A Scottish Journey: Finding fresh Ayr!

By Nujma Bond

After my explorations in Edinburgh, I was now back in Glasgow. It was my chance to visit what had unexpectedly become the number one destination on my list. Of utmost importance to me was the town of Ayr. It’s where my research into family history had led me after delving through the Scottish archives. I needed to experience the region, and I was excited, to say the least.

As I set off on the road to Ayr, I still kept thinking about the surreal reality that I was driving a vehicle along winding Scottish roads, and that yes, I was in that country. The sort of feeling you get when you finally reach a destination you’d always thought of and not only that, it’s better than you had imagined.

Scotland had felt uncannily and immediately “familiar” and I had liked it the moment I saw it from up high while landing by air - its shores’ visual similarity to Newfoundland and Labrador struck me. The feelings hit again after I’d stepped outside the airport upon my arrival in Glasgow. Hadn’t mattered that it was raining lightly and somewhat gloomy.

As I arrived that day in Ayr, I was kind of peckish. My plan had been to reach the town and immediately find somewhere to experience a local breakfast. Instead, I started with a bit of exploration by vehicle. I didn’t mind that the weather still wasn’t ideal as I made my way through town, driving up to what was a large fountain not far from the water’s edge. You could tell that fountain had been around for a long time . I later learned it was first turned on in 1892, on a rainy day, no less. The gift of an iron founder in Glasgow, named James Steven.

Fountain gifted in 1892 from Glasgow iron founder James Steven

I’d learned that Ayr’s history spans many centuries, its name derived from a Celtic word meaning “watercourse” or “strong river.” Recorded history shows that King William the Lion ordered a new castle be built in the region in the late 1100’s and Ayr became a “Royal Burgh” in the early 1200s. It served as the region’s central marketplace and harbour during the medieval period. But that’s just scratching the surface. It’s a place with a very storied past.

I got out of my vehicle and was standing in a spot that had been part of my great grandfather’s reality. A part of town he and my great grandmother must have visited too, over the years. Fleeting and unusual thoughts cross your mind at times like this – like how could they ever have imagined they would live on, specifically in me, and through my eyes. In that moment, and with my presence, they had never truly left what felt like an untamed part of Scotland. Though it’s possible their earlier histories might lead back to other parts of the country, this was one place I could confirm they had lived.

As I approached the fountain and walked around it, I could also see the seacoast, a greyish blue line of cold-looking water running up and down the western edge of town. As usual, the water drew me in. I had already looked it up and knew this was the Firth of Clyde, running into the Sea of the Hebrides, before it flowed into the Atlantic.

With my hair whipping in the chilly and strong wind, I walked up to the stone fence-lined edge of the coast and walked down a pathway to get to the sand. I could hardly believe my first sight... beyond the wide width of sand lying between me and the water, was what appeared to be someone on horseback riding along the water’s edge, seemingly appearing out of the blue in the middle of nowhere. It was like a scene from a movie, and I felt like the only spectator because when I looked around, there was literally no-one else in sight. All I could do was drink in the pristine scene and take a picture to capture the vision.

I imagined that wild and unspoiled beach must be teeming with people during the summer months. Reluctantly, I made my way back to the vehicle and keep in mind it was the middle of winter, but then again this was Scotland. I came upon several restaurants that looked good and I chose one called the Meridian, deciding this would be the spot. What followed was a breakfast with eggs, a baked tomato, toast and a potato pancake – all Scottish style of course. And a cup of tea. It was tasty and satisfying and I took my time. But I had to leave, so I could walk around a little longer before returning to Glasgow by nightfall. The drive would take about an hour, but likely longer because of the unpredictable traffic and my unfamiliarity in approaching the larger city in the evening.

As I window shopped and took in the sights, I noticed with a start, an open - air produce market - keep in mind it was the middle of winter, but then again this was Scotland. I came upon several restaurants that looked good and I chose one called the Meridian, deciding this would be the spot. What followed was a breakfast with eggs, a baked tomato, toast and a potato pancake – all Scottish style of course. And a cup of tea. It was tasty and satisfying and I took my time. But I had to leave, so I could walk around a little longer before returning to Glasgow by nightfall. The drive would take about an hour, but likely longer because of the unpredictable traffic and my unfamiliarity in approaching the larger city in the evening.

First, I stopped at two different places selling books. While I wasn’t in Scotland to shop, really, reading is a favourite pastime of mine and I obviously couldn’t walk by bookstores without going in. In one of them I even came across a little Robert Burns display. Because it was his birthday month, coincidentally.

While I’ve long been aware of Robert Burns and his famed history, I’d never really delved into his personal past. Suddenly while exploring Ayr, I had come across his statue, and even a local fish and chips restaurant named for him: Rabbie Burns Fish & Chips. It struck me that of course, this must be the general region in which he grew up. Funny to think that it’s possible some of my more distant relatives may have known him or met him once – or even attended a reading he might have given in the community. I hadn’t planned on this discovery and didn’t have time to visit his home cottage which you can tour nearby. I made a mental note that it would be yet another reason to return, one day.

As I approached my car, I curiously scanned the local real estate listings hanging from the window of a realtor’s business nearby. For a two-bedroom “flat” along one of the town’s main streets, just steps away from the water, somehow 40,000 pounds didn’t seem exorbitant.

Even if I had no more time to spend in Ayr on this trip, I’d tasted it. I’d walked down the road where my research had indicated relatives had once lived – though the exact address did not seem to exist any longer. Still, I’d experienced the environment, I’d found my way to the water and breathed in the fresh air along the coast. I’d experienced its wild majesty. I’d savoured a true Scottish breakfast in a town where part of my history lives, in some ethereal way. Even if I never had a chance to return, it had become a tangible part of me, too.