4: Arrival

 The little shopping centre in Milngavie was moist and melancholy as we walked to the obelisk that signifies the start of the West Highland Way. Under a canopy nearby, a busker playing the violin sheltered from the drizzle while the damp grey precinct echoed to his plaintive tune that probably originated in a far off east European country.

Jerome (l) is not entirely sure he wants to be seen with us (Chris & Duncan (r)).

We gathered around the grey granite stone attempting to take pictures to record the moment as a lady with an outsize backpack lumbered towards us. Her accent revealed her to be American and she asked us whether she could help take a picture. The favour returned, we collected up our daypacks as we watched our photographer take slow unsteady steps on the start of her journey along the way. 

Yesterday we were on the train to Milngavie. Milngavie looks a plain enough place name that shouldn’t hold too many pronunciation potholes, however it isn’t rendered that way at all by the locals. The original Gaelic name was Muileann Dhaibahidh and the Scottish pronunciation is Mil-gai or Mull-guy which is announced with relish over the train as we travel to the start. Where the name Milngavie fits into all this no one seems to know but I suppose it makes it easier to spot the incomers. In fact many of the station names sound significantly different from the written words and we are forever looking up to query the scrolling letters on the announcement board. 

By this point there should have been three of us, me, Chris and Jerome (who joined us on the Pennine Way for a couple of days and was dubbed 'the interloper'). Earlier in the day Chris and I had met up at Stansted to fly up to Glasgow. Jerome meanwhile headed to his nearest airport, Gatwick, to do the same. 

Flying had been Jerome’s idea. I had thought it might make an attractive and nostalgic trip to drive up together and maybe even stop for lunch at a favourite place where we had walked before. Before I could express the full extent of the plan, Jerome had dismissed the concept of driving up as just too tiring and we explored other options before settling on flying. However the airport gods were not looking kindly on Gatwick and before he had even left home that morning his flight to Glasgow was cancelled. 

Oh **** (expletive deleted)

Jerome is not someone to be beaten by a mere cancellation and he rescheduled via Edinburgh, planning to join us in Glasgow. However the gods were not finished with him, reeling him and his luggage into the system before cancelling his flight once more. This time everything he needed for the next eight days was swallowed into the lair of the baggage handlers and it took him four hours to re-emerge complete with his belongings. His latest plan was to drive up, potentially arriving sometime after midnight.
Our day had been uneventful in comparison. Well, apart from me attempting catch the airport terminus bus with the car keys in my pocket, which would have left Sylvie with our car stranded in the middle of the drop-off point, causing traffic mayhem. Fortunately Sylvie managed to attract my attention just before the airport bus left for the terminus. 
Now we were sitting watching the suburbs of Glasgow pass by in the grey drizzle when our train stopped at yet another station and we noticed the scrolling display on the platform change. They had no pre-recorded announcement for this news; “The Queen has died”.
That evening we wandered around the shopping centre seeking a place to eat. The one restaurant that we had identified as a possible venue wasn’t answering the phone and the reason became clear as we stood outside it. 

We look forward to seeing you soon...

Knowing that they wouldn’t being seeing us anytime soon we headed back to the hotel for dinner. In reception they warned us that the luggage pick-up that we had arranged for the next morning occurred an hour earlier than we had been led to believe and more importantly, that it happened on the dot. There was no hanging around waiting for late-comers.
The next morning Jerome messaged us to let us know that he’d made it and I replied suggesting that if he wanted a bit longer in bed I’d pick his bag up and take it down for him. But what Jerome needed was to let off steam after the debacle of yesterday and he was up and ready in time for the pick-up.
Walking, at least in my mind, is something that is quiet and peaceful, where it is possible to feel separated from the hustle and bustle of normal life. Today in marked contrast the hotel reception was thronged with hikers and their belongings. Outside in the back car park were many more and there was a long queue as the mini-vans arrived to take the luggage. 
In a lull, just after we had dropped our bags, the hotel receptionist mentioned that on any given day up to eighty people could be leaving this hotel to start the way and at many other places nearby similar hordes were gathering together. The line of people leaving the hotel and heading to the start suggested that today was no different. Whatever we were seeking along the West Highland Way, solitude was going to be in short supply.
Before we were ready to leave we needed breakfast and had booked it the night before. This particular chain of hotels normally has a buffet-style breakfast and I assumed that they just needed a time to know what demand they would be expecting, so it was a surprise when they took our orders and brought the breakfast. It was also a surprise for the walker in front of us who hadn’t booked, who was told his party couldn’t be seated for another hour and a half, leading to him walking off in a major huff.
Jerome told us about his fractured journey, which sounded both unbearable and frustrating. To have one flight cancelled is terrible, to then actually be inside the terminal when the second flight was cancelled was far worse. In these post-Covid times there just aren’t the staff available to cope with this kind of calamity and he was left to seek his luggage by himself. A quest that took him through airport security several times until he finally found his bags.
The drive up to Glasgow was fairly easy in comparison and he arrived just before 1 am. Having got yesterday off his chest so to speak he was ready to begin and so at last the three of us were going to walk a long-distance path.

Ready? Let's go.