There are few better ways to spend a mildly hungover Sunday morning than catching the early train from Glasgow to Dundee.
I know because I did so recently. Trundling along the east coast railway with my favourite travel companion, John, proved an excellent antidote to that particular brand of the fear only a night out in Glasgow can generate.
We’d ducked into Greggs on the way, and by the skin of our teeth managed to secure a snack without the train leaving us behind. Then, we were on our way; Glasgow slipping past us out the window.
Sharing a too-hot tea on public transport does something for the soul, it seems. The journey passed quickly, and we arrived to a sunny Dundee.
I’d found us a great last-minute deal at the Staybridge hotel, a suite nonetheless, replete with fully equipped kitchen, and the room was ready before midday. Not many people had booked in to stay, so we could check in early. At £64 for the night, I was pretty chuffed; it felt like a very posh treat.
The Staybridge isn’t an independent hotel, but it’s cleverly done and doesn’t feel like a soulless conglomerate. The heritage of the building is referenced in the modern design, all exposed brick ceilings and visible beams. The room was spotless and fresh, tastefully decorated with a view towards the docklands. In some fortuitous twist of fate, the weather was gorgeous, and sunlight streamed in through the high window.
The half cup of tea hadn’t quite satiated us, and we were getting increasingly peckish at this point. After dumping our bags, we headed to The Bach, a cafe a friend and native Dundonian had recommended.
The Bach is run by two Kiwis and it’s evident – posters and lunch choices reference the fact. It might seem a bit odd to have a New Zealand themed café in the centre of Dundee, but it works. The menu was varied (without veering into Cook and Indi’s World Buffet territory) and the coffee a tonic. The café was bustling, but service was quick, and we tucked into our dishes greedily; an eggs royale on potato rosti for me, and corn cakes slathered in sauce for John. I didn’t even take a photo, they were inhaled.
Just opposite the café was the McManus gallery, which was also on our list. It houses an impressive selection of British and European art spanning four centuries, with a particular spotlight on nineteenth and twentieth century Scottish painting.
Then it was on to the V&A, the central focus of our trip and with good reason. Tartan, the latest exhibition, was impressive to say the least. It warrants an article of its own. I had underestimated the sheer scale of the exhibition; curators Jonathan Faiers, Mhairi Maxwell and James Wylie have created a veritable rabbit warren of the artistic variety; there’s so much to be discovered around every corner, and it just keeps going.
Tartan may be national fabric, but it is far from provincial – that much is clear. This is a tactile, textural, sensory delight of an exhibition, which spans cultures and centuries. I left with more questions than I’d gone in with, which is the mark of a good museum. It’s no surprise the V&A knows what they’re doing, but to have such a monumental exhibition in the heart of Dundee puts this place on the map.
It was also a treat just to see the building itself. Standing proud on the shore of the River Tay, it’s clear why Scotland’s first design museum is a modern cultural landmark. Kengo Kuma’s distinctive architectural style is striking, but it doesn’t feel at odds with its surroundings. There’s a sensitivity and cultural awareness to the design. I was surprised to see that what I assumed to be cold metal was actually pebbledash coated concrete, lending a more familiar than fancy feel to the exterior.
Next up was the Dundee Contemporary Arts centre for our next instalment of culture, Tartan on Screen, in collaboration with the V&A. At this point we were both a bit knackered from all the traipsing, so a film fitted the bill.
The lights had been turned down low, ready for the screening, when a hip looking gentleman stood up to introduce the film. He said his own name first, and it turned out he was one of the exhibition curators. The other two were in the front row next to him. I sat bolt upright – meeting three V&A curators was categorically not what I expected from a day in Dundee. I made a mental note to speak to them afterwards, and tried to quell my inner fangirl.
The film, The Ghost Goes West, was ridiculous and charming and very 1930s, and speaking to the curators afterwards made my night.
Feeling buoyed and rather hungry, John and I decided to head out for dinner at Tailend after. It was perfectly decent fish and chips, and I loved that the tartar sauce was free. The aforementioned hangover meant that neither of us was in the mood for drinks, so the bill was a very manageable £23. Even after a tip it was a cheap dinner out, though perhaps an expensive fish & chips.
The weather next morning called for a waterfront walk, and before catching my train I stopped by Empire State Roasters to pick up a coffee, and the most delicious apple and cinnamon muffin. There seems to be a tendency in Dundee to design their eateries based on somewhere else, but they have their own heritage worth embracing.
It was once known for jute, jam and journalism, but today Dundee is Scotland’s capital of modern design. From contemporary arts to world-class fare, don’t discount this diamond in the rough.
