My 21st!!!
Eighteen might be the legal age in Scotland…but while I’m here, I turn the much-anticipated age of twenty-one. Months ago, I planned a once-in-a-lifetime trip to London and invited anyone on my contacts list. But responses were few. Only one girl confirmed she would come. And either last minute stress, or the truth that neither of us knew what we were doing, caused her to drop out as well.
My birthday is on Wednesday, the one time of the week I have a four-hour lecture (story of my life). In my mind, this gives me something to do, people to be with. I enter the classroom with a positive attitude, a cute outfit, and low expectations. If I don’t expect much, I’ll be content with anything better, right?
The lecturers don’t teach today. Instead, a guest speaker arrives equipped with a three-hour power point, five workshop exercises, and film equipment (leave it up to my birthday to be the time CAMERAS are used in the class)! Although this makes the class drag on, I tell myself it’s just God’s way of making my birthday last as long as possible. I’m really trying to stay positive.
In the afternoon, I go into town for much-needed shopping. From Zara to New Look to River Island, I enter all the stores which catch my attention and try on outfits too expensive to ever buy for myself. I step inside a local bakery and snag a birthday cupcake for the celebration tonight.
Three friends, none of which are Scottish, meet me at the local pub chain for dinner. JD Wetherspoon’s is the first traditional pub I visited in Scotland, and I know I like their cocktails, so I order a fancy glass for myself.
Despite the sun going down at 4:30 now, the hours of darkness don’t tire us, so I’m convinced to go out to the Tingle bar after dinner. We order fancy dessert shots, dance to music, and talk for hours.
For most, this would be a chill, boring twenty-first celebration. The day is certainly not what I dreamed when I was a pre-teen. But this is just my birthday…the real celebration comes Friday.
Glasgow. The only Scottish city which reminds me of an American metropolis. Hometown to several of my friends. I take two girls down for a night out, complete with shopping, a central hotel, and a Christmas market.
When the train arrives from Perth, my friend and I step inside a bustling, standing-room-only cart. By coincidence, the friend we plan to meet in town stands right inside, waiting for us. It’s hot and stuffy, but I’ve been in worse situations on the trains; a thirty-minute ride to the country’s largest city is no problem.
And twenty-one begins. Grey skies, chilly wind, and drips of rain are the aesthetic of this place. From the moment I walk out of the station, I recognize the city square. I’m close to Buchanan Galleries, one of several shopping centres in Glasgow. I lead my friends to the hotel, a central location within a minute’s walk, blocks from the riverside.
Due to its proximity and size, we step inside St. Enoch’s shopping centre and begin a shopping spree. From dazzling stores such as Quiz and River Island to mainstream brands like H&M or Yankee Candle, we peruse the mall, trying on new outfits and taking pictures in large mirrors.
Once it grows dark, I see the lights of a Christmas Market outside wall-length windows. It’s cold and wet, but we bundle up and brave the weather to make our rounds. German bier houses, glowing stained glass, and freshly baked fudge span the booth-decorated street. At the end of the strip, my friend sees a Tesco. We buy drinks and snacks to take back to the hotel before getting ready for the night.
I decide to go to Spoon’s again; this bar is located on an upstairs level of The Crystal Palace. From warmly lit tables to shining chandeliers to wide, open windows, the restaurant is comforting.
A third walk to the hotel helps us fight exhaustion (I did have class today, after all!) We pop open pina coladas, put on warm pajamas, and play upbeat throwbacks as we talk and make calls and set our makeup. Just in the middle of this perfect pre-party, my friend answers a knock at the door. I prepare to get approached by angry guests. Worse, upset caretakers. A concierge in her early twenties enters, apologizes for disrupting, and proceeds to make the fold-out couch into a bed. While she’s inside, we ask about the best clubs to visit and mention a venue called “The Light”. She grins and tells us our idea is brilliant.
One of us has another friend that lives close by and goes to school at Glasgow Uni. We pick her up on the walk under the city lights. The shopping district and museums glow bright, with beautiful fairy lights strung between the buildings and larger-than-life Holiday statues lit for the festival. I’ve always loved night life; my body runs on four-five hours of sleep, which is beneficial when the sun stays down longer than it stays up.
“The Light” is, in a sense, dead. Granted we arrive just as it opens, and there’s not much to expect from a venue that gives free entry, but the space is catered as a bar/lounge site rather than a dance floor. As soon as we sit at a booth, we are approached by a worker who asks if we want drinks, and tells us we can order the seat for £140. I jump out of the booth, stand and wait for the music to improve, but nothing happens.
Forget bar hopping — we go club hopping. The next location is called “La Cheetah”; I’m not so excited about visiting, but it is the closest bar. The bouncers are shocking, though. I give them my ID (note this is my 21st, I am the oldest of the group) and I’m immediately turned down. I give the ID to the next bouncer. He explains he can’t see the correct DOB on the American license.
So, we return to “The Light”. After my friend buys me a birthday drink and I weave myself into the mini dance floor, the lights and the DJ take care of the night. I dance with friends and British strangers until 3am and enjoy the night. I’m celebrating in beautiful, shiny, modern Glasgow.
The hotel warms my numb limbs. Exhausted, I plummet to the pillow and sleep in to fifteen til 10:00. A beautiful, perfect morning. My friend and I grab free Croissants at the breakfast bar before heading to Buchanan street. Although she has to catch a train by one, she joins me in hopping through the outlets, from Christmas-ready Next to three-story Victoria’s Secret. We even go into Buchanan Galleries, where she waits while I try on outfits!
There is no rain Saturday, making the train through the countryside absolutely incredible. Puffy, creamy clouds stretch through the sky above vibrant fields. It is a thrilling, whirlwind visit to Glasgow, and when the train pulls into Stirling, I am happy to be home.
In one sense, I could not ask for a more perfect twenty-first. My instinct, though, is to feel anxious about the trip. I’m not sure why, but since I’ve entered college years, birthdays have been a time of stress and not joy. Maybe I’m just getting older. Maybe I’m not excited about the same aspects as I was at home.
The truth about birthdays is they are not much more than a time which makes me want to visit home.
