streets of glasgow
this is my blog documenting the time i spent living in Glasgow, Scotland
19.7.09
The KOG Cafe
I've always been about creating a safe place where you can kick back, share a cup of coffee, listen to some good music, view some interesting art, read a good book, eat some yummy food, and engage in connecting conversation with others. The KOG Cafe is that kind of place.
What's The KOG Cafe?
The KOG Cafe is located in a 100+yr old building on Parnie St. in the Merchant City district of the metropolis of Glasgow. Glasgow is the largest city in Scotland and the 3rd largest in the UK with a population extending 1.2-2.3 million people (comparable to Seattle).
In 2000, part of the building on Parnie St. was leased by a small church (The KOG Church: formally Glasgow Central Vineyard) for the purposes of creating an establishment that would be a combined non-profit coffeehouse, art gallery, bookstore, meeting place, outreach to the people of Glasgow, and a center for art groups and Christian ministries to be housed.
Several short-term mission teams & longer term missionaries from churches around the US (along with individuals from all over the world...including myself) have traveled to Glasgow for the purpose of aiding the small church to renovate the building to become a cafe and so much more. As I have written in some previous posts, I traveled to Glasgow in 2000 with a handful of people from Boise, Idaho to go partner with the church there and help out with the renovation of the building. And I also moved back to Glasgow for 9 months during 2001-2002 to continue serving with the church there, attend a leadership/ministry college that the church offered, and work on THE KOG building.
Being a professional artist, part of what I got to do on my first trip to Glasgow, was paint a large wall mural in the entry hallway of the KOG Cafe. I spent the greater part of a week prepping and planning my design (which was a colorful abstract of raining cogs) and then an entire day painting it on the roughly 16-17ft high 20ft long wall. It was one of the most amazing days I've ever had as I hung out on ladders and danced on scaffolding. I found my creative zone painting as I listened to loud music and the sounds of the other team members hammering, sawing, singing, and building stuff in the room nearby that would be the cafe.
The building's location has a lot history rooted in Christian revivals for the city of Glasgow. But in recent years it sits in the midst of a dark and oppressive area of Glasgow and the building has gone to ruin. The church has vision that "God has assigned (them) to the Merchant City, pinpointing it as a key area in taking back Glasgow for Jesus and ushering in His Kingdom." (*). The cafe is called THE KOG...an acronym for The Kingdom Of God. The City of Glasgow is undertaking a huge project to turn that area into a thriving area of artistic culture. And The KOG Cafe longs to be part of the plans for the future.
A lot of work has already been done over the last 10 years...but there's lots more to do.
Unfortunately, The KOG Cafe is unfinished. The main ground floor housing the cafe, the art gallery, and a back room (for bands to play, open mic to take place, movie nights to happen, and church worship services to be held in) was finished & opened to the public around 2003. The basement is still unfinished (practically dirt floors, old musty brick walls, & lots to be done) and an upper floor that has yet to be released for lease to the church. "Since first obtaining the building in 2000, (the) work at KOG Cafe was met with many and varied problems, to the extent that the Cafe closed to the public in 2005 and (the) church temporarily moved to West Hurlet House in 2008 (this is a building located in the city limits of Glasgow). (They) have maintained (their) lease at the KOG Cafe in the hope of restarting the work, and other groups have been using it during this time." (*).
(*)quoted from a newsletter from the current Project Manager for The KOG Cafe Project 2009
I have been blessed to be a part of the beginnings of The KOG Cafe in Glasgow...and I continue to partner in prayer and support for what they do and represent in their city. I got to visit Glagow in 2005 (3 years after I had lived there) and I was able to see The KOG Cafe after it had been open to the public for business and also for church services in the back room. I'm pleased to know that though it's been closed for a few years now, the plans are to re-open the cafe by October 2009 and get the place fully functional again. Renovation plans continue in order to finish the basement and hopefully acquire the top floor. I look forward to the next time I get to travel to Scotland and hang out in The KOG Cafe in Glasgow!
The KOG Cafe website: (you can see a couple of photos here & learn more about it)
http://www.kogcafe.co.uk/
16.3.09
Cead Mile Failte!
I will never forget getting to spend St. Patrick's in Glasgow. It was a night I will remember all my life!
6.2.09
Painting Scotland
31.12.08
spending the holidays abroad
spending the holidays in Scotland was a wonderful and unique experience. but let me back up a little.
So despite being away from home (my country, my community, my family, my friends, my traditions)... i did take the wise counsel of my friend back home and embrace the customs and celebrations of the holiday season in Scotland while i lived in Glasgow that year. i made new friends, enjoyed new experiences, and made some great memories. i enjoyed many of them that i do try to incorporate some into my American way of life even now. my memories of that holiday season in Scotland are near and dear to me and will always be held close to my heart.
17.11.08
fish n chips
there is nothing in the world like eating fresh FISH-N-CHIPS in Scotland!
i don't know exactly why...perhaps it's the type of fish, perhaps it's the type of batter they use, perhaps it's the type of oil they use, perhaps it's the size of the chips...perhaps it's the paper or the styrofoam container they use for you to eat them in? i don't know.
it might be the fact that yer actually in Scotland...and it just seems BETTER.
but i have fond memories of the chip shops in Glasgow. most were open late into the night. so if you felt peckish you could slip out of your flat, take a short walk down the street to the nearest chippy (every neighborhood had several) and order a fish supper or a bag of chips and an Irn Bru or a Fanta for a few quid and in a matter of moments you'd have a steaming hot container in your hands full of greasy goodness and something cold to wash it down with.
there are 2 chip shops in particular that stand out to me in my memory as being my favorites. in the Crosshill/Govan area i liked to go to Ramsey's Supper Shop, and in the Pollockshaws area i liked to go to the Blue Lagoon. there were many many others that i enjoyed, but those are the 2 that i can still remember.
one thing i know...i miss eating fish n chips.
this year on my birthday i decided that even though i wasn't anywhere near Scotland, i was feeling nostalgic and wanted to eat some. luckily we have a mobile chip shop in Boise, Idaho called "The Kilted Cod" http://www.kiltedcod.com/ Aye we do! the owners pride themselves on making fish n chips as authentic as they can...and i couldn't wait to try it out! so i put the word out to tons of my friends to come and join me for my birthday for some Scottish fish n chips. and that's exactly what we did. over 30 of my friends showed up. we queued up to the mobile chippy and ordered our fish suppers. and i gotta tell you...the taste was pretty darn close! if you click on that link in this paragraph it will take you to their website and you can see some photos of me and my friends.
it was really good and it helped to satisfy my craving. i know i'll go back to the Kilted Cod whenever i need a fish n chip fix. but there truly is nothing like eating the real thing IN Scotland.
5.11.08
Remember, Remember the 5th of November...
11.9.08
in the wake of 9-11
28.8.08
scrubbing scottish basement bricks
Culloden
27.8.08
a knock on the door
On my way to the door, I could see through a window in the front room, that it was quite dark outside for being only around 6pm. I was waiting for my friends who leased the flat to come home from work. Rain crashed loudly against the pavement outside and I could hear the sound of cars sloshing through it as they drove by on the street in front of the building. The door to the flat was actually located in a hallway (called a close) that led to several other flats. Whoever was knocking was not visible to me from the front room window. I craned my neck to look through the peep hole in the door.
My heart jumped a second time and I gasped for air as the little bit of glass warped an image of a bearded man in a black suit staring back at me. He was dark skinned and wore a turban on his head. I could only guess he was from a Middle Eastern country. I had heard that there were large populations of Muslims living in the UK, and here I was staring at the distorted image of one on my 2nd night in this unfamiliar country. Fear rose up in me like a wall as my thoughts conjured up all sorts of horrific terrorist images I had seen on American television, supposedly done by those who claimed to be Muslim.
I carefully unlatched the deadbolt, slowly opened the door, and meekly said Hello. To my relief the man standing there introduced himself as a member of the British Muslim Police. “At least he was a good guy, right?” I thought to myself. He explained to me that he was looking for a man who had been a former tenant of the flat and wanted to know if I knew where he was. Showing my ignorance right away, I explained to him that I was an American and had only just arrived from the States and was staying with friends who were leasing the flat. He wrote some things down on a clipboard he was carrying and asked me if I knew how long my friends had been leasing the flat. I answered as best I could and he wrote something else down on his clip board.
After meticulously putting his pen away, he looked up at me and with the sincerest of smiles he said, “I am truly sorry for what has happened in your country with the bombings. It is a terrible thing. Please accept my apology on behalf of my people, and I hope your stay here in Scotland is a positive one.”
I thanked him. And with that he turned and walked out of the building and back into the wet night. I was left standing for a moment in shock as I pondered what had just taken place at this foreign doorway. In that moment, I had no concept that I would come to learn how prophetic that distorted image through the peep hole really was. For over the next 9 months, I would face my own fears and prejudice while living in Scotland.
THE HAGGIS HUNT
by Lisa Marten
This is a true story it must be told. It was a brisk autumn morning in Scotland when the students and leaders of the Harvest Ministry College set out with wild abandon towards the north.They headed through the concrete streets and bustling traffic of downtown Glasgow and out into the country up to the Trossach hills in search of the ferocious legendary Highland Haggis.
The vivid autumn colors of the trees and the rolling green and fiery red hills of the Trossachs were a bonny landscape to the days adventure. The group of dreamy students rode in the infamous big blue bus with hopes of capturing a glimpse of the delicious beast.
Along the journey they were entertained by stories of the legendary Scottish Haggis Hunter, Jimmy McGregor who wrestled with the deadly beastie (a 3 legged, one eyed monster) who had barely escaped with his life. Some of the students made fun of the stories, they were strenuously warned against this behaviour.
Upon arriving at their hunting destination at Loch Katrine, they were let loose to wander the Scottish woods and hillsides on their much anticipated Haggis Hunt. The student who came out alive with the best hunting story would win a tasty prize. Needless to say, it was a mad dash into the trees and the students scattered like billiard balls after a break.
What sounds the leaders heard deep within the woods soon after were so gruesome they sent shivers up their spines. It was enough to remind them that it was foolish for any man to mock the beast. The students would soon find out the horrid truth.
So you too, consider yerself warned mate. Hark and heed the warnings of this true tale. The writer was one of the ignorant students who barely escaped out of the deep Scottish woods with her life! The Highland Haggis is a beastie not to be reckoned with.
Aye!
Cessnock: my move to the Scottish ghettos
this is a wee story based on my Scottish journals from living in Glasgow Sept 2001 to May 2002. i tried to think back to how it looked, felt, smelled & my initial impressions of this mid-winter move Dec. 2001 from one flat to another due to circumstances out of my control.
There were 8 of us from different countries who had come to live together in hopes of learning how to minister to those in the inner city of Glasgow. We barely knew each other, and we barely knew what we had signed on for.
It was easy to distinguish the flat from the rest in the look-a-like row houses…we were the entrance with the smashed television on the sidewalk. It never moved from its’ resting place, probably dropped there by some thief in a hasty exit or thrown there by some rageful spouse in a domestic dispute. Regardless, it was the first thing one saw before entering the stairwell to the 6 flats in our building.
The stench in the old entryway (called a close) was a combination of urine, vomit, spilled beer, garbage, and the moldy-mustiness of years of water seepage. The close was dark except for the glow of a small fluorescent light at the entrance that seemed to cast eery green and yellow shadows upon the walls.
The flat we were to move into shared the ground floor with another flat. There was a concrete staircase with metal railings in a circular fashion that led up to the other floors. The sound of your shoes scuffing on the tiled flooring and any tinkling sound your keys made as you unlocked the door or any voices spoken out echoed up the stairwell and bounced off the concrete walls for all to hear.
The staircase also led down from the ground floor through an old wooden door to a very small dark graffitied passage way with a dirt floor. The narrow passageway got smaller as it led to an outside courtyard behind the building where we were to take out our garbage. The smell and littered trash that you experienced up in the close was even worse below in the damp darkness of the passageway with the added odor of reeking sewage. There was no light except what was visible through a crack underneath another wooden door at the end of the narrow tunnel.
Upon entering what would be our flat, we were halted by a rather large mound of junk and trash that was piled in the middle of the room. Evidence of past drug addicted tenants was everywhere. There were remnants of old carpets, pieces of wood, old stained mattresses and trash scattered throughout the flat. The walls were dingy and defaced with slanderous words and symbols. The paint was peeling off the walls and that familiar smell seemed to waft everywhere.The landlord assured us that by the time we were to move in (in a fortnight) he would have all of the mess cleaned up and would repaint the flat for us.
I was told that Glasgow was named Europe’s heroine capitol (they even made a movie called “Trainspotting” graphically depicting Glasgow’s drug culture). I knew all of this going in, but to find myself actually standing in a run-down, trashed & graffitied flat on the southwest side of Glasgow, knowing that this was to be my home in bonnie Scotland, was quite a wake up call. Somehow I didn't feel very much like the braveheart I thought I was."
my heart calls from across the sea...
och bheith ceim coise aris eile ar Ceilteach thailte.
"The roll of the wind. As we sail across the water. The roll of the sea. As we're taken through the night. The dimming lamp of day. Leaves the crimson foam and spray. Across the face of the mighty Atlantic. In this cradle we found love. In our lifetimes we were broken. By the spirit we were turned. Here we touched the hope divine. And in the rapture and the charm. Came the tranquil and the calm. On the rage of the mighty Atlantic." -The Mighty Atlantic by Runrig
"On Lough Neagh's bank, as the fisherman strays, When the clear cold eve's declining, He sees the round towers of other days In the wave beneath him shining; Thus shall memory often, in dreams sublime, Catch a glimpse of the days that are over; Thus, sighing, look through the waves of time For the long faded glories they cover."-Thomas Moore
"We Irish pride ourselves as patriots and tell the beadroll of the valiant ones since Clontarf's sunset saw the Norsemen broken...Aye, and before that too we had our heroes but they were might fighters and victorious. The later men got nothing save defeat, hard transatlantic sidewalks or the scaffold...We Irish, vainer than tense Lucifer, are yet content with half-a-dozen turf, and cry our adoration for a bog, rejoicing in the rain that never ceases, and happy to stride over the sterile acres, or stony hills that scarcely feed a sheep. But we are fools, I say, are ignorant fools to waste the spirit's warmth in this cold air, to spend our wit and love and poetry on half-a-dozen peat and a black bog. We are not native here or anywhere. We were the keltic wave that broke over Europe, and ran up this bleak beach among these stones: but when the tide ebbed, were left stranded here in crevices, and ledge-protected pools that have grown salter with the drying up of the great common flow that kept us sweet with fresh cold draughts from deep down in the ocean. So we are bitter, and are dying out in terrible harshness in this lonely place, and what we think is love for usual rock, or old affection for our customary ledge, is but forgotten longing for the sea that cries far out and calls us to partake in his great tidal movements round the earth." -John Hewitt
"Air sgiath a' seoladh nan neoil. 'S an domhain liath. Mar dhealbh a' tighinn beo tro na sgothan. 'S mi a' tilleadh gu tir. Alba nam beanntan ard. Nan acraichean lom. Thairis air na lochan mointich. Nan coilltean 's nan gleann. Alba.
This flight is sailing through the clouds. And the blue heavens. The homeland appears like a developing photograph. Through the mists as I return to land. I see Scotland of the high mountains. And the empty acres. Flying low across the moorland lochs. The forests and the glens. Scotland."-Alba by Runrig
"Icham of Irlaunde. Ant of the holy londe of irlande. Gode sir pray ich ye. For of saynte charite. Come ant daunce wyt me in irlaunde.
I am of Ireland. Out of the holy land of Ireland. I pray you good sir. For the sake of holy charity. Come and dance with me in Ireland." -14th Century anonymous