Liverpool is the pool of life.
-Carl Jung (1926)
(I added that because it was engraved on about 700 thousand buildings)
Liverpool feels a lot like Chicago. It's a brash Union town with some roughhousing and wild nights, but overall, the people are genuine and the atmosphere is welcoming.
I left you after a series of sleep-deprived nights. Since I had limited time in Liverpool and only enough stamina for one attraction upon arrival, I headed straight for The Beatles Story, which is the famous Beatles museum housed on Albert Dock. It did not disappoint. Narrated by John's sister Julia, the museum is a very interactive and well-funded walk through the early successes and failures of my four favorite Liverpudlians (let's find as many excuses as possible to use that amazing word). It included replicas of their Hamburg venue, The Cavern Club, and an early chip shop they used to play, as well as terrifying wax statues of a band apparently composed of the Beatles' inbred cousins.
The coolest thing about all the Beatles hype is that you KNOW the boys would have loved it. In their hey-day, hero-status is exactly what they were aiming for. As opposed to Gandhi or Che Guevara, who might not have been so keen, every time you see a poster with Paul's bopping head on it, you know it's exactly what a little boy back in the 50's was dreaming about at night.
I then went back to the hostel for a quick nap. The hostel, by the way, was formerly the consulate of Venezuela. It's a gorgeous Georgian building, really enormous and well-renovated.
I didn't find that out until later, though, because my quick nap lasted 16 hours. I don't think I've slept that long in one go since I left the womb. But I woke up the next morning feeling AWESOME and tore up the place, seeing every free exhibit available.
First stop was the Museum of Liverpool. Here, I learned about Liverpool's many ties to America; a major reason it feels like Chicago is because they shared some of the same architects. I didn't write down their names (still getting the hang of the travel writing thing, guys, cut me some slack), but there were two Liverpudlians (2nd usage) who moved to Chi in the 20's. The difference between Chicago and Liverpool, though, is that there isn't a bunch of nasty 90's architecture muddling the place up. Chicago will have one awesome, brick-heavy street and then one gross minimalist glass street; Liverpool just has the brick and shit-tons of Georgian columns (I know! When did I get so interested in architecture? Where did I learn this lingo? I honestly cannot remember). Also - as you probably know (but I did not) Liverpool (a port and fishing town) got a lot of it's fame and early wealth through the slave trade, and after slavery was abolished in the UK, through importing cotton from the American south. During the civil war, Liverpool not only flew confederate flags, but converted cargo ships into military vessels to aid the south in maritime warfare. The last ship captured by the north was, in fact, originally a Liverpudlian (3).
The museum openly shared these facts, with no attempts to glaze over or embroider them. There was an entire section on the horrors of British colonialism and the attempts of colonized nations to fight back. It was VERY refreshing to hear a different historical voice.
Then I went to Tate Liverpool, right across the dock. I'm very glad I did. It's a modern sculpture gallery, and I usually have little interest in sculpture. I feel like I've gained a new appreciation for 3-D art.
THEN, following in The Beatles pointy-toed footsteps, I headed to Mathew Street and the Cavern Club, neither of which were bursting with Beatles spirit- just Beatles paraphanalia. I got a beer in the Club, wherein I met two American Harley fanatics who are of little note except that they made me not want to go home.
I checked out St. George's Hall, except not the actual hall which sort of defeats the purpose, but I saw a really brilliant exhibit on Victorian prison life.
So there I was, sitting in a park, eating my lunch, when an Italian guy comes up and asks for a cigarette. I said I didn't have one, but he sat down anyway.
"Are you Italian?"
"No."
"You look Italian."
(silence)
"Do you play tennis?"
"No."
"You look like someone who would play tennis. Can you take off your sunglasses?"
"No."
He ended up following me to the science museum, where I amused myself deeply by walking into big crowds and trying to lose him. He, however, would not be lost, and I finally had to tell him to go away. This left me pondering. Because I felt guilty. I had done NOTHING wrong, and I felt like I was a bad person. Why does this happen??? Vicky and I pontificated on the subject yesterday. We both magnetically attract bizarre, old, or slightly autistic men, but we feel guilty when we tell them to buzz off. I want to write a play about it called, "Flattered, but Uncomfortable: A Tale of Avoidance in the Modern Age."
Anyway, then it was time for my LIVERPUDLIAN BUS TOUR!!!! It was... g... it was a good bus... t... have you been on those red bus tours before? They're in every city. It was... just like those. Except in Liverpool. OHHHHHhhhhhh and with a REALLY awkward first date happening in the front. A young mom was on a date with her new boo AND her toddler. The guy was clearly souring on the whole situation and she, in desperation, kept trying to snuggle with him, but the toddler, ALSO in desperation, kept trying to attract her attention by shrieking shrilly, causing her to yell and the guy to be like, "calm down," and then her to yell at the guy. Luckily, they got off about halfway through.
The next day, I managed to squeeze in a cathedral, another trip to the Museum of Liverpool, and a visit to the Walker Art Gallery before I had to book it.
In the end, it would have been a lot more fun but a lot less informative if Vicky had been there to guide me around, but I had a great time nonetheless. Never took a ferry 'cross the Mersey, though! If I'd had my head on straight...
-Carl Jung (1926)
(I added that because it was engraved on about 700 thousand buildings)
Liverpool feels a lot like Chicago. It's a brash Union town with some roughhousing and wild nights, but overall, the people are genuine and the atmosphere is welcoming.
I left you after a series of sleep-deprived nights. Since I had limited time in Liverpool and only enough stamina for one attraction upon arrival, I headed straight for The Beatles Story, which is the famous Beatles museum housed on Albert Dock. It did not disappoint. Narrated by John's sister Julia, the museum is a very interactive and well-funded walk through the early successes and failures of my four favorite Liverpudlians (let's find as many excuses as possible to use that amazing word). It included replicas of their Hamburg venue, The Cavern Club, and an early chip shop they used to play, as well as terrifying wax statues of a band apparently composed of the Beatles' inbred cousins.
The coolest thing about all the Beatles hype is that you KNOW the boys would have loved it. In their hey-day, hero-status is exactly what they were aiming for. As opposed to Gandhi or Che Guevara, who might not have been so keen, every time you see a poster with Paul's bopping head on it, you know it's exactly what a little boy back in the 50's was dreaming about at night.
I then went back to the hostel for a quick nap. The hostel, by the way, was formerly the consulate of Venezuela. It's a gorgeous Georgian building, really enormous and well-renovated.
I didn't find that out until later, though, because my quick nap lasted 16 hours. I don't think I've slept that long in one go since I left the womb. But I woke up the next morning feeling AWESOME and tore up the place, seeing every free exhibit available.
First stop was the Museum of Liverpool. Here, I learned about Liverpool's many ties to America; a major reason it feels like Chicago is because they shared some of the same architects. I didn't write down their names (still getting the hang of the travel writing thing, guys, cut me some slack), but there were two Liverpudlians (2nd usage) who moved to Chi in the 20's. The difference between Chicago and Liverpool, though, is that there isn't a bunch of nasty 90's architecture muddling the place up. Chicago will have one awesome, brick-heavy street and then one gross minimalist glass street; Liverpool just has the brick and shit-tons of Georgian columns (I know! When did I get so interested in architecture? Where did I learn this lingo? I honestly cannot remember). Also - as you probably know (but I did not) Liverpool (a port and fishing town) got a lot of it's fame and early wealth through the slave trade, and after slavery was abolished in the UK, through importing cotton from the American south. During the civil war, Liverpool not only flew confederate flags, but converted cargo ships into military vessels to aid the south in maritime warfare. The last ship captured by the north was, in fact, originally a Liverpudlian (3).
The museum openly shared these facts, with no attempts to glaze over or embroider them. There was an entire section on the horrors of British colonialism and the attempts of colonized nations to fight back. It was VERY refreshing to hear a different historical voice.
Then I went to Tate Liverpool, right across the dock. I'm very glad I did. It's a modern sculpture gallery, and I usually have little interest in sculpture. I feel like I've gained a new appreciation for 3-D art.
THEN, following in The Beatles pointy-toed footsteps, I headed to Mathew Street and the Cavern Club, neither of which were bursting with Beatles spirit- just Beatles paraphanalia. I got a beer in the Club, wherein I met two American Harley fanatics who are of little note except that they made me not want to go home.
I checked out St. George's Hall, except not the actual hall which sort of defeats the purpose, but I saw a really brilliant exhibit on Victorian prison life.
So there I was, sitting in a park, eating my lunch, when an Italian guy comes up and asks for a cigarette. I said I didn't have one, but he sat down anyway.
"Are you Italian?"
"No."
"You look Italian."
(silence)
"Do you play tennis?"
"No."
"You look like someone who would play tennis. Can you take off your sunglasses?"
"No."
He ended up following me to the science museum, where I amused myself deeply by walking into big crowds and trying to lose him. He, however, would not be lost, and I finally had to tell him to go away. This left me pondering. Because I felt guilty. I had done NOTHING wrong, and I felt like I was a bad person. Why does this happen??? Vicky and I pontificated on the subject yesterday. We both magnetically attract bizarre, old, or slightly autistic men, but we feel guilty when we tell them to buzz off. I want to write a play about it called, "Flattered, but Uncomfortable: A Tale of Avoidance in the Modern Age."
Anyway, then it was time for my LIVERPUDLIAN BUS TOUR!!!! It was... g... it was a good bus... t... have you been on those red bus tours before? They're in every city. It was... just like those. Except in Liverpool. OHHHHHhhhhhh and with a REALLY awkward first date happening in the front. A young mom was on a date with her new boo AND her toddler. The guy was clearly souring on the whole situation and she, in desperation, kept trying to snuggle with him, but the toddler, ALSO in desperation, kept trying to attract her attention by shrieking shrilly, causing her to yell and the guy to be like, "calm down," and then her to yell at the guy. Luckily, they got off about halfway through.
The next day, I managed to squeeze in a cathedral, another trip to the Museum of Liverpool, and a visit to the Walker Art Gallery before I had to book it.
In the end, it would have been a lot more fun but a lot less informative if Vicky had been there to guide me around, but I had a great time nonetheless. Never took a ferry 'cross the Mersey, though! If I'd had my head on straight...
Liverpudlians are the puddles of life.
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