the super city – 27 sep, 2018
Day 49 Land’s End to John O’Groats – Strathclyde Country Park to Glasgow
Distance: 25km
Cumulative distance: 1247km
What I’m about to say will shock some of you, surprise a fair few and even appall a small percentage. I’ve been lucky enough to visit some of the world’s great cities in my time – New York, Sydney, Paris, London, Prague and Rejkjavik to name a few. But Glasgow is possibly my favourite of the lot. Working-class, industrial, sectarian, crime-riddled, poorer-cousin-of-Edinburgh Glasgow. I turned up for the first time with Chloe in July of 2014 on an overnight commute from London, aboard a freezing cold Megabus suffering from a pungent septic system in incredibly poor repair. We stepped out into the cool air at Buchanan Street Bus station around 6am in the morning, and set off blindly to find some nourishment and a spot of caffeine given neither of us had managed any sleep overnight. We walked past a series of ugly buildings, clearly heading in the wrong direction, and the handful of cafes we did manage to find were still not yet open for business. After about half an hour of this failed escapade we rounded a corner and BANG! It felt like I’d been hit in the face with a paintball gun. I looked up and saw a pigeon smirking at me after, feeling much more satisfied with life after a thoroughly satisfying bowel evacuation. The stuff was in my hair, on my face, inside the hood of my jumper and all over the book I’d been carrying.
I’ve loved the place ever since.
From inauspicious beginnings, Glasgow quickly grew on me. It’s grimy charm, the over-friendly locals with their almost indecipherable accent, the snaking Clyde River and of course Celtic Park. Chloe and I eventually found a place for breakfast, and soon after we were over at the Exhibition Centre picking up my Commonwealth Games accreditation. That morning I met Ian Fuge, and two years later he asked me to leave the farm in Scotland and come and work for him at the Sydney Morning Herald. Ever since I’ve passed through Glasgow at every available opportunity, be it for only a few hours or a couple of nights. It’s not as beautiful as Edinburgh, but once you scratch the surface you become hooked forever. As I packed up my frost-coated tent this morning after another freezing Scottish night, I left with a spring in my step knowing only six hours of walking separated me from Glasgow. Plus I’d be meeting three mates that afternoon, and we had a weekend of shennanigans planned which would include a trip to Celtic Park to watch the Hoops play Aberdeen tomorrow.
I walked back past the carvery then had to negotiate the sprawling corner of motorways and A roads which came together northwest of Strathclyde Loch. Once I’d picked my way through that I strolled up into the quaint little town of Bothwell where I ate breakfast before heading back down to the river. I could just about feel Glasgow pulling me in, and knew that if I followed this river for another 20km or so I’d be right in the heart of the city. The stony ruins of Bothwell Castle loomed large above me on a particularly delightful forested stretch of the river, and I took a moment once again to admire the sheer ingenuity of the UK’s walking paths. Here I was on the outskirts of Scotland’s busiest city, but I could have been a million miles from civilisation. To my left was the fast-flowing Clyde, up above was historic Bothwell Castle and all around me were green and yellow leaves being penetrated by exploratory rays of golden sunshine. With a lengthy stretch of city walking ahead, I savoured every moment of this.
The river wound its way towards Glasgow and I followed its course through residential suburbs before deciding to leave its banks once I came to Parkhead, and try picking a shorter passage through the city. I was in familiar surroundings once more as I passed the Sir Chris Hoy Velodrome, and spotted Celtic Park off in the distance. The city shone during the Commonwealth Games four years ago, and the sports were spread across Glasgow allowing us roving reporters to sample all corners of the city. The cycling was at the velodrome, Glasgow Green hosted the hockey, lawn bowls was at the majestic Kelvingrove Park, while Hampden Park hosted the athletics just to name a few venues. As I walked through Glasgow’s east end, the memories came flooding back and the streets began to reconnect in my mind. I walked past a chippy near Glasgow Green which was run by a Scottish-Fijian lady, and was pleased to see it was still in business – too many shop fronts in these parts had been forced to close up. I pushed on ever closer to town grabbing a chicken burger before meeting my mate Steve near Glasgow Central Station.
Steve is one of the world’s great men. I met him in Iceland back in 2015, and had not seen him for almost three years until now. He’s a New Zealand native who has lived in the Netherlands for the past eight years or so working as an engineer. He’s also about nine foot tall, and one of the funniest blokes you could ever hope to spend a weekend in Glasgow with. We still had a decent 90 minutes or so ahead of us to the hostel, but the time passed quickly as Steve and I filled in everything that had happened in our respective lives over the last three years. It was so good to catch up, and nice to be walking with someone again especially through the streets. City walking is always a grind, even in a place as close to my heart as this. Kiwi Steve and his long legs set a cracking tempo which ensured we made it to Anniesland in the west of the city by about five o’clock. My ex-colleague James Lemon was already waiting for us at the pub next to our hostel, and within an hour we were checked in to the hostel and perusing the Friday night dinner specials at the Wetherspoons. No doubt a weekend of debauchary was ahead of us before Lemon and I embark on the West Highland Way on Sunday.
