But first, the magnificent and sizely Glasgow Cathedral, built mostly in the 15th century, and Scotland's only cathedral to have weathered the Reformation:
A shot of the quiet interior, moments before a band of middle-aged American tourists invaded:
Beneath the choir (shown here) was my favorite part of the cathedral -- the darkened, creepy crypt, which holds the ancient tomb of St. Mungo (a 5th or 6th century bishop who founded a monastic community here). Not only does he have an awesome sounding name, but apparently it was a miraculously powerful one as well, as medieval folks would make pilgrimages from all corners of the land to be blessed at his tomb.
Overlooking the cathedral (and all of Glasgow) is the Necropolis, a veritable city of the dead. It's a steep, grassy hill shooting up with spires, angels, mausoleums, obelisks, and other stony monuments to expired Glaswegians. The day was far too cheerful and sunny to do the brooding grey stones justice, however:
Before leaving Glasgow we hit up the Kelvingrove Art Gallery, which, among other things, boasted the creepiest grand lobby decor of any museum I've ever visited:
Yes, my friends -- disembodied heads floating ghoulishly in the air! E'en so, we turned our embodied heads towards the north and west, leaving Glasgow behind. We had a rather tense 8 mile drive from the loch-side village of Balmaha to Rowardennan, dodging Scottish road-hogs on a windy one-track lane, wincing as we scraped shrubbery on our left side and prayed not to scrape Fiats and Minis on our right. In the end, we arrived here, at the Rowardennan Youth Hostel, where the road ends along the eastern shore of Loch Lomond
Rowardennan sits in the shadow of Ben Lomond, and is the point at which intrepid hikers head off into the wilderness of the West Highland Way. This was our view:
Oh, the bonny, bonny banks! We strolled along before dinner, warbling to ourselves, cooing over bluebells (me), skipping rocks in the loch (Josh), and generally feeling like we'd found paradise:
The sky set beautifully over Loch Lomond, and took its sweet time about it. Josh snapped this picture around 10pm:
And sunrise the next morning was just as lovely. I took the below picture of Josh on the dock moments after a rather astonishing revelation from my English roommates. This hostel only had same-sex dorm rooms, and I shared mine with 5 very cheery middle-aged women hiking the West Highland Way (hard core). We all woke up around the same time, and the lady in the bunk above me was checking her BlackBerry.
"Oh dear! Do you know who's died? Henry Cooper!" (All the British ladies exclaim mightily with grief and shock; the cheeriest of the lot informs me that Henry Cooper was an English boxer who once knocked down Muhammad Ali). Then the lady above me speaks again, sort of as an afterthought:
"Huh. D'you know who else has died? Osama Bin Laden" (with the "Laden" part pronouced with a short "a" like in "lad"; very English).
I nearly fall off my bottom bunk in astonishment while the ladies merely make a disinterested "oh" or two in acknowledgment, still reeling from the news about Henry Cooper. The English and national loyalty.
At any rate, this is Josh down on the dock, moments before I told him my news, initiating a good 12 hours of him trying to read news about Bin Laden on his Kindle:
