the one with the trains

I am not often excellent at navigating, and I will freely admit this to just about anyone. After all, that’s what navigation apps were made for. And, I guess, maps and compasses and all that.

That said, I thought I could fairly easily navigate getting from St. Andrews to Glasgow, and back – it was only one transfer from a bus to a train. Alas, it was not so.

On the way there, I managed to miss my bus stop, forcing me to sprint back through Dundee trying to find the train station before my train left. In my rush, I tried to collect both my train ticket, and return ticket, but apparently the collection machine requires more than the five minutes I had to spare. I hung around the ticket machine like the true paranoid I am, but eventually had to run to the train with the one ticket in hand.

From there it was smooth going to meet up with my aunt and uncle. The car ride to the Transport Museum only nearly resulted in a crash like twice. As for the Transport Museum itself, it’s different from Edinburgh museums. No creepy mannequins. There are however, lots of old cars and trains and bikes, and all other stuff that moved or helped people move.

There is also a cafe, that serves really good chips, and tea that wants to spill on me. While sitting at a table, holding my cup of tea, I managed to spill half of the tea on myself, my jeans, my bag, and the floor. Fortunately it dried rather quickly in the brisk Glasgow wind.

Once dinner with the family was finished (so many accents), it was a mad dash to the train station, where it came to light that there was supposed to be a second ticket. The second ticket that the machine refused to print out that morning. So, I was forced to buy another train ticket, except the ticket machine wouldn’t accept my US credit card. Pulling out the little cash I had left on me, I managed to get a ticket that was different in some way from the first one I bought. Not entirely sure how.

Once that ticket was acquired, I managed to jump on a train just before it left the station, although it wasn’t necessarily the same train I had bought the ticket for. Thankfully, the conductor didn’t care. I would like to claim that I was just endearing enough to charm into her being okay with it, but I think it’s really just that I don’t understand how trains work.

Still, I managed to get home.