Sometimes it is so hot, one sees gnomes everywhere. And that gnomes dance is generaly acknowledged. Incidently, somewhere around the corner one can visit a very cute gnome house. I happened to bike by in search of some fresh air. Tonight I will go out dancing myself. Gentse Feesten – that will be loads better. I hope I get rid of these gnomes by then,though.

After a day or two in Edinburgh we decided to take the train to visit it’s sister town – Glasgow. Two very different propositions, really. It’s a bit like the difference between Brussels and Antwerp. Glasgow is more of a creative hub, with a rich nightlife tradition – dance- and concert halls, cinema’s and the like. Edinburgh has more grandeur, almost capital-like. Being there, we visited the National Piping Center, which came as a bit of a shock and the Mackintosh house, which came more as a revelation. And of course we strolled a fair bit. Along streets bordered with ‘red stones’ – Victorian style grand houses sporting splendid red natural stone facades, typical British belle-étage basements, Dorian or otherwise styled pillars supporting the entrance and a gem of a garden in the back.

Moving along, we passed the xxx boulevard with the famous ABC/0² venue, causing all my inner alarm clocks going off. This finally could be it. One of those really rare historical venues, having been in a distant past a courteous ballroom and after that more likely evolving into a cinema or even a boxing ring. Somewhere I read that in Great Britain, they still keep a few of those pearls of popular culture, without the necessity of being an opera house, intact.

Well, in the end, my intuition wasn’t completely right. The moment we crossed the threshold, thrilled with expectation – the entrance looked promising – a security guy laid hands on us and called us back. “This is a venue sir! In a while the concert will start. Nobody is allowed during the set-up.” After recovering from our first fright, the utterly surprising thing was the kind of conversation unravelling between us and this agent-type. After I told him about my passion for old dance halls, to my no little surprise, he actually started rather enthusiastically citing all the phases of the venue’s development. Built in 1892 as a indoor zoo, in the ’20ies a kind of skating ring and a cinema after that. Since the ’80ies famous as a concert venue exploited by O². Now, I don’t want to underestimate security agents in general, or even being rude to the profession as a whole, but I feel very confident that in Belgium, or even virtually everywhere on the globe, one would rather not have such an entertaining conversation about the socio-cultural past of the building one happened to have entered without permission and being caught consequently. This really blowed our minds. I mean, the guy was so perfectly friendly and erudite. For the rest: the normal amount of gorilla style muscles, short-cut hair and al the necessary tools girded around the waist to perfectly demolish any intruder. In a bizarre way U.K. culture is most of the time about keeping up appearances.

Bearing this experience in mind, we decided to visit the brand new Riverside Museum. A typical example of ‘landmark architecture’ albeit that the pathetic was kept well in balance with it’s function as a museum. And that, one might think, certainly is some of an achievement. The building is even so unspectacular, that, biking by some weeks earlier on our way to Loch Lomond, I first considered it as a kind of specialized supermarket, without much of a clientele, because of the gigantic empty parking lot in front. Observing more closely, the construction is more or less following the logic of the Danmark model (Head – Neck – Body partitions) encapsulated by an impressive acclimatization layer but nonetheless reveling a gigantic museum space inside.

And we dearly love those Brittisch Museums! To begin with, they are for free. But even then: what an intelligent constructs they are, full with interactivity. Whether your 6 or 96 one can go there and have a good time. There literaly is something for everybody: for every age and every learning style. I suppose they are not coming cheap, but for this kind of an investment, any museum should be perfectly OK for the next decade. Temporarily exhibitions? Never heard of! Neatly designed collection or exhibition profiles? Forget about it! Every thing next to the other and a lot of everything. Not 1 steam lock, but a dozen, not one old timer car, but 300, etc. In the end everything starts with a fantastic story: authenticity, multimedia, erudition, fun, etc.

For several reasons I was really impressed by the double-deck tram, used as a starting point to explain dance culture. There is a screen showing movies with dancing people, interviews with eye witnesses and of course some fantastic princess – style dancing robes from the ’40ies, ’50ies and ’60ies. Marvelous and yet so near to my heart. From my own Dansant research project in Antwerp (hence the name of this blog), I learned how important trams used to be for the youthes of the ’30ies, ’40ies and ’50ies. This was their dream vehicle to go out. Dress codes used to be so strict, that going out was only allowed when one dressed up properly: suit and tie or evening dress and perfect healed shoes. So biking to a dancing hall was an impossibility and cars or taxis far to expensive. So one took the tram. Having the explicit advantage for the parents, their kids had to be in on time. Last tramway, you know?

After a fairly tough, hilly day in the saddle (Tyndrum – Oban) on day 3 of our epic bicycle trip, we finally arrived in the illustrious Oban. I don’t know how the Brits – pardon me – the Scots do it, but a coastal city like this is rather unique and unthinkable in continental Europe. Talking about urbanism, I mean. In Oban,the highroad leading from Edinburgh and Glasgow, passes right along the quays and the heart of a small provincial town. Causing considerable traffic jams with Trucks and Vans an the like, which anyway don’t even belong there. It is rumoured – my wife claims this- that a natural reserve of major importance is draped around Oban’s suburbs, legally preventing the construction of a ring road. Not that I’am against preservation of open space or anything, but I can’t image that – apart for being a nuisance for the birds and wildlife, all this traffic is supposed healthy for the inhabitants. Of course, it would make things much easier when they just would abolish cars completely. By the way, this would make life of us, the cyclists, much more comfy.

Now Oban is also the hometown of Skippenish Ceilidh House, a true institute of traditional dancing, equally unknown this side of the channel. A Boombal – disco like place it is, (carry on, Boombal managers!), only providing life folk music for the dancing. The Scots think that this music and these dances are typically Scottish. I seriously doubt that. I rather think that the dances I saw there were more like belonging to the big pan-European contredance/quadrille melting pot, than anything else. But, OK, they are rather popular over there. The hipsters from the neighborhood showed up and drenched themselves in sweat jumping around on the dance floor. The business is even so renown that you can find there CD releases in every respectable post office on the isles.

Leaving us with a less nice feeling. The Scots really are heavily involved with regionalism and claimed identities. Really, the situation is not comparable with our own Flemish aspirations in that respect. In 2014 they will organize a referendum about independence and so, some of this regionalists (or should I call them nationalists?) are really raving. Can you imagine radio broadcasts offering a choice of military style march music, folk dances and hate – speeches? “Radio Milles Collines” is rather an appropriate name for this phenomenon, if one considers the hilly nature of West – Scottish geography. I was so unlucky to have to endure this nonsense for a while taking a shower under a blaring sound blaster.

What makes an average Scot, Brit, Portuguese or Swede – apart from their respective tongues – differ from each other, isn’t clear to me, but apparently seeking them differences out, deserves full attention of the mass media today. Identity IMHO is an individual matter and not a collective construct. Intelligence on the other hand is only possible as collective action. Lucky for us nationalists don’t know this. While they are messing with their supposed and invented identities on their own, we acting as a team, can search for more intelligent solutions while take a nip from our Single Malt. Comforting idea.

Just back from Scotland and nearly crushed under the piles of intelligence at the office. Looks like I caught some sand under the hood while biking through the highlands. Good to know my brain unlearns so quickly what daily office routine looks like. Creates the necessary space for the real important things in life such as admiring a gorgeous landscape or enjoying good company and a nice glass of wine. But what did we learn travelling for three marvelous weeks? A great many things, I can tell you, though not so much about dance history I’am afraid. Obviously, one needs humans for dancing, and that particular species is quite rare on the Outer Hebrides. By all means much less common than, let’s say, sheep or oystercatchers. There even are lying more seals sunning on the beaches out there than local birds in bikini. Nevertheless, I promise, to give some thoughts about what we still did encounter along Scotland’s roads the next few weeks. Working title: ‘Travel diary of a dance historian’. I hope it wets the appetite. Time for a healthy dose of Oban Single Malt. Cheers!