Day 10: Thursday October 20th, 2011

Slang of the day: Sponge. Origin: England. Definition: idiot, moron. Used in a sentence: After a week and a half of travelling I felt like a sponge.

As recommended by Dodge, I checked out a breakfast place called Truffles. The Welsh rarebit (pronounced rabbit confusingly) was over my price range (the change I had in my pocket), so I had a traditional English breakfast. It was 3.95 and came with a fried egg, beans, toast (for beans on toast), bacon, hash browns, sausage and black pudding (a funky blend of blood sausage that is really healthy). Everything was delicious, and such a great deal. You can eat like a king in England if you only do breakfasts. You’ll also start to look like a king (fat).

Before my train I grab another jam and cream scone from the market for the ride, and then off to Liverpool for a night.

I arrive and while it takes me awhile to find it, the Embassie at Liverpool is the best hostel I’ve stayed at to this point. Kevin, the proprietor, is a lifelong Liverpudlian, who had actually met members of the Beatles around town when they all grew up. Upon my arrival I was greeted with juice, coffee or tea, and could get bread and whatever any time I wanted. Most hostels limit this to breakfast time, and sometimes it isn’t free, so this was awesome. Plus, the place had a nice homey feel, computers to use free internet on, cable, no checkout time, and on Thursday nights: a free Beatles tour led by Kevin.

While checking me in, Kevin gives me a brief history of Liverpool. Apparently it was the largest port in the world for 150 years (yet it has been a city for less than that, so I’m not sure if he’s right), and it has the oldest Chinatown in Europe. He says the food is shit though.

I had some time before the tour, so I explored, though Liverpool was fucking confusing, so I didn’t get to see a lot of what I had planned this afternoon. But what I’ve found out, to a point, is that getting lost is one of the best ways to discover and see a city, and to fulfill my mission of sweating the back out of my shirt every day. With no itinerary or a limited one and free time, it’s great. It’s impossible to see everything, and prohibitively expensive to see a lot.

Almost all of Liverpool’s museums are free, but I only got to the Victoria Gallery museum. Then I found Kimo’s, a place Kevin recommended to me, which is basically a Greek sit down place. I get a lamb kebob with pita and rice. It’s good, not great. Needed tzatziki.

Then, tour time! About 9-10 of us set out after receiving our free gift (a Beatles hat or beanie, I got a black Yellow submarine beanie that will come in handy with the wind). Apparently Brian Epstein lived in the building next to the hostel, John Lennon was born in the hospital a minute away, etc. etc. We went to the Philharmonic Pub, one of John Lennon’s favorite places to drink before he couldn’t in public, and had a pint. Then into downtown, pointing out the famous record stores and bars the Beatles/Quarrymen/what have you frequented. We finished the night at The Cavern, where the Beatles made their name in Liverpool and where Brian Epstein discovered them on his lunchbreak. They apparently played their over 200 times, and that night there was a Beatles cover band on. So, I’ve basically seen the Beatles live.

They kinda suck (Jlo’s better than the Beatles, anyhow), so me and two members of the tour that want to go check out more Liverpool nightlife bounce. These two are Liam and Darcy, both, of course, Australian.

Australians fall in a couple of camps. Some HATE Foster’s with a passion (Sacha), and others like to buy it because it’s cheap and a lot better overseas than it is in Australia (Liam, Darcy, Jimmy), where it’s absolute shit or not even sold (though the can claims Foster’s has been refreshing Aussies since 1888). Also, the same dichotomy exists for a chain of bars: the Walkabout, an Aussie themed bar with cheap drinks. I was hoping to avoid them, but it’s where Liam and Darcy wanted to go, and I’m glad I did.

Within 10 minutes were whisked off by two pretty girls to a photo booth, though they were clearly sponsored by the bar or working there (the photos can be seen on my facebook). A couple minutes later I freak out because I can’t find my ID, credit card, debit card, everything. Fuck. I’m practically on the verge of tears asking the bartender if any have turned up, and I ask the two girls, basically accusing them of stealing my life. Then I check my back pocket where I apparently moved them all to. I’m an idiot. I apologize to the girls, who aren’t too pleased.

While I know the continent will be a lot shadier and less safe, throughout the UK I’ve felt comfortable with my stuff, though I’ve still taken precautions, but a money belt would’ve been ridiculous to this point.

That great wave of relief washes over me, so we order drinks and watch girls on the mechanical bull. Soon, Liam and I (Darcy was gloomy in a corner) chatted up girls. I introduced myself as an American only in the city for one night, and offering to buy a drink. That’s all I had, and needed. Most were so flattered that they refused the drink, and preferred just to talk. Basically, I was a swinging door, talking with girls, getting their facebook information (my only way of contact to this point) and moving on, until I talked with Charlie. I’m a huge fan of girls with guy’s names. I’m not sure what that says about me, except for further proof of why I love Dawson’s Creek. Anyways, Charlie was indeed a girl, with fantastic tits (she also works as a toilet cleaner, apparently). I’m actually facebook friends with her, so if she actually reads this blog, I’ll look like a dick, but that was kind of a given anyways. Before she was whisked away by two of her upset looking guy friends, we gushed over each other’s accents, made out and she said I could visit her in Liverpool if I’m ever back.

I could have probably done better work in general, but I was having so a ball having so many different conversations and meeting so many people. Of course, I hardly remember the substance of any of them.

Then we went to another bar, where Liam, Darcy and I sat down with a couple girls. I had a nice conversation until Liam and Darcy bailed, leaving me alone. The girl asked if I should get back to my friends, and I responded saying I met them a couple hours ago. It didn’t really look good, so I quickly went to catch up with Liam and Darcy, who were nowhere to be found, presumably, on the way back to the hostel. So I got on my way.

It’s a fucking long walk back to the hostel, yet I somehow beat their taxi by 4 seconds. Then, we basically laugh and make fun of each other (Darcy) for an hour in the dark while some poor other guy is trying to sleep.

Next: Manchester