Written 2009
I hadn't really intended on going to Glasgow, but when I saw that my favorite painting of all time (Christ of St John of the Cross by Dali) was housed in the St Mungo's Museum of Religious Art, the city made its way into my travel diary.
When I arrived, I wandered the small city center with a rather large suitcase and no less than 3 people walked up to ask if I was lost and needed help finding my way. I said no, I was just having a stroll and went about looking for a place to eat and spend the next few hours waiting for my hostel to open for check-in.
The hostel website had 3 hours listed that it was closed- from 2-5, now whether or not I assumed this was a.m. or p.m., I don't know but either way, it led me to opt to spend my few spare hours in a lovely little pub called the Droothy Neebors, where I met Frey the bus driver.
I parked my suitcase at the bar and the barmaid interrupted her conversation with the bald man a few seats from me to get my order. We chatted for a few minutes as she poured me a Stella Artois and punched in my order. A few minutes later a man comes up to me (on the side away from the barmaid and Frey) and starts talking to me, only he's talking out of the side of a crooked mouth in an accent so thick you could cut it with a knife. I nodded and smiled and after the first seven times of asking him to repeat something because "I didn't understand that," I resolved to just nodding, smiling and saying Mmm Hmmm and yeah. I probably agreed to do any number of unspeakable things with him and agreed to be his slave but I'm from the midwest and we hate to be rude.
The barmaid, having had a great laugh at the situation, finally comes to rescue me and invites me to the chair on Frey's other side. Now, on my third beer, having eaten a rice and mushroom stroganoff, I'm feeling pretty good and chatty (as long as I can understand the other half of the conversation).
Frey and I started buying rounds and at about our sixth beer, he decides to tell me this story:
Frey says: "So I'm on this website for people who come to Scotland looking for information about their ancestry and I get this call one day from this bloke who says he's going to be in Scotland on tour with his band an he asked if I'd meet up with him to chat family history. Then he says my name is Glenn Frey I'm in the Eagles. I said sure, I'll meet up with anyone for a pint but you ought to know mate you're pronouncing your name wrong it's not FRY it's FRAY."
At this point I'm gaping at the guy having always been a huge fan and the time frame for the story was the Hell Freezes Over Tour. So I said, "So did he show up? Was it Glenn Frey from the Eagles?"
Frey: "Yep, he showed up with back stage passes just for talkin with him, an let me tell you, those boys live like kings!"
While I'm sat in disbelief and total jealousy five American girls walk into the pub- it's now around 9p.m. and they sit adjacent to us and inevitably joint our conversation. One girl decides to ask Frey about Scottish reaction to movies about Scotland-
Rob Roy?
Frey: A bloody Irishman filmed in England*
Braveheart?
Frey: Australian filmed in Ireland**
Shrek?
Frey: Bloody Brilliant!
As I look at my watch and realize that I have to close one eye to tell the time, I figure I've had enough and should go to bed promptly when I get to the hostel. I thanked Frey for everything (the entertainment, the rounds, and a free bus pass for his tour company the next day). I got to my hostel in very quick time and didn't even bother changing out of my clothes for bed.
The next day I went and saw the painting and it was breath-taking and luminous, even more so than expected, but after discovering the work of Renie McIntosh and the Droothy Neebors, I found the whole stop to be more than I had expected.
*according to IMDB Rob Roy was actually filmed in Scotland
**according to IMDB Braveheart was filmed in a myriad of places including Ireland, and Scotland
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