September in Glasgow
12 October 2021
I – Missed Connections
The tarmac was miserable on the 1st of September, phone alarms disrupting the whole fuselage as theoretical biblical floods occurred outside that I could not witness with my eyes due to the fact I was cursed to the middle aisle of seats. It had been an hour, I knew I missed my connection; my travel plans were now exclusively in the hands of Mother Nature and Iceland Air Travel Agents.
Upon arriving in Reykjavik I learned my new itinerary: Spend the day and night in Iceland, Wake up at 3am for a bus, Fly to Amsterdam, wait 9 hours in Schiphol, and then wind up in Glasgow at Midnight the next day. 52 hours of travel, it sounded about right. But I can’t complain – fate happened that I was next to a fellow Glasgow bound traveler, a Glasgow School of Art student, and we shared the updated itinerary. Together we explored the Nordic streets of Iceland’s capital, wandering around and seeing their Viking monuments, both exhausted from the excessive travel. The flight to Amsterdam and the wait were not bad either, the two of us had many a conversation and it made the travel anticipation a little less chaotic and significantly less lonely. The fight to the new city took only an hour; soon, after much delay I was at my destination: Glasgow
II – Homeless and Hunting
Perhaps it was folly, perhaps it was fate, most likely just laziness, but I showed up to this place without a long-term place to stay. My first Airbnb was at an old guest house in the East End aka Dennistoun. The whole place felt antiquated and there was no wi-fi in my room. There was an old man who lived there and worked as the check in desk who had an impenetrable accent and called me “big man”. Simply put, I felt confused about the whole thing, but I learned to love it there.
The second lodging was literally a broom closet, but it worked perfectly for me. It was in the city center right next to all the action. Here I was able to really navigate my way around and get a sense for Glasgow. Additionally, they offered a complimentary full Scottish breakfast: eggs, bacon, beans, sausage, a potato scone, mushrooms, tomato, 4 pieces of toast, and a small pot of coffee. Being concerned with money I ate every single scrap of food, and these were my calories for the day.
During these first several days I was very concerned about everything, fully anxious that I would not have a place to stay – it seems there was a bit of a corona centric housing crisis – because 1) so many students deferred more students were moving into the city 2) because there is more work from home, fewer people are leaving student flats to move to other places and 3) because of the crisis rent value increased, driving up prices and making would be available flats into things only wealthy students (i.e. not me) could afford.
So, I went through a bit of a numb hustle those days – entirely overwhelmed by the thought of not having a place and needing one, but facing the odds of sheer unavailability. I sent out hundreds of messages on several platforms, called different agencies searching for anything. Facebook posts on the Glasgow Flat Hunt page only demotivated me more – several people panicking about their situations posting about the near helplessness of it all. Simply put it was tough time, D and O in Glasgow.
I did get one viewing though, a sheer statistical anomaly compared to the lack of response I got elsewhere – a flat in the west end that was both in a great location and entirely affordable. I showed up the location on the Great Western Road, very nervous but excited all the same. I introduce myself to the current occupant of the flat and the whole place seemed perfect for what I needed: an old tenement fit for student living with a quaint rugged charm. On front of the door that would be my room was the sign “Don’t be Upsetti, eat some Spaghetti” (a reference to Italy beating the UK in 2020 EuroCup). Seeing as I have an intimate love for spaghetti, I only took this as a sign from the universe that things would be alright. Despite the litany of failures elsewhere in the flat search land, I left this flat with a level of confidence and a smile, a feeling that everything will be okay.
III – The Orange City
Glasgow’s predominate feature is its orangeness. The sky at sunset, the stone of the buildings, and of course the unfiltered love and presence of traffic cones scattered all throughout the city. The place is larger than I imagined, no skyscrapers but periods of being consumed by pure urban space. Loads of cathedrals and the like, shockingly ornate. But this excess is matched by a grittiness found in street art, chippies, cones, etc. And the city feels lived in; the people and the buildings match. Limited pretense all around. Glasgow does not feel a need to flex it seems.
These are my first thoughts as I walk through the city without a home. My first experience was walking by the Tennent’s brewery, the local beer I would come to love. I visited my conelogical mecca of the Duke of Wellington and his traffic cone’d tradition – I was fortunate to see 4 cones on the monument the day of my first visit and I took it as another universal sign. I learned this tradition is not unique to the Duke, nearly every public statue in the city has been crowned with a cone at some point, especially those in Kelvingrove Park.
American 90s is having a revival in Glasgow it seems, or perhaps this is the first time they came around. Kids skateboarding on museum steps smoking cigarettes wearing Nirvana T’s, girls walking up Buchanan street in proper goth kid aesthetic, a street performer play 4 Non-Blondes’ “What’s Up” (You know the “hey yeah yeah yeah” “waiting for a revolution” yeah I didn’t know that was the name of the song, I always assumed it was “What’s Going On”), and of course street art with lyrics from Brittany’s Toxic. The Uni gym, I would later learn is also caught in that decade re: music.
Complementing Glasgow’s orange, the secondary color of this city is green, at least in the days of late summer/early autumn. Dominated by two rivers, the Kelvin and the Clyde, Glasgow has much waterside greenage, including the Kelvin Grove Park, the Botanicals, and canal. My daily run is running up the Kelvin to where it meets the canal; I am shrouded by the shade of trees and overwhelmed by structures such as old churches and forgotten bridges. Additionally, in these parks are a plethora of blackberries, which make a hearty snack no doubt.
IV – Moving In
One morning deep in the Guest House life, right before I am to head to a tour re: mythologies of Scotland, I receive a call from the two-people living in “Spaghetti Flat” – it turns out I had it. Upon first hearing the news I was totally noided, thinking that all participants were actors and that the whole thing was a scam because it seemed to good to be true. But then I realized such a hoax would be too elaborate for the poor likes of me, so I was then flooded by excitement and positive disbelief. The mere fact the only viewing I got while I was down and out in Glasgow ended up the being the place I was to stay seemed like a major sign from the universe that I was somehow meant to stay in this city and that the numb hustle was worth it.
On a rainy Thursday morning, I dragged my bags (aka all my belongings) from the city center to the west end. I arrived in the flat and met the people who were in the process of moving out of my room; the place was very much still in the state of a move out and I would not be able to settle in until Sunday, but at least I had a place to put my bags. This day I ended up getting close with the people who were inhabiting my future space, a relationship type that does not have a name but ought to. They were a couple, two English folks – we spent the evening drinking beer, playing board games, making pizza, and discussing the value of “radish”. What is the point of a radish really? Does it exist merely for salads? At one point the man in the relationship asked me when I will bring the rest of my stuff over, and I pointed to my bags saying “this is all my stuff”.
Not yet having a bed, I spent the weekend in Stirling with my old friend – someone I haven’t seen since pre-pandemic. We explored Stirling’s ancient treasures: the Wallace monument, a graveyard, the castle, and caught up on literally everything. The next day we travelled back to Glasgow and explored the city I now had a bed-shaped stake in. Admittingly, I was exhausted, but that night was the night I was able to put my head down on a pillow, and firmly claim “I can settle”. I woke up in this new space the next morning on my 27th Birthday.
V – Classes and the Uni
Glasgow University clearly inspired the design for Hogwarts. It is honestly an impressive space, at least the main building. The rest of the buildings feel very 1990’s or 2010’s, but that contrast is just enjoyable. The main building is neo-gothic to my understanding and has an undeniably old feel. I don’t think I fully understood the term “cloisters” until I walked through UofG’s. The campus seems both large and small as it is so blended into the environment of the city – but feels way too small to belong to 29,000 people.
Classes began and I was simply hungry for knowledge. Each day I enjoy the lecture and consume around 100 pages of academic text. And each day is a different class, so I am constantly bouncing around the interplay of different ideas and concepts so that I can synthesize them into cohesive knowledge. The core idea that shook me thus far is a reading from my Theory class that suggests that the basis that underpins of all sociology is acknowledging that suffering exists, and the aim of sociology, and perhaps all education, is to remove the illusions surrounding this fundamental idea. It all sounds very Buddhist, doesn’t it?
The culture shock that I have been experiencing here is not that of US to Scotland, but rather from small private undergrad liberal arts school to massive post-grad public university. In undergrad I was part of a select handful (relatively) that belonged to the school, and felt crafted and cared for like a pastry in a bake shop. Whereas here I feel mass produced in a chain grocery store. But there is so much freedom in all that. I am required to be self-reliant, I can be anonymous, a feeling and a gift I have never truly felt my whole adult life and something I will not give up soon. A helpful metric to reference the scale shift of my educational experience is that my massive Research Design class has about as many people in it as my entire undergrad graduating class. There is much value in anonymity.
VI – Art and Techno
My first connection in Glasgow, before I even came to the city, was a French Photographer who would be beginning is academic career at GSA. Originally, we planned to find a flat together, but the dire circumstances and my luck resulted in the unfortunate parting of the ways re: domestic life. But we stayed close and I can firmly say he’s been my best friend this first month. He, having a) lived in Scotland for the past two years b) having a tight knit program at school and c) being probably the most socially expansive and charismatic person I have met – has introduced me to a vast network of people mostly grounded in the Glasgow art community. With him I have gone to the art school pubs, art school parties, gallery showings, the whole gauntlet of “artsy” activity. I feel quite Isherwoodian in these spaces, acting as a camera as someone who is not a part of the scene but is still enjoying and engaging fully, almost codifying my identity of “sociologist”.
One of these instances was going to a birthday party for one of his photography friends. After pre’s at his flat we went to a club and it simply took me back to my time in Berlin – techno music mixed with hyperpop, all types of characters and clothing that exist exclusively in dark subterranean lacunae, ritualized sacred time. I missed this energy so much it’s been so long since inhabiting a space like this, so I was floored. Outside of the club, chatting with folks, I felt a profound communal connection to the late-musician SOPHIE. She was Glasgow based, and it was clear, based on the conversations had, that these were here people, referencing the artist on a personal basis and the impact she had on the community.
Another connection to the GSA/Art community was the weekend before. I had fully lost my voice and could only whisper croak at best, so I needed to have zen weekend in as a hermit under a vow of silence. I decided I would be productive and clean out some of the dirtier spaces in Spaghetti Flat and this included the forbiddingly cramped hallway closet. In between some trash and handy bits and pieces here and there was an old unnamed suitcase that did not belong to any of the current residents. Obviously, curiosity was overwhelming so I took it into my room and opened up the hidden treasure. Sketchbooks, paintings, drawings, prints, and old magazine clippings littered the entire suitcase. Apparently, some GSA students lived there 3 generations back (again, there needs to be a word for the people who formerly occupied one’s space) and one of them (KTHY is the closest thing I could find to a name) either abandoned or forgot a lot of her work. The forgotten oeuvre was epic in scale considering I found it in a hallway closet, mostly figure studies of women done up with watercolours, but also some real interesting surreal landscapes and collages. My mute Saturday ended up being a twist of fortune – not only had I uncovered a mystery, but I also no longer had to go out and buy things to hang on my walls.
VII – The Future
September came and it time feel stretched. Having only been in the city for a month I feel curious, but also eager like a plant to set down some roots and connect. My mind is ready to be reshaped by Master’s level course work, my body ready to exist in new territory, and my spirit ready to develop and expand.
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