Category: Ireland and Scotland

Glasgow, The Search for Charles Rennie Mackintosh and a Good Meal

On By judith zinisIn Ireland and ScotlandLeave a comment
The River Clyde
The River Clyde

I am not sure what I expected from Glasgow but good food wasn’t necessarily it, yet its what I got beginning with the excellent sea bass my first night.

The next day, I made my way to Buchanan Street in search of an Apple store as my iPad went belly up or as it said on the screen “iPad disabled.” The store is an impressive Victorian building and the Ipad was put to rights quickly. I used this first day to get oriented, walking down the pedestrianized Buchanan Street, peeking down alleys at interesting looking pubs, exploring the Royal Exchange Square, and finally ending up at the Clyde River which has a promenade along the its banks reminiscent of the Seine in Paris.

Buchanan Street
Buchanan Street
The Apple Store
The Apple Store

My one plan for the day was to visit the Center for Contemporary Art which I would pass on my way back to the hotel. The exhibit consisted of various forms of animation that switched from one screen to another in a long room strewn with hassocks. It didn’t captivate me; however, the café located in the center did interest me. It was a long room with tables, chairs, and banquettes along one wall. I was tired, hungry, and anxious to take up my blog now that my Ipad was fixed. The café offered free Wi-Fi and seemed ideal. It was.

As I didn’t want to spoil my appetite for dinner, I ordered a warm kale salad. “Oh, that’s very small,” the waitress assured me. “You should order another dish.” I figured she knew best, so I added root vegetable fries. She was wrong. The salad was large and delicious with garlic and ginger lingering on the palate. However, the root vegetable fries of turnips and beets were another happy surprise. The bigger surprise to me, a dedicated carnivore, was that the café is a vegan restaurant which can hold it’s own against any fine eateries.

My last stop before was the Willow Tea Room designed by Glasgow’s renowned architect, Charles Rennie Mackintosh, known for his arts and craft and art nouveau association. At the time, I didn’t know of its fame. I just liked the way it looked.

I ended my second day in Glasgow eating at a well-respected restaurant called The Sisters, an interesting experience in contrasts. Reviews of the restaurant declared it was the “best restaurant in Glasgow.” I put aside my jeans and Birkenstocks, donning a skirt and heels. I was dressed appropriately but was unprepared for the décor and the background music. The dining room was a study in l980’s elegance, all black and white. Although there were white tablecloths and silver place settings, the music demanded a disco ball. Throughout the meal, disco music hummed merrily in the background, irritating to eat by and at odds with the formality of the setting.

I had no plan for my last day, but after a friend made me aware of Charles Rennie Mackintosh, I decided to devote my day to his accomplishments which I almost did. I visited the Glasgow Herald Building which he designed and is now a center for architecture with a tower that gives a panoramic view of the city; however, the staircase to the tower was closed. I made my way to another of the buildings he designed, the Glasgow School of Art: unfortunately, the front was covered in scaffolding. I had two more opportunities: the Mackintosh House recreated at the Hunterian Museum and Art Gallery at the University of Glasgow and an exhibit at the Kelvingrove Gallery and Art Museum.

Glasgow School of Art
Glasgow School of Art

I spent too long at a second visit to the Willow Tea Room, swooning over replications of Mackintosh’s botanical watercolors. I had to have them. I couldn’t make up my mind which three to get as none of them seemed to fit together. Finally, I gave up as it was already 2:30. I sweated my way to the University of Glasgow and was immediately smitten. The buildings, the enclosures, the views over Glasgow were breathtaking.

The Cloisters, University of Glasgow
The Cloisters, University of Glasgow

I forced myself to move inside and get to the museum. The door wouldn’t open. I said to the guard, “But it should be opened until 5.” He told me, “The museum is never open on Tuesdays.” Defeated again. By now, I didn’t think I could make it to the Kelvingrove Gallery and Art Museum, so I decided to go to Ashton Lane, recommended by my taxi driver as a street that hadn’t changed in 200 years. It, too, was within the boundaries of the university. Perhaps it hadn’t essentially changed, but like many restored areas I encountered including the Royal Exchange Square, it worked mostly as an opportunity to eat and drink. The tops of the buildings hinted at history. The bottoms were filled with cafes, pubs, and students drinking.

I turned away, walked past the University, down the hill through the Kelvingrove Park, and realized I had a half hour to spend at the Kelvingrove Gallery and Art Museum. Having a limited time in such a vast institution was liberating. I made my way to the rooms devoted to Mackintosh in time to see recreations of the Willow Tea Room and excellent arts and crafts furniture he created.

Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum
Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum

 

Willow Tea Room
Willow Tea Room

After a hectic and mostly unsuccessful afternoon, I wanted a leisurely meal. As I did for the rest of my trip, I limited myself to restaurants that were within walking distance of my hotel. Two blocks from my hotel was a tapas style restaurant, The Ox and the Finch. I had a good seat with a view outside as dusk set in; the street was lit in a golden pink reflecting off the brick buildings.

The atmosphere pleased me and would have been good enough; however, the food surpassed my expectations. With a glass of peaty whiskey know as “old salty” straight from the barrel, I had a bowl of large green olives, more than I could finish. Lemon orzo with broad beans and courgette followed. The orzo had bite to it, lemon infused the pasta but didn’t dominate, and the broad beans’ nuttiness complemented the dish. I finished with bass that was firm and sweet like Glasgow, like Mackintosh.

Glasgow, The Wee City

On By judith zinisIn Ireland and ScotlandLeave a comment
Argyll Hotel
Argyll Hotel

The transition from Inis Mor to Galway was difficult, too much noise, too many people.  Not so with Glasgow. On the way from the airport to my hotel, the cab driver made suggestions about what to do during my stay. He told me “I love my wee city.” I’m in love too.

As the plane from Dublin landed in Glasgow, rough grey clouds filled the sky.  Out of the windows on the left, was a tangle of rusty red blocks that is Glasgow. On the right, the moody sky sat over blue green hills surrounding a small loch, its waters a silver reflection of the sky. I hadn’t left the plane and I was already infatuated.

My hotel is excellent, tidy, an almost charming attic room with a good bathroom. By pure luck, I am in a perfect location in the West End: a block away from Kelvingrove Park with a stream running through it, the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum, and up the hill through the park the University of Glasgow. If I walk along Sauchihill Road, I pass the Center of Contemporary Art which becomes  pedestrianized and ends at the main thoroughfare, Buchanan Street, also pedestrianized. At it’s end is the River Clyde.

On my first night, I walked through the park to University Avenue in search of a restaurant, Stravagin.  It reminds me of Agricola in Princeton in terms of its’ long tablels and high stools, but there the comparison ends. It is less “designed” and more interesting.

I sat in the loft area looking down at the wooden tables and the customers that freqented them. I began my meal as I have several times during my stay in Scotland with whiskey. Then I had an excellent meal of sea bass. The man in the table next to me leaned over as he was leaving to tell me he had ordered the same and it was excellent. I was delighted with his friendliness and even, perhaps, with the bit of attention.

As the evening wore on, I could see he was, indeed, a very friendly man. At least in his late fifties, he managed to sit beside two young woman and insert himself into their company. They were polite but didn’t encourage him. After several unsuccessful attempts, he started looking up at me. I guess I shouldn’t be so easily beguiled.

On my walk home, as I looked over the wall next to the park. I sighted another fox, this one had four legs. He too seemed to be licking his wounds. He had been stalking a duck who managed to escape. Just as the man had looked up at me after his failure, the fox looked longingly over it’s shoulder at the meal that got away.

 

The Fox
The Fox

 

The Last Time Down the Low Road

On By judith zinisIn Ireland and ScotlandLeave a comment

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At dinner, the night before my departure, I had told Maura not to fix any breakfast, but when I came into the dining room, she had freshly squeezed orange juice ready for me. Joe was there to send me off as well. He said the sonnet required framing and would be hung on the wall in the living room, that is, if he could keep the women from banging down the doors. In the sonnet, I had referred to him as a “good stallion” and Maura as a “strong mare.” “Well, I had to work in the animals, ” I retorted.

The night before I left, Maura said John would be driving me, but she didn’t want to call that night as he would forget. She would phone him in the morning. At 7:45, he was at the door, a familiar face, he being the one who had given me a ride from Kilronan and preferred to talk about testicles.

We hadn’t gone but a few hundred feet when he said, “I’m having trouble with my bulls. They are crying out every night and getting very randy. They even tried to bolt over the walls.” “Really,” I responded. “Yes, and one made it.” “What’s wrong, I asked.” John lightly touched my knee, and smiled. “Well, my dear, They haven’t been fixed. And like I said, they are mighty randy. They are driving me crazy.” He explained he had waited too long to castrate them as the vet hadn’t been to the island recently. He wondered if he might have to do it himself and was about to launch into another explanation of how it used to be done when I slipped in my regret at never seeing the low road again.

“We can do that” he told me, and down we went one more time, sighting seals lounging on rocks while the tide moved out.

Fauna, Flowers, and People

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In my mad rush packing, I neglected to bring binoculars. Yet, where would they have gone? I’ve had only my eyes and my Iphone to sight birds, not a very effective method. And this is a bird’s paradise. They don’t seem to be in harm’s way no matter where they land. In a saltwater pond on the low road, geese and ducks paddle along diving for food. Various gulls join them. One gull had a fish in his mouth, so big, he had to drop it. I can attest to magpies, shelducks, mallards, herons, warblers, hooded crows, and even a skylark.

Shelduck
Shelduck

 

Perhaps the biggest surprise has been seal sightings. On that last evening walk, two seals sunned themselves on a sand bar turning their heads west to catch the rays.

 

Sunning Seals
Sunning Seals

Along every stone wall wild flowers abound. Dandelions, often considered a pest in the United States, make luxurious lines of bright yellow. Hardy fuchsia spill over the walls like honey suckle, tempting lips, and smalll wonders appear at my feet: spring gentian, mountain pansey, bloody cranes bill, and birds foot trefoil along with many I have yet to identify. Walking back from the cliffs on the east side of the island, tiny red and yellow butterflies danced at my feet.

Cranes Blood Bill
Bloody Cranes Bill

Certainly, I have made the acquaintance of a number of interesting people at the Man of Aran and on my walk: a retired army nurse who is working with the University of South Carolina to start a sustainable farm; her friend, the vet from Boulder, who has developed an interesting method for deferring costs for her clients, cats and dogs; the educators from Rochtestor; the puppeteer from Connecticut; and the United Way worker from Toronto. However, my beginning relationship with the islanders is most precious, slight though it is. Just when I’m leaving, I feel connected. Joe saved the day by taking apart my bathroom sink to retrieve my lenses. He demanded a sonnet which I delivered, fourteen lines of iambic pentameter. Maura let me into her life a bit with what might have been the beginning of a friendship. Fionna, at the Internet cafe, told me about her attempts at fiction and poetry.

On my last full day on the island, I wanted to go to the pub in Kilronan frequented by Joe and Maura. There was just me and a male patron perched on a stool at the end of the bar. Five or ten minutes passed before a barkeep appeared. I ordered a Guinness inquiring if there was any food. He said no, but a few Guinnesses would do just as well. I gave him a fiver and left the rest for a tip. He nodded to the man at the end of the bar and said “See, you can give a tip if you want.” They both laughed.

I sipped my Guinness while the fellow at the bar talked to himself in Irish, hands lifted for emphasis. Eventually, he made his way to me and told me of his travels to the states including a treacherous voyage in a small boat from Boston to Cap Cod.  “A day full of squalls,” so he says. When he discovered where I was staying, he wanted to know if I had seen Robert Flaherty’s famous 1934 ethnographic film, Man of Aran as Flaherty had used the cottages in the film, hence the name of the B&B.  I commented that it was considered an important part of documentary filmmaking even though parts of it were staged. He responded, “Well, yes, yes, didn’t go shark hunting anymore, but that fella could have drowned, the sea was that bad.” He had first hand knowledge as one of his relatives, he assured me, had been in the film.

As the 4 o’clock ferry hadn’t arrived, no vans were at the harbor. Once again, I opted to walk. Without any food since breakfast, I grew weary. I passed 30 or so French tourists and then about the same number of Spanish tourists leaving Ti Joe Watty’s. My friend at the bar said he had a long walk home but would manage by stopping at pubs along the way. I followed his lead, found a seat at the bar at Ti Joe’s, ordered another Guinness, got a sandwich and exchanged some pleasantries with the owner. By the time I left, she asked me to to pass a message on to Maura. “Tell her Grace will see her in October.”

A Bit of Lore

On By judith zinisIn Ireland and ScotlandLeave a comment

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My Irish grandmother, Nana, told us that if there is a blue sky bigger than a man’s pants, the sun will come out.  After I grazed a nettle bush and was tortured for hours by it’s sting, Joe, owner of The Man of Aran Cottages, said they had a saying, “Don’t put your fist around nettles.”  The next day, he couldn’t quite remember if that was the actual phrase.  I’m not sure about Nana’s prediction although I will steer clear of nettle bushes.  And I’m no closer to any of the “lore” I was seeking, but one bit of information direct from Maura, Joe’s wife, does seems right.  She claimed that when she went to church, she could tell by the “jumper” a person was wearing who it was before she even saw a face. And she added the same was true for stone walls.  Each family has its own patterns when they knit and when they build a wall.

My Irish grandmother also spoke knowingly of the “little people.”  In The Aran Islands,  Synge repeated the tales he had been told about faeries.  I might have fallen under that spell myself when I visited Inishmaan, the island in the middle, and the house where Synge stayed on his visits.  Inside beside a peat fire sat an older man, the grandson of the people who hosted Synge.  I could barely understand most of what he said even though it was in English.  Luckily what he did say, he repeated several times.  This isn’t the first time I have encountered such manner of speech.  Many islanders did the same. So when he directed me to the newspaper articles and photographs on a table, he said, “Yes, my grandparents, my grandparents.” When I asked if I could take pictures, he answered, “No, no. My sister, my sister, says no.”

The room seems to be exactly as Synge described: the warmth of the peat fire, a stool next to it, the red petticoat worn by the women of Inishmaan hanging on a hook.  His room, on the left of the central room, was large and more austere.  On the right side in the smallest room, the couple slept.

Magic followed me on another remarkable walk home from Ti Joe Watty’s pub.  This evening, I was on the low road a bit earlier, closer to eight.  The soft gold from the setting sun infused the air, the green fields shimmered, and stone walls mirrored the light. Coming across the abandoned kelp factory, the time of the fairies engulfed me, making me a believer.