Bieber look-alikes sharing the same mop to clean up an overflowing toilet.

Edinburgh is packed full of rich history, especially with tales of public killings and ghostly doom. Public hangings and torture were common place in Edinburgh via the Edinburgh mob. At the end of Grassmarket are two pubs that stand in recongition of this grusome time in the cities history. The Last Drop is named after the last public hanging that took place in 1864. Only a few pubs further,  you'll find Maggie Dickson's Bar. Maggie was a ventursome woman who found herself with child and out of wedlock. She was hung as a result in the town square. As her coffin was carried through the crowds, onlookers could hear a rapping coming from the coffin and were spooked. Turns out she hadn't been successfully hung and could not be re-hung for the same crime. She lived to tell her story of near-death and became famous all over Scotland.

That night was cold, still and smelled of murder. We had signed up for one of Edinburgh's famed Ghost Tours. We liked the sounds of the Mercat's Ghosts and Ghouls tour with complimentary pint at the end, if you made it that far. The hour and a half tour was full of stories of Edinburgh's history of public tortures and the Edinburgh Mob. We got to the underground dungeons where we were in the middle of hearing a Scottish ghost story when we were interrupted by a tour leader who had had the lucky task of guiding some 30 odd high school kids through the dungeons. One of the school girls had freaked out and he wanted to know if they could leave through the fire exit without setting off any alarms. All humouring, but spooking us at the same time.

The next afternoon we set off to find some fish and chips which was surprisingly a lot harder that one would hope on an empty stomach and in the UK. We were directed to a place called the City Cafe - closed. Then we found The Tron - out of fish (how can you be out of fish in the fish and chip capital of the world?) so settled for the quicky Clam Shop.

We'd spent all of our time outside and had barely been to the hostel. I wanted to see if we'd had any newcomers to our room that day besides John, the Irish man who we thought pretty much lived there full-time just by the amount of clothing he had and a Chinese couple. Re-ut and Neatru were a couple of  women from Israel and were only staying the night. They were on a week vacation and had just been to see the Bare Naked Ladies the night before (Morgan had spotted one of the Ladies walking along an Edinburgh road the yesterday, but thought that just seemed too odd). They asked us if we'd be up for renting a car with them to head back to Glasgow the next day. As much as I would have loved to have been able to share my first "other side of the road, other side of the car" driving experience with you, we had to pass as we had already purchased bus tickets back. They shared their Bomba with us (a peanut flavoured cheesie type snack), stories of travel and highly recommend we see Tel Aviv.

Our last full day in Edinburgh was terrential rain. We climbed the 287 too-close-for-comfort spiraling staircase (used for geting both up and down) to the top and recieved a congratulating certificate of completion upon exiting (I'm thinking I must be owed at least 50 of these from Grouse Mountain). The structure is quite obtrusive; it's the 200 foot, sooty, black structure that has been described as a "gothic rocket ship." The stairs are much too narraw as Morgan found out the hard way and had to shimy his way through the last 30 steps.

Before we left the lovely city of Edinburgh we saw the most photographed Edinburgh statue. It's nothing to write home about, it's small and hairy and can easily be missed if it isn't pointed out to you. It's the statue of Grey Friar's Bobby. A wee dog that comes with a big story. After his death, Grey Friar's dog, Bobby, followed his owner's remains to the graveyard in which he was burried in 1858 and lingered there until it passed in 1872. I couldn't help but think that we'd found the Scottish Lassie.

The Limey

Cathedrals and City of Dead in Glasgow

Walking tours are a great way to see a city. Although tour guide commentary can be helpful and interesting, they can be contrived and full of cheese, and not the good stuff. Like the good, solid, brave Canadians that we were, Morgan and I decided that the thrill that comes with getting ourselves a bit lost sounded a lot more entertaining we drew up our own Tour de Glasgow that would take us roughly six hours to complete.


Our first stop would set to be the Glasgow Cathedral, but first we accidently stumbled upon Provand's Lordship. This Bilbo-Baggins-looking house is the oldest house in Glasgow. It was built in 1471 and is one of only four medieval buildings to survive the Reformation era in Glasgow. With Lindsay-sized entranceways, it was like being in a miniature village for monster sized Morgan.


Next stop, Glasgow Cathedral. The eerie medieval exterior stood in stark constrast to the cathedrals breath-taking interior. Stained-glass windows blanket the walls welcoming tons of light to uncover the massive high-vaulted ceilinged structure and beautifully wall-mounted organ. Like many churches and cathedrals in Scotland, Glasgow Cathedral still holds a full church service and is free to enter.


Back into daylight, we ventured to the neighbouring Necropolis (Latin word meaning "city of the dead"). Pathways zig-zagged along rolling hill sides leading the way to hundreds of brilliantly designed grave stones and structures. The Necropolis was created for the prominent and wealthy entrepreneurs of the ‘Second City of the Empire’. The Necropolis was one of the few cemeteries to keep records of the dead, including profession, ages, sex and cause of death. The Necropolis is now 37 acres (15 ha) and has seen
50,000 burials with 3,500 tombs that have been constructed up to 14 feet deep, with stone walls and brickpartitions.

At the tender age of 12, a young girl found herself minding a fruit barrow in Glasgow. She saved up enough money to open her own fruit shop. She eventually would go on to start renting out horses and carts to local street vendors. This area of Eastern Glasgow is now well-known as "The Barras".  The Barras Market, which was unfortunately all closed up on the Tuesday, is open on weekends and daily during the summer months. The market is affectionately known as being a great place to grab a bargain and beer from one of its many traders.


To all those whiskey lovers - we tried to make it to a whiskey distillery, but it had sadly been closed down. Instead, we vouched for some good old fashioned Scottish water, some IRN BRU.




The Limey