a community serious about adventuring
We had to laugh at how perfect his place sounded for us in particular, the mismatched glassware, which for those who know us, is exactly what you’ll find if you open up our cupboards. We went ahead and booked us for two nights crossing our fingers in hopes that Morgan would make the age cutoff (we love how young you are Morgan).
The owner of the Blue Sky Hostel is Canadian. He’s from Alberta and has been running the show for ten years. He’s not hard to pick out. He’s the much more strung out Kurt Cobain look-a-like, only with longer, un-dyed hair.
One of our dorm mates also happened to be from the good old grain roots of Alberta. Denny was a mill worker who couldn’t have look less inconspicuously Canadian; lumberjack attire and a canoe paddle jutting from his backpack. He had been travelling Eastern Europe for the past eight months and shared a fun story about his experience with bunk beds. He found himself working in a hostel where a guy and girl had come home late one night. So drunk, the guy had wet the bed in his sleep. The pee had dripped down and on to the girls bed below. The girl wakes up in the night and freaks out thinking she’d been the one to wet herself in her slumber. Drunk and confused and urine soaked, she thought, who better to make this better than the guy she liked, in the bunk above. So she climbed into bed with him and together then lay in the pee soaked bed. So we had a wee laugh about the wee-wee weekend in Eastern Europe.
The Blue Sky manifesto goes on: “Glasgow hosts the best night life in the whole of Scotland. Come and stay at the Bluesky Hostel in Glasgow and experience it for yourself. You will not be disappointed. You have been warned!” And what else should you hope, if not expect, to see when you begin your merry pubbing? A bar brawl.
On our last night in Glagow, we make it to The Hall pub in Glasgow at 9pm. We’ve missed out on the ‘Screamin’ deal – a free burger and soft drink valid with a coupon issued from our kind Blue Sky Hostel. With broken hearts needing meanding, we decide on two pints of delicious Tetley’s. We find a seat close to a pool table where a pack of men are knees deep in drunk and having a good laugh at their terrible game, which involved a lot of cue-guitaring and cue-jousting in celebration of a hole pocketed.
A group of two young kids make their way to the pool table and want to start a game, but in Glasgow, this is recipe for a classic Glasgow tradition; bar brawls. One of the elderly gentlemen isn’t finished using the table and begins to mince words with one of the younger lads. Things were getting heated so Morgan shiftly grabbed us two more pints.
There’s a classic scene in the movie Trainspotting. At a bar, Begbie brags to his friend about his prowess at the pool table and concludes the story by casually throwing a pint glass of beer off the bar balcony, injuring a woman. This instigates a violent bar brawl.
Unfortunatley, there was no connecting of glasswear to skulls, but we’re still in search of a good Scottish bar fight or another viewing of Trainspotting is in order.
On pints: In Vancouver, there’s been a lot debate about the size of a true pint. In the UK, there is no head on your pint. It’s beer, right to the top of your glass. A full 20 ounces of goodness. Thirsty? Beer is cheaper than water. A small bottle of water will cost you £1.50 while a massive pint of beer costs as low as £2.
From here on in, Morgan and I have decided to sign off as The Limey and The Yank. Morgan has American citizenship and I have British. After three pints it seemed like a good idea.