People Make Glasgow -- Glasgow, Scotland

Cities are usually a blur for me. I cope, but not well, with the chaos of cars, pedestrians, neon lights, and the smell of exhaust and waste. For a week or two, they're an exciting external blur. After that, they transform into a dull, internal blur. The former is like the party where you had the time of your life, but drank a bit too much. The latter is like the day after. When the slightest noise adds to the pounding of your head, the smallest movement from side to side makes your stomach churn and thoughts, words and feelings tangle themselves up and tumble out of your mouth, seldom in the right order.

Glasgow was the first kind of blur. But the transition between party and hangover commenced sooner than usual, thanks to Glaswegian drivers.

*HOOOOOOONNNNNKKKKK!*

Boy and I swiveled our heads to the left, saw the car careening towards us, and spryly jumped to the safety of the sidewalk.

"What was that about?" I exclaimed, mightily confused and terribly annoyed. "We had right of way, didn't we? I mean, we were walking on the left side of the road in the direction of traffic, the sidewalk ended because another road intersected with it, so we continued walking to the sidewalk on the other side. How did we not have right of way?"

"No idea."

Our host in Glasgow was not acquired through couchsurfing.com. Our host in Glasgow was acquired through my friend Liz, a Scottish artist I met while doing a workaway at Pepe's place in La Punta, Mexico. I'd messaged Liz ages back, asking if she knew anyone in Scotland along our itinerary who might be about to put us up for a few nights, and she connected me with Saska, another artist who lived in the center of Glasgow.

Saska was the epitome of artistic chaos. I don't believe she sat still for more than five minutes during our three day stay in her large, ancient flat she'd filled with neon murals of fantastical creatures. She made us a coffee, sat us down on the living room couch with brightly colored handmade pillows, introduced us to her boyfriend and flatmates, and began to chat about how busy her week would be.

Is this person even human? Or did she accidentally swallow a hurricane in her sleep one night and is now mostly made up of wind energy? 

Boy and I finished our coffees and then set out to explore Glasgow, Boy leading the way.

When Boy leads the way, he scorns the advice of Google Maps. He doesn't walk in direct routes. He walks until he sees a pretty street. Then he turns down the pretty street and walks until he sees a narrow alley. And he dashes into the narrow alley and walks until he sees a stray cat, then stops to pet the stray cat until he hears the sound of people singing. Then he flies towards the tantalizing sound, until he's distracted by a wine shop.

When Girl leads the way, Google Maps is consulted every time, with all due respect. Girl has a destination in mind and would like to navigate the city in a direct route and get to that place with the red pin on her map. If she sees a cat, she will pet it. If she walks by a church, she will peek inside and sit for a bit. But she prefers to stick to the route and save the random wandering for markets, parks and nature.

Boy led the way to Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum. It was... ummm... not a short walk.

Mr. Kelvin

This is a museum. A MUSEUM. Visiting Kelvingrove Museum was a great compromise for Boy and Girl, because Boy can look at architecture all day and Girl can look at art for hours, so we were both incredibly happy in this building.

Boy found a wine shop (after petting a friendly stray cat) near the museum where free tastings were offered, so we made ourselves at home for long enough for me to get tipsy. Then Boy bought a bottle of horribly astringent Syrah, and we walked back towards Saska's art gallery of a home.We popped into a Tesco Express on the way to purchase groceries for the next three days, and as we were narrowly escaping aggressive Glaswegian drivers while crossing the road, one leaned out his window and shouted,

"Hey! Can I have a banana?"

"A what?" Boy looked stunned.

"A banana. Can I have one?" the driver motioned to our bunch.

"Umm... do you need it?" Boy looked at me, then at the svelte young man in his polished sports car.

"Yeah, I'm homeless," the traffic light turned green and the Scotsman sped off, without a banana.

So, in the countryside, Scottish drivers are friendly and easy-going and supportive of vagabonds. In the city... they honk and give you the middle finger when you legally cross the road and try to take your bananas.

At Saska's, we shared the Syrah with her wine loving Irish flatmate, Kieran, and proved exactly how old we are when we decided to go to bed and watch a documentary about chefs rather than venture out into Glasgow's nightlife and party with the rest of the house.

All I want... is to go to bed early, watch documentaries, play cards, drink wine, knit hats, wake up early, drink tea, wear slippers, meander through gardens, drink coffee, stare at candles and read books that smell used. 

If I'm like this when I'm 27, what will I be like at 72? Is it possible to get much older than I am now? 

Guess we'll see. 

Boy led the way through Glasgow the next day. Many kitties were loved on and a myriad of churches were explored.

One of the few things that can deter me from following my trusty map is the sound of bagpipes. When bagpipes play, I stop everything and, like a moth to a lamp, weave my way through throngs of tourists until I can see the kilted fellow (never a lady. Ladies don't seem to play this instrument. It's kind of sad) and then I sit and listen until my eardrums hurt (which usually isn't very long).

Boy and I were a little taken aback by the beauty of Glasgow. We'd heard loads and loads about Edinburgh's legendary burnt beauty, but of Glasgow?

"Oh, the people... people are real in Glasgow. They're so friendly," our lifts would tell us.

"But doesn't Glasgow have the highest rate of violent knife attacks in the UK?"

"Well, yes, but..."

"But they're friendly knife attacks?"

"It's normally just domestic violence."

"JUST domestic violence?"

"That's all. Or if you're affiliated with a gang. Glasgow... people are more down-to-earth in Glasgow. They're genuine. You'll have a great time."

See that pink car? on the back, it reads in white letters, "People Make Glasgow." This seems to be the city's motto. I saw that sentence everywhere.

At some point, you begin to wonder whether or not Glasgow is compensating for something. Like they're all thinking, "maybe if we tell everybody how great Glaswegians are, they'll forget that in 2012, we had almost twice the amount of homicides as London did..."

 

Boy and I (thankfully) witnessed no domestic violence or gang related knife stabbings, but we did witness this unexpected beauty.

I loved that on the less attractive buildings, there were often delightful works of art. Like this one. 

 

 

 

There seems to be a bit of an obsession with Doctor Who in Scotland...

War memorial

This fellow spent ages trying to help a pigeon get something off its foot. He makes Glasgow.

Whoever put cones on the heads of this statue in front of the Museum of Modern Art makes Glasgow. It was almost the best piece in the whole awful museum. The best was a tiny, lopsided coat hanger with the caption, "Drunk Octopus Wants to Fight."

We stumbled across several markets with tantalizing street food -- 

-- and discovered a few street musicians who played something other than the melodious ozone piercing bagpipes.

 

Kieran, taking up the mantle of good host, invited us out to the bar he worked at and bought a round of drinks. Then hunted down a midnight snack for everyone. Then offered to make us breakfast for the next morning. But decided halfway through cooking a giant package of minced lamb that he was going back out to party, so removed his host mantle, donned his party hat and left the lamb to linger on the stove, half-cooked and exposed.

Boy and I climbed the precarious ladder to our cubbyhole in the kitchen wall and gratefully fell asleep, wondering what it must be like to be young and have energy for all those shenanigans.