We had never been to Scotland, so we packed two holidays into one. This all came about one day at Metro HQ when I casually revealed that I had never been to Scotland. 'You have never been to Scotland?' replied our esteemed (and Scottish) political correspondent Craig Munro, in a tone that conveyed both scorn and incredulity. 'Nobody invited me,' I said. Besides, I like it at home in Essex, a land of big skies whose moody, meandering coastline (England's longest) teems with oysters and other fishy delights. But there was no getting out of it. Arrangements were made, and one May morning, my wife and I buckled up on a Ryanair flight from Stansted to Glasgow, the green fields of Essex vanishing below.
A Good Time in Glasgow
Ferried by airport shuttle (which, at £22 for two singles, is said to be the priciest in Europe), we walked to our hotel past the Wellington statue that by long tradition has a traffic cone plonked on the Iron Duke's head. This irreverence is so celebrated that you can buy souvenir traffic cone hats. There was even a cone affixed to our hotel wall by way of homage. If this goes on, students will be scaling the statue at night to remove the traffic cone in a gesture of rebellion. No cones about it though, I liked Glasgow. There was a nip in the air and an air of mystery. On Argyle Street, a man walked past shouting 'hot soup' but carried only a tiny rucksack. Emerging from a Salvation Army shop, four young women marched off holding a corner each of a newly purchased sofa. I hope they did not take it on the subway – perfectly formed but small, like a tube for whizzing the money to the cash office in an old-fashioned store. In our carriage, the sofa would have vied for space with a gang of singing revellers in cowboy outfits, already out on the town at 1pm on a Saturday. If I had felt able to pull off the Irn Bru cowgirl jacket I spotted at the famous Barras market, I could have joined in. Instead, at the Drum & Monkey, I sampled Scottish heavy: not heavy at all but delicious, richer than bitter and more complex than stout. Later at the Howlin' Wolf Juke Joint, I discovered weissbier from Weihenstephan in Bavaria — the oldest brewery in the world. Perhaps my taste buds were swayed by the claim to fame, but the beer seemed a rare nectar as we swayed to the sound of buskers The Lonesome Whistles, who richly deserved their indoor gig. They played no whistles and were far from lonesome, entertaining a packed house. In a coincidence in keeping with the spirit of the city, we bumped into two of them next day at the Kelvingrove art gallery and were greeted like old friends. The gallery was a treat, with few pictures of cherubs or gents in wigs. There is Monet, Picasso, Degas and the Dali crucifixion, not to mention these striking floating heads. But I best liked The Glasgow Boys, 19th-century artist pals who did railway station crowds and other modern scenes but also delved into Celtic themes, with haunting effects of light. At the cathedral, we found the burial place of Mungo, the city's patron saint, and a stern sign explaining he might not be buried there at all. I prefer to think of him slumbering beneath this sombre edifice around which Glasgow grew up.
A Spa Hotel in a 'Scottish Riviera'
Although we dallied in Glasgow, our real assignment was to visit the Waterside Hotel and Spa in West Kilbride, a short and cheap train ride away on the Firth of Clyde. I will not say I would rather boil my head than go to a spa, but there are some strong similarities — and I am certainly no expert. So here, my wife takes over the story. After the whirl of energy that was Glasgow, it was a pleasant change of pace to be gliding along on a not-too-packed commuter train to Ayrshire. Landing in West Kilbride was like stepping into a Scottish Riviera, with a dramatic cliffside landscape and magnificent views over to the Isle of Arran. We could not find a taxi so decided to walk the 30-ish minutes to the hotel, which was a lovely stroll for me, carrying just a rucksack. Perhaps a little more strenuous for my husband, hauling the overnight bag. The town's main street was lined with big old houses built in tasteful grey stone with glittering bay windows, immaculate driveways and envy-inducing gardens. West Kilbride is known as a 'craft town', so there are plenty of small indie shops with arts, crafts and clothes to check out. Much to my husband's horror – as that meant I was stopping every five minutes to dart into yet another interesting shop. We arrived at the hotel via a rocky walk on the Ayrshire Costal Path which runs around the front. After a brief panic that we could not access the building from there and might have to go all the way back, we found a lovely gated walkway that led us right inside. Guests have access to this pretty garden area with comfy sun loungers for relaxing in good weather with a great view of the moody Ayrshire sea. The exterior looked shinily new and functional, and is angled to allow as many rooms as possible to get in on that sea view. The inside was a mash-up of bright contemporary décor, with a cosy bar and the enticing Dune Restaurant with fabulous picture windows for that all-important sea view. Following a quick and efficient check-in, we wandered down the slightly labyrinthine maze of corridors to find our room. It was ground floor, with wonderful sea view and even a private patio area with chairs and table. The bedroom was light and bright with quirky touches, such as a Salvador Dali-esque lobster fixed on the wall. The bathroom: small, minimalist, clean.
On to the Food
The dinner menu was brimming with lovely local produce, although we were quite envious of the people who got down before us and were able to sit by the windows with an unimpeded view of the sparkling sea. Tom feasted on a very artfully presented version of traditional haggis, neeps, and tatties, which he declared was like a much tastier version of sausage and mash. I had juicy Scottish scallops mixed with veg. Later on, fairy lights lit up part of the garden which made it look quite magical.
The Spa Experience
But the following day at the newly revamped spa was undoubtedly the highlight of our visit. We sweated it out in the steam room and sauna, cleaned up in the experience showers and flaked out in the relaxation room. I kept trying to convince Tom to try out the cold drench shower (a bucket of icy water tipped on your head). I even offered to pull the lever for him – to no avail. The outdoor hydro pool was the real star of the show. Relaxing in the sunshine in the warm bubbly water surrounded by sun, sea and sand while still in the UK felt luxurious – and slightly disorientating in a good way. Even if you do not luck out with the weather, you can still get the seaside vibes in the thermal experience area with comfy loungers in front of big sea view windows. Next, it was time for a full body massage by the wonderful therapist, Michelle. She used super-luxe Ishga massage oil, an organic skincare brand from the Hebridean Isles. Great for opening up the airways, the mint and eucalyptus-powered scent managed to be both uplifting and relaxing. The roll cushion underneath my ankles was a clever touch of extra comfort. I emerged feeling a million times more chilled out than before. Tom usually comes out in hives when I suggest going to a spa, although he always seems to have enjoyed the experience by the end. And this was no exception. We finished the day in the relaxation room with its floaty curtains and squishy daybeds – totally blissed out.
Tom Parkes and Angela Kennedy were guests of The Waterside Hotel and Si! Spa but don't worry — our reviews are 100% independent.
