Gleneagles dates back to 1924 which means we are close enough to a hundred years to use the word Century as part of the name. Some will argue that it is not accurate. Well, art never lets the facts get in the way of a beautiful story.
If the name troubles you, there is a second entrance which is simply signed as “BAR”. I like the oblique simplicity of it.
Of all of the rooms in the hotel, this is the one that most dramatically reacts to the light.
It is vast and tall, but by day it has a subtle foggy charm. The central bar feels, delightfully, like the perfect place to say something life-changing to someone you are falling deeply for.
The tables, as they drift to the edges of the room, are precisely crafted for the purpose of exchanging scandalous gossip.
At some point between late afternoon and the earliest hue of evening there is a shift, more subtle than, and not quite, a transfiguration. It does not involve the moving of furniture. It does not appear to involve even adjusting the lighting, and yet, it happens.
An erudite, urbane sophistication lowers in, it is hard to describe or define.
It is a monumentally great, imposing and heroic bar. It has permanence.
Think about a bewitchment. Give a thought, as you get pulled into the soft come-hither dazzle of polished glass, burnished metal, graceful stone and amber liquid, to enchantment.
Remember that you are in Macbeth country. Those witches, with their gift of spell-casting beguiling beauty are the very etimilogical origin of the word “glamour”. Maybe they are still at it in this Century, after dark.