A Trip to Scotland Part 3 of 6 by KimB

[Editor's note: This is a many part story written by KimB
The series will be published weekly]

My now friend had explained that my job was to keep the truck driver awake on the long road to The North. This wasn't too hard for me as I had loads of experience with long drives and travels with the family back home. I chatted and told stories and sang songs, sometimes with the guitar and sometimes without and basically talked my way North. I sang in English and French. My truck driver enjoyed my songs even though my french singing is not all the good. I sang the French folk songs I had learned and he knew many of them but sometimes I would sing one he had not heard before. He was always surprised at what I could pull out of the hat for entertainment.

A regular intervals the truckers would pull into a British Truck Stop. While they are similar to American ones coming off a Clover Leaf Ramp they are not the same inside. These were pretty antiseptic cafes and the food is not too appetizing. I didn't drink coffee in those days so I didn't miss it on the menu. However, tea was everywhere! Tea! Tea! Tea! Hot tea with milk. I wasn't a tea drinker either being raised on Lipton Iced Tea with Lemon; hot tea with milk was rather revolting.

By now the four of us (the 2 truckers, my new friend and I) were all buddies. They all seemed very taken by my trip to Scotland in February and each was determined to see that I got to my destination in one piece. There was a sort of rivalry about who would buy my tea (with milk) at the truck stop. I always ended up with THREE big mugs of hot steamy milky tea to drink. The first time the 3 mugs appeared, each carried by their respective purchasers, I drank one but tried not to drink the other two. First, it was revolting. Second, the mugs were enormous. And third, I wasn't that thirsty. After a short while I got a kick from under the table by my new friend and a nod to “Drink Up”. I got the “hint” and downed the 2 mugs of tea with a “friendly smile” and a “thank you”. Both of the truckers looked pleased and we headed out to the road again.

Every few hours we pulled into another Truck Stop and the 3 mugs of tea were repeated. Each time I had to drink the 3 mugs, smile and say “Thank You”. The others had no problems drinking several of these mugs each but I was downing many many more than I had ever imagined. All through the night I drank 3 mugs of tea and by morning I wasn't feeling too spiffy.

Soon my new friend got off on his way back to his home. We exchanged information and he asked me to come and teach French at the Summer Camp his School had in France. This was a great compliment to my French and to my new friend who only hours earlier had declared “war on Americans”. Next the other trucker turned off to get his load of lamb and mine continued north to Glasgow. As we neared the city, he was very insistent that he give me his route for the next two weeks and if I needed a ride back to France, I could meet him at any of the destinations he gave me. I thanked him for all his kindness and stepped out on the roadway with my bag and guitar and waved goodbye to him as he headed down the road.

It was quite early in the morning and the sun was just starting to come out. The roadway was pretty quiet and I waited to catch a ride. Soon a lorry (British for truck) came by and the driver pulled over to pick me up. I asked “Glasgow?” He nodded and motioned for me to get in. I put up my bag and guitar and climbed in the truck and we headed to the city.

As I settled in he asked “Ha ja hed bikfist dearie?” I turned and looked at him totally astonished at what I had just heard! He said again: “Ha ja hed bikfist dearie?” Again I looked totally puzzled! I had no idea what he was saying at all. Not one clue. It wasn't English and it sure wasn't French. I was completely at a loss as to what to say. He seemed to understand that I didn't understand, so he said “Ha ja eaten?” Finally I got it! He wanted to know if I'd eaten breakfast! I quickly said “Yes, I'd had breakfast” (well actually 99 pints of hot milky tea). And we began to chat. His Scottish accent was a challenge but soon I caught on to the lingo and I told him about my trip to Scotland.

He asked how I ended up in Glasgow, I told him that's where the truckers were going. I told him about my trip so far and that I also wanted to buy a dog and I'd come to Scotland to find one. I told him I wanted to find an Airedale Terrier and I thought I could get one in Scotland somewhere. I didn't know where though and was hoping someone would tell me who had a kennel. He didn't know anyone with Airedales but that his day-route went around Glasgow and his run home went near the Youth Hostel I had planned to stay in and if I wanted to ride with him for the day he would drop me near the Hostel. I could see some of Glasgow that most folks never see and I thought it was a great idea.

We drove all over the outskirts of Glasgow but as the day wore on my kidneys began to complain about the 999 mugs of hot milky tea I had to drink and I just could not pee often enough to suit them. As my grandmother used to say; “ Herod, my dentures are floating away!” and I could have spent the day in the restroom peeing. Evening soon came and my trucker took me to the neighborhood where the Hostel was with directions how to find it. It was only a few blocks from where he dropped me off but by the time I got there, I had to find the restroom RIGHT NOW!! There was nothing for it; I dropped my gear in the lobby and raced up the stairs looking for the restroom: nothing, I raced down the stairs to the basement and SUCCESS I found the restroom and barely made it in time: another 50 mugs of tea were gone. I went back up to the lobby to check in.

As nice as the truckers had been, the Hostel Clerk was not. First he gave me heck for leaving the lobby without checking in. I explained I had to go to the bathroom and couldn't wait. He said, he knew why I'd left (it was sort of obvious I was in distress) but that was no excuse. Then came the bad part. I arranged the room for the weekend and handed over the passport and then he asked for the rent fee – in British Pounds. Oops!

I had managed to get £1 British Pound from the truckers on the way North but it was Friday, late afternoon, the banks were already closed and to make matters worse: Monday would be a Bank Holiday in Scotland. I didn't have enough British money to pay for the room for the weekend or to eat either. There were no ATMs in those days and even though I had loads of French Francs and Traveler's Checks, he would take none of it. I was just stuck. Stuck in Glasgow with no place to go or stay. Things looked grim indeed.

I had to think for a bit about what to do. I was in sort of a panic. Some of the other residents of the Hostel had come over to see what the problem was and began to offer help. No one at a Hostel has any money, if they did, they wouldn't be staying at a Hostel. But some offered to start a “whip round” to help me out until the banks opened on Tuesday. The clerk was told that somehow the money would be forth coming and to book my room for the night until they had collected enough. Then a group of them shepherded me into the day room and sat me down to chat. I was greatly relieved that I had a place to stay and that I could repay everyone when the banks opened.

We had a lovely visit, about 10 of us sitting in a nice room and exchanging information about our travels. Not too many Americans come to Glasgow, so I was an “instant hit” with the group. They asked me to sing some songs and I did my best rendition of “The Four Mary's” which really made them all cheer!

They asked me if I didn't know “Anyone in Glasgow at all?” I thought a bit and I did have a phone number of someone in the City. I had gotten the phone number of the parents of a Scottish couple I'd met in France on a completely separate adventure, the story which I will save for another time. I pulled out the number and the group helped me to make the call.

A nice man answered the phone and at least I could mostly understand him. I did my best to explain who I was, how I'd gotten his phone number, what the problem was and could I possibly exchange enough money with him to pay for the weekend at the Hostel? I could give him collateral for the exchange, I only needed a few British Pounds until the banks opened. He didn't hesitate one bit, he said he'd be right over. The Cheering Section went wild!

Just a short while later an older man came into the day room asking for me and said he had the money I needed. However, he said, if I wanted I could come and stay at their apartment until the banks opened up. He was very kind and said he knew who I was and that I'd done a great kindness for his son and daughter-in-law in France and wanted to repay it with the hospitality of his home. How could anyone refuse?

My cheering section helped me collect my passport and money from the Grumpy Hostel Clerk who looked peeved that I had gotten away and they all waved good bye as I got in the car and headed to the suburbs of Glasgow.