Glasgow wasn’t close to London in how much street art it has but some of the pieces were quite lovely. Before arriving, we checked out the Mural Trail Map, but decided that we would see what we would see in the natural course of our day.
So see them we did. By chance and occasionally by design. Can you guess which ones I love the best?
Don’t be fooled. This is a mural!
Oh, yes, my favourites were the girl stepping out of the Van Gogh, and St Enoch cradling St Mungo (second from bottom). A close third was the depiction of Charles Rennie Mackintosh with his roses, at the site of the Clutha Bar, where a helicopter crashed in 2013. And I got a kick out of the two pieces featuring Tunnock’s Teacakes, Krish’s favourite snack. In a narrow alley, I could only take badly angled views.
I can’t label all of these but maybe with time… Oh, to have better legs to see all that Glasgow had to offer in the way of street art.
I live in Hackney Central, the centre of London’s largest borough. It’s in Zone 2. If you look at a transport map of London zone 1 is the centre and each zone forms a radius around that zone, up to zone 6. So Zone 2 is just outside the centre.
Hackney was once voted the least desirable place to live in the UK. That’s all changed. Gentrification has turned it around with increasing speed. Now it just might be the most desirable instead. In fact, there have been polls about the coolest neighbourhoods to live in the world and I’ve lived in numbers 1 and 2 – Queen Street West in Toronto, and Hackney. Crazy!
Although Hackney has a reputation of being a rundown, dirty and dangerous area, it’s actually quite diverse. Within its limits there’s industry, commerce, cultural centres, many markets, churches, artist communities, housing estates, beautiful old homes, trendy new flats, fancy restaurants, very old greasy spoon cafes, canals, tiny and huge parks, and even vast areas of wild land. And there are many cultures – in this specific area there are many Afro-Caribbean, African, Turkish, Vietnamese…and so on. Hackney has also long been somewhere independent thinkers felt safe to be themselves – the feminists, the political activists, the poets, the dreamers… it can be wacky!
Hip Hackney. Or is it?
One thing Hackney is to me is community. People pulling together to make things happen. There are always plays, concerts, workshops, courses, parades, groups…street parties and projects. Right now there’s a cool project right opposite the house.
There have been two shuttered business premises for years – more than a decade for sure. We have no idea why they are sitting unused for so long. Mystery! When we came back from Toronto – maybe the first day, in fact, we saw some activity outside so I went to check it out. A group of neighbours had set up a couple of tables – one with plants and one with baked goods. They were busy stacking and securing wooden crates to one of the shutters and were planting a sort of living wall.
I bought some cake and chatted with them. They said that it was for the community and, in part, a protest against buildings sitting unused when there is so much homeless and need for affordable housing.
Bakery table on the left, plants on the right and a blank canvas of crates for plantingEverything is planted! For good measure, there are Sharpies everywhere for people to add things to the wooden crates. This has created a sense of this belonging to all of us.
Now, this is Hackney and, despite my protests to contrary, the neighbours can be rough. Vandalism is pretty common. Krish and I talked about betting on how long this project would stay unharmed. The initial building and planting was at the end of June, beginning of July. It’s now 24th August and the planters and plants are flourishing.
The plants started to flourish. People came every day to water them and they did well even in the heatwaves of this Summer
And there’s more. Since then, two benches were added and, soon afterwards, planters on top of the benches got some plants too! There are even plans to add a couple of ‘tables’ in the centre. What a great neighbourhood addition and incentive.
Since the benches appeared, plants were added to some planters along the top. Almost complete now!
I was born into what was really a slum in the east end of London. The house, on Lessada Street (now covered by a park) was one of several terraced houses that ran down each side. At the end of the street were prefabs (prefabricated buildings meant to be temporary) and I assume built over age- or bomb-damaged other houses. The house was simple, three rooms downstairs plus a tiny step-down scullery, three rooms upstairs. Downstairs in the scullery was a sink with cold running water, upstairs there was no plumbing so water had to be carried up to the makeshift kitchen on the landing. Every room had a fireplace for burning coal. The toilet was attached to the house in the back yard.
Droopy drawers on Lessada Street
At the end of the row of houses where Lessada Street hit Roman Road, was a large bombsite, where we played and discovered artifacts (and once a dead cat…etched in my memory!).
Enough about my childhood home for now but it forms the basis of why I have always felt comfortable in areas others think of as dirty, derelict, crowded or rundown. That’s how I also fell in love with Liverpool, back in 1964 when the city was so ravaged.
When I tell people I’m going to Scotland, their eyes light up. They imagine glens, highlands, heather and country dancing. When I tell them I’m going to Glasgow, their first reaction is puzzlement, their second is to ask ‘Not Edinburgh?’ (the prettier of the two cities). No, Glasgow! It’s more urban and far more gritty than its pretty near-neighbour to the Southeast.
At first glance, the buildings of central Glasgow are often dirty and grim. I look beyond this and see the beautiful carving and structure. On my first visit I stared at one structure and said, ‘If this were in Europe, people would marvel. In Scotland it’s considered ugly.’ In fact, while I haven’t researched this as much as I could, the Italian influence in Glasgow architecture is everywhere. Sometimes I imagine myself in Florence or Rome.
Near the highway, on one side is a Westminster style, while on the other a very Italian looking towerI could be in Torino as I walk towards this archIn the gritty east end, this rooftop detailNo mistake here. It’s the Italy centre. Very Torino!The Lighthouse Water Tower by Charles Rennie Mackintosh – through the glass atrium
One of my favourite places, which also evokes Italy, is the Princes Square shopping centre. There are a few very modern shopping malls. True to nature, I photographed none of those! However Princes Square is an amazing building. There’s a fantastic metal structure on the inside, a great esclator entrance, and the most beautiful interior with small boutiques and airy restaurants that spill onto the landing.
Kangan is also considered the ‘farewell’ but is traditionally the day the couple removes the amulet tied around their wrists. The amulet is used to protect the bride and groom so that they can enter married life ‘void of any evils.’ The religious part of the whole thing is over and now it’s time to celebrate before beginning normal, married life. From what I’ve read this is often done separately by the bride and groom’s families but in Moh and Sharon’s case, the two families came together for a back yard party at Moh’s.
Since Moh and Krish’s time as children at the house, the back yard has changed quite a bit. From the kitchen, there’s a generous porch-landing with stairs leading down. And from the basement, you can step straight out to the yard itself. There are paving stones where there once was grass and a vegetable garden. And there’s a bar, a firepit, and lots of seating. A grand place for a party!
Front of the houseThe patio leading from the kitchenThe seating area, bar, and barbecue
Guests arrived steadily through the night. I helped with food preparation and serving in the kitchen. By now the family members were no longer strangers to me, although some still suspicious. Moh went to China Cottage to pick up appetiser dishes to begin the evening, and this was followed by the usual array of meat and vegetable curries and a table of desserts.
Activity in the basement kitchen and food tableAppetisers from China Cottage
Tulsi’s best friend and his wife are going to Barcelona in October and their visit overlaps mine by a few days so we made plans to meet. That should be fun!
People came and went. Some people arrived long after most had left. It was mostly the smaller family unit – the brothers, the nieces – Ariya and Annabelle, Naomi and Rana, and Tulsi and Karne sitting together, chatting and relaxing. We lit the firepit and dodged mosquitoes. Krish had bought Annabelle some gifts throughout the months and this was probably the time that reticent little girl tore down her barriers and bonded with her ‘chacha’ (uncle). We thought it might never happen. I’ll confess that the gifts Krish had bought for her weren’t my taste. I’d wondered what Annabelle would think of them – but I’d reckoned without him having a clue about his family’s personality. Every gift was a hit, every single one.
Sitting around the firepit late at night – Gop, Ariya, and Sharon
It was getting late and the remaining guests had eaten and drunk their fill. Everyone was invited to stay overnight and so we fell asleep with a house full.
We slept in a little late. The house was quiet. When everyone was up, we kept it simple after such a big day. But Sunday was another big day so we found things to do to make the next morning easier, and the day slid by.
Naomi and Rana had a date with one of Rana’s Toronto family so we let them know we would make our own way to Ajax, where a bus was booked to take us all to the reception.
But first there was some drama. When I went to get the black pants Moh was lending Krish, the door to that room was locked. There followed a frenzied conversation with Moh, who blamed himself, through me from Krish, who also blamed himself. It mostly went something like this abbreviated version:
Moh: Break the door down
Krish: I can’t do that
Moh: BREAK IT!
In the end, we broke it.
Dress, shirt, and pants ironed. Uber ordered, ready to leave.
On the way out, Krish discovered he didn’t have the front door key. More panic! Then Krish remembered he had put the key in his jeans, which he was resorting to when we thought the black pants were out of reach. The Uber arrived and off we went with a talkative Sri Lankan man. He’d lived all over the world, even cooked in Paris, but was now living in the eastern suburbs of Toronto, finding it ‘the best place in the world.’
We were the first to arrive for the bus. Then everyone arrived and piled in and off we went. Another drama! The bus driver, having cruised along with no problem started to make some weird turns. He turned North instead of South, then west instead of East and I had no idea what he was up to. The cry took hold. ‘Do you know where you’re going, young man?’ asked Tulsi patiently but firmly. No response. Eventually though, he did tell us that there were problems ahead. Yet still we seemed to be meandering until we all had to collaborate on a map and direct the driver. We should have known things weren’t that smooth when we read the signs in the van.
In contrast to the other days, today it was all formal Western wear. Everyone was dressed in evening gowns and formal suit and tie. At the front foyer there was an open bar – people flocked to it.
Me in my tuxedo dress, Krish with Sharon’s brothers, Ken and SeanEveryone in their formal wear in the foyer- there were 400 of us
When they opened the doors, it looked like a fairyland, all silvery and glittery. Very pretty!
I seem to have not taken so many pictures so I might pad this out a little when I see Naomi’s. In the centre of the hall amidst the tables was an island filled with an appetiser selection. The food was now far from Italian – it was Mediterranean, mostly Italian. There were meats, cheeses, marinated vegetables, salads, different sorts of bruschetta. I filled a plate and could have eaten this all evening.
We were sitting at Table 7 with some of Krish’s cousins, including Naomi and Sean. Also Gop, Ariya, and Annabelle, as well as cousin Sham. I hadn’t seen him for about twenty years. He looked very prosperous and sombre. We tried to joke with him about the shenanigans from the old days, but he had no more than a slight, indulgent smile on his face. The other cousins teased him mercilessly about his choice of the name Sean, which he insisted was his name. I’d heard this story before but kept quiet. Sean was his middle name, his first being Sham – the name of his estranged father. While others tiptoed around the subject, the cousins jovially reminded him ‘You’ll always be Sham!’
Then dinner. First a huge portion of both tomatoey pasta and risotto (I took just the risotto), and then the main course – salmon and chicken. This was followed by a trio of desserts. Despite having been very hungry when I arrived, I left a lot on all of my plates.
