Sunday, October 31, 2010

The old town looks the same...

...but only in certain corners!

Liverpool is a very different place in 2010 to the run down bombed out city I used to visit back in the early '70s. I didn’t explore too much the first time around. Hitched into town in October '69, camped overnight outside the Empire Theatre box office – got front row tickets for a Rolling Stones concert and hitched back home again. Repeated the free travel route a month or so later for the gig and discovered Cat Stevens' Tea for the Tillerman waiting for the band to come on. Memories as clear as if it was yesterday – including getting my purse nicked with the tickets in it. I must have had an honest face back then as we had no problem getting in without them.

I hooked up with a cute, long haired (of course) flared jean-ed Liverpudlian guy called Dave and continued to visit for the next year or so. I remember a bombed out city centre, live music at O’Connors pub and the Kardomah Coffee House in the city centre. And of course The Cavern, which is like a shrine these days, well preserved with few alterations from when the ‘fab four’ played there between gigs in Hamburg's red light district and fame and fortune in America.

The docklands are a different story – restored and refurbished with smart accommodation, shops, restaurants and the Beatles Story museum. Strange to walk through a museum full of sights and sounds familiar from my younger days. Not the first time I've done it though. I found a same year model as my ex-boyfriend Albert's Hilman Hunter in a transport museum in Wanaka a few years back. The recordings of screaming girls, thick accents and fabulous old songs are a bit older. The number of young people coming to pay tribute to their parents’ favourite musos is remarkable.

I feel sad at the end of the display as a room dedicated to each of the Beatles reminds me George died of cancer, John was shot dead in the street, Paul lost the love of his life – also to cancer - then a large-ish chunk of his fortune to a less than enduring second marriage. Only Ringo’s room brings on the warm fuzzies. Thomas the Tank Engine, movies with wife Barbara Bach, solo records and a son following close in his footsteps.

The nostalgia rounds off with a flutter in the penny arcades (at 10p a go!) then fish and chips and mushy peas at OAP prices on the pier at Southport.

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Turn back Whittington

Amusing to think what young Dick would find if he turned up now with his cat and a few possessions tied in a spotted hankie slung on the end of a stick. How would he perceive the hub of this ever so slightly faded empire and its own peculiar dash of decay? The gap between have and have not is as pronounced as ever. No member of this city’s large itinerant population is likely to become mayor today. Although someone has to win the lottery I suppose.

The history that justifies the word ‘Great’ in the title of this wee land reeks of more affluent days. Tourists still arrive in droves to snap up every detail.


But this is a land of contrasts, and my room in a rather splendid old hotel near Victoria Station is like well-heeled Edinburgh folk, who are said to wear fur coats but no knickers. Despite 3 degree overnight temperatures, there is no heating until I ask and a portable appliance is delivered by an East European bellboy. The price of an up market 4* hotel down under buys me a single bed, but no room to swing Dick's cat. Barely space to make a cup of tea, but that fabulous anachronism, ‘the Corby’ trouser press in every room. Grand dome topped windows with broken blinds and no double glazing so traffic noise always intrudes.

Excuse the poor quality shots - there was virtually no natural light in the room either! The fabulous location offsets a few minor discomforts though. Guests can walk to Buckingham Palace to stare through forbidding fences and imagine one the richest families in the world living in extravagant, well serviced comfort.

I risk being accused of inappropriate comment (or madness!) when I say its getting more like one of its own former colonies every day. I do not mean it as such, but the endless bustle, the beginning to fade glory and relentless assaults on the senses make it seem to be heading that way. I have no pictures to show that perspective, as I didn't venture far from the palace on that sunny Sunday morning, until I battled the crowds at the station and took a train to the north.

There is (at least) one (and actually many) important distinction(s) in this place though. The voice of dissent is generally allowed, and its presence is right there in the faces of everyone. Whether it finds a listening ear and a strategically placed champion to take action is possibly another matter.

Saturday, October 16, 2010

Off again on again

Declined dinner after a midnight take off and grabbed a few hours uneasy sleep in a seat where AIR NZ has - unusually - crammed too many into the cabin of the Boeing 777. Their Airbus 320s are almost more comfortable now they’ve done away with the sardine style seating layout. The irony of this whinge strikes me as soon as these words appear on the page. I will visit the International Slave Trade Museum in Liverpool, England when I get there on Monday. Realize I have no valid complaint about the discomforts of travel.

Just one stop from Auckland to London – and not in a holding pen at LAX this time. Hong Kong Airport is perfectly designed for stop over travelers wanting to stretch legs, grab a nap or shop til they drop.

But at 5.30am everything is closed - light just seeping through clouds and over the fringe of jaggy peaks that surround this familiar landscape.