a travelzine by Diann
tdiann@ct2.nai.net
(Copyright 1996. Please do not reprint without permission.)
^^^^^^^^^
Eventually, though, the luggage and I got to the Stakis City hotel. Small
place, 93 rooms, but convenient and brand new. First thing I did was
strip out of my well-worn travel clothing, and SLEEP!
The hotel is located on a back street not far from Sauchiehall
Street, which has oodles of upscale shopping. Rooms are smallish,
but quite adequate, and the service was good. The price for the room
was reasonable, in part because of its newness, as they needed to
attract a clientele. I'd stay here again.
Wandered the local streets a bit, seeing what was available. I
walked over to the Information Centre, and got maps, schedules,
and other useful material for figuring out the parts of my trip which had
yet to be decided. I wrote post cards. I stopped in the
nearby McClellan Museum. It
was one of those really "modern" museums which claim to stimulate
the imagination, but are quickly forgotten. An inventive moment
or two did exist, mainly where the artists decided to investigate
the realm of the fantastic. However, if most of the exhibiting artists
felt it necessary to post long tracts explaining the purpose of
their art, methinks such art fails -- because art with a goal of
making one think should spawn such activity pretty much
intrinsically. I am indeed aware that not everyone sees
everything in the same fashion -- but if some miss your point,
it may be worthwhile to write a comment or two, but it is not wise to
talk down to the rest.
Had afternoon tea (tea and a smoked salmon sandwich) at
the Willow Tea House for reasonable. Saw the movie Ermo at the
local art film house. A Chinese woman directed this film about a
Chinese peasant woman's life (the title character). On one level the film is
about her competition with a neighbor who owns the first village TV -- she
promises her young son one, the biggest one, and feverishly works to earn
it. (Her husband says, the TV is an egg. A house is the chicken. It is
better to have the chicken than the egg.) It was well-done and I settled
into subtitles easily. I'd like to view this again.
Afterwards, I ate at the Porter Bar, one of those places that
succeeds in resembling one of those British Pubs which pop up all
over the American landscape, but nevertheless managed to retain its
own unique flavor -- ate lamb pot and "chips", as well as a
smattering of my two "favorite" vegetables -- carrots and brussels
sprouts. The lamb pot was quite excellent.
On the way home, I passed a local park -- a very restful and
pleasant place where I contemplated for awhile. In one section there
was a rough-hewn log and branch construction which served as an enticing
jungle gym. Alas, for my miss-spent youth! It was a park created for
and about imagination, and could have given some of the exhibitors at the
McClellan Museum something to think about.
This remained a laid-back day, in order to rest up from the trip over the
day before, but such was necessary, as I thought of many places I might
want to visit.
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August 16:
Awoke surprisingly early the morning of the 16th, and made my
way downstairs for the buffet breakfast. Finally a place which makes
toast that actually tastes good; not like a wonderbread reject! I
also liked the mushrooms which had been sauteed in butter. However,
for the hefty price (around 8 pounds), this buffet lacks something.
The other breakfast items were not very appealing -- sausage that
tasted like greasy bread with an undercurrent of something vile, a
flat black disk with inclusions that the waitress named "black
puddin'" (probably blood pudding), slices of fruit soaking up
sugar water, and watery
scrambled eggs. I resolved to eat any future breakfasts elsewhere. Besides, I
don't want to travel and eat at the same place every day.
Last Updated: Friday, March 29, 1996