Diving into the pool of life, Liverpool over two nights

Lovelli Ariesti ,  Contributor ,  Liverpool   |  Sun, 09/21/2008 9:49 AM  |  Travel

The Yellow Duck Marine, an amphibious authentic World War II landing vehicle. (JP/Lovelli Ariesti)

As though reading my mind, the cab driver added a reassuring line before holding the door open, "welcome to summer in Liverpool" -- or at least something that sounded like that to my Indonesian ears.

The man in the front seat had a plump figure that somehow suited his bald head and boyish face. He spoke loudly and walked with such ease in his long, light gait.

I lifted my hand and reached for the hair on the top of my head, to make sure that the soft, dewy sensation was indeed from the drizzle.

The fact was, I had no stored memories of what summer should feel like, as this was the first time I had ever traveled to another country, aside from the five days I spent in Singapore when I was five years old.

So I gave the driver a light smile, which was (if truth be told) my way of declining to flaunt my American accent.

Before traveling to that area of Merseyside, England, like many other beginner travelers, I had made lists. My note pad contained details of things to bring, things to buy, things to see, and a growing list of "dos and don'ts" -- as told by friends and colleagues who had traveled to this country before.

That pad, and my own experience teaching British culture to first-year university students at a state university in Indonesia, I thought, would be more than enough for me to get by.

And by the time I had lit my second cigarette in Liverpool (the first was lit outside the coach station just a few minutes after I arrived) the driver was already on the phone to a friend, trying to find a cure for my curiosity.

"No, I'm afraid there aren't any Indonesian restaurants in Liverpool," he told me, apologetically.

By the time the cab had left Hanover Street where I would be spending the following week, members of the Genuine Pluck were already inside the Casartelli Apartment.

I reached for my note pad and wrote an additional item on my don'ts -- "don't mention Indonesian restaurants".

Youth culture and the remains of the day

My first designated stop was certainly not an Indonesian restaurant, but a club. On my first night, I decided to visit the "new" Cavern Club -- a rock n' roll club which had witnessed performances by The Beatles in the 1960s, among others.

The club is on Matthew Street, which is only five minutes away from the apartment, so without hesitation I grabbed my jacket and took up one of the Liverpudlians' more environmentally friendly habits -- walking.

I had also made myself a new friend. Dachlan Cartwright, 65, who had spent a period of his college years in Liverpool, and had flown all the way from Indonesia to Merseyside to witness the Beatle Week Festival due to begin the next day.

With an air of excitement, we walked downstairs heading toward the core of the new Cavern Club (built to resemble the original) which was opened 17 years ago: Cartwright was revisiting a place where he had spent many weekends during his youth, and I was anticipating a new experience.

The new Cavern Club occupies about three-quarters of the original club site whose entrance stands only a few meters to the left of the present club.

Scattered throughout the club, on its brick walls, on the red telephone booth, on the door to the men's toilets and on a giant poster of Sir Paul McCartney to the left of the bar, were doodles, messages and names of people who had been there.

My hand was itching to write my own name somewhere in the club, but before I could pick a spot for my doodle (I was planning to draw a happy cowgirl face) Cartwright arrived with a glass of cold cider and red wine.

While sipping his drink, Cartwright reminisced about the days of his youth.

"The Liverpool girls are called totties," he told me, adding that back in those days, a man would ask a woman, "have you got your tail?" before approaching her for closer acquaintance.

If a woman didn't have a "tail" (either a boyfriend or someone she was in a relationship with) then the man would proceed with his move.

But during the 1960s, the club was often too crowded for any dance that required wide personal spaces.

"We did the Cavern Stomp," Cartwright explained.

The dance was a relatively simple social dance, in which a man and a woman would hold opposite hands -- left with right or right with left -- allowing them to move sideways or in opposite directions with ease -- or without risking stepping on anyone else's feet.

Despite the crowd, it was probably easier to do the stomp now than when the Cavern was first opened in 1957. At that time it sold alcohol and was one of the few clubs that had a license to be open until "late" (11 at night).

But the night was still young, and I didn't have a problem with the cold glass of red wine that was placed in front of me. Soon, I found myself a bit tipsy, clapping along with the crowd, cheering at the end of every song the man on the stage had sung.

Fertile ground for arts

Even from the very short two days I spent in the city, I was able to decode glimpses of the woven mystery as to how Liverpool was able to breed and nurture prominent figures in modern musical history.

Here, there and everywhere, Liverpudlians interacted with an air of "inner confidence" that was nowhere near the overrated or snobbish stereotype I had been given previously of the British.

They were the kind of people who would provide support and see challenges as part of everyday life.

One of the two Liver Birds, vegetarian birds portrayed to be feeding on seaweed, made as the symbol of Liverpool, perching on top of the Royal Liver Building, one of the Three Graces located in the area of Albert Dock (JP/Lovelli Ariesti)

During the rest of my stay I took more strolls through the city, visiting cultural events and heritage sites that are the city's main attractions, including the Tate Liverpool -- one of the largest modern and contemporary art galleries in the UK outside London.

The gallery is at Albert Dock, the largest group of Grade I listed buildings in Britain, comprising some 1.25 million square feet (116,129 square meters) of public areas built to the design of architect Jesse Hartley.

The area, which includes three monumental buildings called the Three Graces, played a central role in the history of Liverpool.

The Dock was built to accommodate sailing ships with a capacity of up to 1,000 tons of cargo. It was closed in 1972 and, after a series of refurbishments, was officially reopened by Prince Charles on May 24, 1988.

Arriving at the Tate, I was welcomed by a rare exhibition which, between May 30 and Aug. 31, had attracted more than 194,000 visitors including Elvis Costello, Yoko Ono and comedian Frank Skinner.

The gallery showcased artworks of the leader of the Viennese Secession, Gustav Klimt (1862-1918), displaying the artist's sensual lines and delicate play with feminine symbols.

Meanwhile, out on the streets were 100 three-dimensional canvases, called Superlambananas, showcasing Liverpool's creativity -- its people, heritage, regeneration and art scene.

These canvases, shaped like sheep with pointy ears and tails, were originally created by Japanese-based artist Taro Chiezo in 1998 and for ten weeks of the English summer (from June 16 to Aug. 25) they were seen at various locations across Liverpool.

That day, the second day of my adventure around this year's European Capital of Culture, during my week covering the 25th Beatle Week Festival, I added another item to my list.

"Don't forget to come back."

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