The other side of Glasgow, Scotland.

Glasgow Scotland is the grittier cousin of Edinburgh.  He’s unkempt, at times ill mannered. The kind of bloke perfectly comfortable wearing a shirt from the bin despite it being literally peppered with stains from yesterday’s takeout gone awry.

“Glasgow” lumbers down crowded sidewalks, all the while avoiding eye contact because deep down, he’s shy and insecure.  His cousin is more popular; stately. However, on occasion, he surprises others by humming a Scottish tune, a subtle nod to his hidden creative side that he keeps hidden in alleys and backstreets.

WOW.

Head colds sure make one look at the world differently and clearly Glasgow was no exception. Mind you, I had a mild case of the sniffles when I took the 7£, fifty-minute bus ride from Edinburgh where I was for the past two weeks.

However, the next morning I was convinced someone attacked me in the middle of the night and poured a cup of cement up my left nostril which apparently hardened in my frontal lobe. My eyebrows hurt for the first time in my life. No doubt, international travel exposes us to various ailments, and a powerful decongestant would have been nice.  As a precaution, I immediately self-tested for COVID. 

Negative.   

I didn’t sleep well my first night in Glasgow.  The bed was pool table soft; the pillows as thin as bread slices and the walls, even thinner. On the bright side, the hotel enjoyed a convenient location, the staff was very friendly and an all you can eat breakfast could be had for a mere 5£.

My search for cold medicine led me to Glasgow Central Train Station, four blocks from my hotel. Major European train stations typically have a variety of shops where one can purchase coffee, headphones, sim cards, beer and wine, cheesy tabloids featuring busty women, mushy pre-packaged sandwiches and over the counter drugs. I selected some medicine because the packaging was the same color as Tylenol’s. The recommended dose was two tablets. I opted for three. Ok, four. 

The interior of Glasgow Central resembled a green house. A latticework of white beams and trusses supported an opaque roof that had the uncanny ability to make it brighter in the train station than outside. Pigeons strutted and fluttered about paying no mind to the morning migration of commuters.

Might as well enjoy the morning “sun,” my mystery cold medicine and sit for a spell.

I grab a seat on a row of benches that faced the arrival and departure board which changed every minute or so. As a result, I was quickly introduced to towns I never heard of and likely will never visit. Colorful and poetic names like Paisley Canal, Loch Awe, Bridge of Allen, Stirling and Aviemore.

Easily 70% or commuters boarding or alighting were dressed primarily in black. It was quite peculiar. And it wasn’t a particular age group who was adorned so dismally.  It was as if the train station was a morning of mourning. What’s more, surprising number of people had red hair. According to BBC.com, about 13% of Scotland’s population are “gingers.” The world’s population of redheads is about 1%.  

But why?

Blame it on the weather.

Allistair Moffet, managing director of The ScotlandsDNA project thinks “it’s to do with sunshine -- we all need vitamin D from sunshine, but Scotland is cloudy, we have an Atlantic climate and we need light skin to get as much vitamin D from the Sun as possible.” Many of the genes that affect skin color also affect hair color, so the rise of pale skin in many cases resulted in red or blonde hair. Red hair is also relatively common in England, Ireland and northwestern Europe.

Three maybe four cold tablets and two cups of coffee later I hit the streets. Glasgow is a working man’s / woman’s town, less touristy than Edinburgh. I didn’t see a single Glasgow-centric refrigerator magnet, sweatshirt or coffee mug. Homelessness and littering are a problem. Smiles are a rare commodity.

Happily, things started looking up, literally.

A few blocks from the train station I come upon a beautiful mural painted on a brick wall. It was of a woman in profile blowing a dandelion puff. Snowflake-like seeds took flight along the wall. Then another block later, there was another one ten times larger and ten times more impressive. It was easily four stories tall and depicted a girl with a magnifying glass who appeared to be picking up an object off the street.

After a quick Google, it turns out that I stumbled upon Glasgow Mural Trail. There are 30 official murals concentrated primarily in the city's central district. (Some sources say that there are another 100 or so “unofficial” murals scattered about.) According to the Glasgow Mural trail website, the project began in 2008 with the mission to rejuvenate streets and revitalize buildings that look a bit tired, reincarnating them as beautiful pieces of public street art.  There’s a handy interactive map that shows exactly where each mural was located along with a brief write ups about the artist and source of inspiration.

My morning walk now had purpose. Normally, I start my day in foreign cities by gleefully roaming aimlessly. I tend to do a lot of people watching from cafes and park benches, wander down questionable alleys and occasionally chase pigeons in market squares.

With the digital mural map in hand, I began my search in no particular order. It was a very rewarding scavenger hunt. Most of the murals I encountered were eerily realistic and alarmingly breathtaking: A mom cuddling a baby, a taxi being lifted by balloons, young girls blowing bubbles and a bearded man with a small bird perched on his finger. The paintings were pure and captivating. Each one elicited emotion. Abstract murals have their place but artwork depicting life in its best light wins every time.

I felt guilty that my first impression of Glasgow was unfavorable. It’s a salient truth that beauty is often hidden down dark streets and around corners that one normally doesn’t venture down.  However, I still stand by the observation that Glasgow is grittier than Edinburgh, but it took grit and unbridled creativity to transform vacant walls into impressive works of art.

And things continued to look up. My cold symptoms abated and I developed greater appreciation for the Edinburgh’s quirky cousin.