Three's a Crowd: Isle of Man, Liverpool, and Manchester
~ part one ~
I began my preparations for this trip with the usual meticulousness of a man who doesn't know what he's doing. I made lists, checked weather forecasts, and even consulted a psychic for advice on which souvenirs to bring back. It was a whirlwind of activity, much like a squirrel trying to gather nuts before winter, except without the cute factor. Lots of things to to, lots of choices to be made. The choice of luggage was a particularly vexing one. I considered the pros and cons of hardshell versus soft-shell for hours, weighing the durability of the former against the flexibility of the latter.
In the end, I decided to err on the side of caution and opt for a suitcase that was so heavy, I could probably use it as a doorstop. It was a wise decision, I told myself, as it would surely deter any would-be thieves from attempting to steal my belongings. My friends, however, seemed less impressed. "Is that a new car?" one of them joked." “Do you have any more money left for your vacation?”, they continued.
As if choosing luggage wasn't enough, I also had to decide whether to pack a rain jacket or hope for sunny weather. I consulted every weather app I could find, only to be presented with a baffling array of conflicting forecasts. In the end, I decided to pack both a rain jacket and a sunhat, just to be safe. One of my friends was again unimpressed. 'You're packing for every season,' he remarked. 'Are you planning to hibernate in the Isle of Man?’ I defended my choices, insisting that I needed to be prepared for any eventuality.
With my bags packed and my itinerary finalised, I was ready to embark on my trip. I woke up in the dead of night, bleary-eyed and confused, knowing that I had to catch a flight to Amsterdam. After a brief layover, I boarded another plane, this time bound for Manchester. From there, I took a train to Liverpool, where I spent a few hours exploring the city before catching a ferry to the Isle of Man. As it turned out, the ferry service was only available twice a day, meaning I had to spend several hours waiting in Liverpool. I tried to make the most of the time by visiting the Beatles Story museum (which is basically any pub) and sampling some local cuisine, but it was a long wait nonetheless. I couldn't help but wonder if there was a secret society of ferry travellers who had managed to figure out the optimal departure times.
After a seemingly endless journey (the ferry trip takes a loooong 3 hours), I finally arrived on the Isle of Man. As I disembarked from the ferry, I was greeted by a cool breeze and a stunning view of the coastline. Or so I thought, because it was close to midnight. Nevertheless, It was a stark contrast to the bustling city of Liverpool, which I had left behind just a few hours earlier.
Speaking of Liverpool, I had managed to squeeze in a few hours of sightseeing before my ferry departure. One of the highlights was seeing the towering statues of John Lennon, Paul McCartney, Ringo Starr, and George Harrison. I couldn't help but wonder if the artist had exaggerated their proportions slightly, making them look even more larger-than-life than they were in real life. I also made a stop at the White Star pub, which boasted a golden plaque commemorating its role in Beatles history. Apparently, the backroom of the pub had been used by Allan Williams and Bob Wooler to pay their groups' wages, including the Fab Four themselves. I couldn't help but chuckle at the idea of the Beatles being paid in a dingy little pub. I imagined similar plaques popping up all over Liverpool, with messages like 'This lamppost was once leaned against by John Lennon while he pondered the meaning of life' or 'This cobblestone was accidentally kicked by Ringo Starr during a particularly energetic drum solo.' And then there was this sign:
Anyway, I spent most of my time wandering around Pier Head, a bustling waterfront area with stunning views of the Mersey River. I also made it my mission to sample some of the local pubs, in search of the perfect pint of barleywine. Thankfully, my quest was successful, and I found a few hidden gems that quenched my thirst and satisfied my appetite.
While I didn't venture too far into the city, I found the centre to be a lively and vibrant place. The area around the ferry terminal was particularly interesting, with a mix of industrial sites and modern architecture. It was a fascinating blend of old and new, although I couldn't help but notice that the new styles seemed to be dominating the landscape. Perhaps Liverpool was trying too hard to shed its gritty, industrial past.
Finally, the time came to board the ferry and embark on my journey to the Isle of Man. As a ferry novice, I was both excited and apprehensive about the prospect of spending three hours at sea. Luckily, the crew allowed us to sit on the deck, which gave me a chance to admire Liverpool's skyline one last time before we left the city behind.
As the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the water, I tried to maintain a sense of optimism. However, my enthusiasm quickly dwindled as the reality of the journey set in. Having slept only two hours the night before, I was practically sleepwalking. The ferry's engines roared like a herd of angry hippos, and the little people on board seemed to be engaged in a never-ending game of tag, complete with shrieks and giggles that would have made a banshee proud. I'm pretty sure I would have joined in if I hadn't been so exhausted. As the hours passed, I found myself counting sheep, or perhaps imaginary seagulls, in a desperate attempt to stay awake. The once-exciting prospect of a ferry journey had turned into a surreal nightmare.
As the hours ticked by, the darkness outside began to be pierced by the distant twinkling of stars. It was a comforting sight, a reminder that the end of our journey was near. Soon, the harbor lights came into view, and a voice over the intercom announced that we were approaching the Isle of Man. The shrieking banshees on board seemed to have quieted down, perhaps sensing that our ordeal was almost over.
It was nearly midnight when we finally docked, and I couldn't wait to disembark and stretch my legs. After re-checking the map, I realised that my hotel, The Devonian, was only a ten-minute walk along Douglas promenade. Fortunately, the streets were well-lit, making it easy to find my way. As I walked, I passed by a couple of pubs that were still open, despite the late hour. The lively atmosphere and the sound of laughter spilling out onto the street made me smile. 'I'll catch up with you later,' I muttered to myself.
~ to be continued ~