Why The Barras reminds me of America and days gone by

The Herald Scotland

2 days ago

Fear not. I'm at Randall's Antiques and Vintage Centre, deep in the heart of The Barras - the final stop in my wander through one of Glasgow's most unique institutions.
As the crowds at TRNSMT pulsate to the sound of Biffy Clyro and Fontaines DC across the street, my girlfriend and I make our way through a somewhat empty Barras.
It's not surprising. The temperature is pushing 30 degrees, a grim reality which is widely commented on at each stall we stop in.
Lunch is served. (Image: Emily Page) I'm here to search for bargains, but also to try some of the unique food offerings on display. It doesn't take long to find some grub, of course, as we stop at Fellali Cafe.
It's not really a cafe, to be fair, just a table behind which a lovely Iraqi woman named Wanda sells falafel, hummus, and potato patties, known as aruk, alongside handcrafted jewellery.
'I've been here for around five months,' she tells me. 'I began selling my jewellery, and then I thought I should sell some food as well. It's all vegan and very healthy.'
Indeed, for £7; we walk away with a plastic takeaway container filled to the brim with falafel, fresh hummus, aruk patties, a special chili sauce, and crispy strips of samoon, an Iraqi seeded bread.
Perhaps it was the heat, but I couldn't have asked for a better lunch, sitting on two chairs opposite a stall selling rows of Stretch Armstrong figurines.
In C Section, where some of the largest stalls are located, including 'Sustainable Fashion Row', we stop at the well-known Cowpeople stall, branded as the UK's largest purveyor of vintage cowboy apparel.
The shop is bustling, no doubt a result of the terrific social media presence cultivated by shop owner Kaitlyn De Biasse, as well as a recent Irn-Bru advertising campaign.
De Biasse, a New Jersey native (like me) has seen her business explode in recent years, from a one-day spot purchased for £15 to selling cowboy boots and bolo ties to customers across the UK and mainland Europe.
And of course, being from America, I have to take a photo of a cardboard cutout of our first lady - country music legend Dolly Parton.
Feeling at home at Cowpeople. (Image: Emily Page) In a strange way, The Barras reminds me of home. As a teenager, I'd go to the Italian Market in South Philadelphia nearly every Sunday afternoon.
Those days were some of the best, as we searched for cannoli and cheesesteaks among the many market stalls.
Similar to The Barras, you could find just about anything there, from hot food to clothes and bric a brac.
And of course, the people running the stalls mirror one another, despite their geographic distance. In Glasgow and in Philly, blue collar folk and recent immigrants are hard at work, clambering up the ladder of opportunity.
Before long, it's time for a snack. Over in D Section, we stop at Cream Comes True, a brightly coloured stall selling Hong Kong-style bubble waffles.
We have a bit of a wait, so after being handed a ticket by the lovely waffle maker behind the counter (who urges us to visit the Red Bull truck for a free beverage) we make our way around the surrounding market stalls.
We walk past the well-regarded Pizza Cult and a shop selling different types of macaroni cheese, as well as a host of wee places hawking all sorts of interesting items.
Ten minutes later, we're back for a slice of the action.
Now, I love a thick and crispy waffle, but I have to say I was somewhat confused by the 'traditional Hong Kong' offering, which consists of a waffle folded in half and spread with butter, peanut butter, and sugar.
Well, it blew me away, and at £5, not a bad price either.
Hong Kong inspired Cream Comes True sells a range of waffles. (Image: Emily Page) Later, we visit the Fresh Pressed Terps stand in B Section, along a bustling thoroughfare shimmering in the midsummer heat.
Orange juice for a fiver, pineapple and watermelon juice for £6, fresh squeezed pomegranate for ten quid.
All are served in glass bottles, which you can return for a 50 pence rebate.
'Busy today?' we ask.
'Surprisingly not,' says the man behind the counter, as his compatriot holds a bottle under a silver spigot dripping with orange juice.
'The heat seems to be keeping people at home,' he adds.
Indeed, it is hot, hot enough that stallholders are passing around ice lollies held in a chest freezer. 'You have to keep cool,' one woman tells another.
Amidst the shiny offerings and the music blaring from the Red Bull truck parked near the exit, I see another side of The Barras.
Piles of mismatched clothing, dusty knick-knacks, rows of DVDs, old bicycles lined up haphazardly; these are perhaps a more honest representation of the market's history.
Stalls boast a wide range of goods. (Image: Emily Page) It's been years since the last police raid on The Barras, which once occurred with regularity, and I'm not one to judge the provenance of various items.
I turn to mention this to my girlfriend, and immediately am told to hold my tongue and avoid noting these interesting circumstances out loud.
Alas.
We continue our trek through rows of antiques, pausing to peer into mirrors or examine the cost of various paintings (most unfortunately out of my price range).
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I see a plasticine statue of Jesus, bearing a sign which reads: "Sorry. I (s)ain't for sale" and as a devout fan, I have to take a picture.
It is soon 2pm, closing time, and as we walk towards the car, the sun beating down on my black t-shirt, I reflect on days gone by.
It is easy to glamorise The Barras, as I did with the Italian Market of my youth. It is quirky, fun, and certainly odd.
But to do so risks failing to understand the deep cultural connection the market has to the working people of the East End, and indeed the rest of the city.
Narratives about gentrification have their place, but The Barras should be appreciated for what it is.
We should embrace this cultural gem as a profoundly unique and vibrant celebration of Glasgow, the new, the old, and everything in between.