Liverpool, what a journey!

Consumerism, culture, catastrophe and carnival. Just a few of the words that spring to mind when I reflect on our experience of Liverpool so far. We have one more day tomorrow to absorb a little more of this amazing complex city which, like our journey here, seems to be divided into so many conflicting elements.

After several days of peaceful rural surroundings we knew things would be very different as we approached the big city but the contrasts of the final few miles was quite staggering. The first part of the journey gets progressively more depressing as you leave the countryside behind to pass through increasingly downtrodden areas. Dead factories line the canals decorated by garish graffiti and long ago broken windows. All manner of garbage floats on the water while determined swans and coots sit unconcerned on their nests, hell bent on bringing new life into a cesspool of filth. We are constantly on the lookout for anything that might get wrapped around our propeller having been warned by so many boaters of the dangers of bikes, mattresses and even tents discarded in the water. It’s a relief to arrive at the top of the Stanley Locks and know that we will soon be out of this depressing section of the journey.

We are joined by another narrow boat, Penny Less for the descent of the locks and Alison from the Canal and River Trust along with a volunteer are waiting to assist us with the passage into Liverpool. I’m a little apprehensive having watched a couple of videos of the trip. It will be our first experience of deep open water and we nervously don our life jackets in readiness. We share the locks with the other boat and Gill gets some more practice handling the boat. With many hands to make light of the work it seems like no time at all before we are deep in the final lock, waiting for the heavy wooden gates to open and give us passage into our first open dock. Our new friends on Penny Less agree to go first as they are more experienced and we emerge into a whole new world. The expanse of water looks huge and is surrounded by high, cliff like warehouse walls which we pass beneath in our tiny craft. Turning left between massive stonework we enter Sid’s ditch, a long narrow passage between a dock wall and raised embankment which separates us from the river Mersey. I’m struggling to keep up with the other boat as our engine complains at these new demands.

Boating chums waiting at the top of the locks

Emerging nervously from the bottom lock

Scary open water

Huge reminder of the past

As we cross more open docks we get our first glimpse of famous landmarks. The Liver Building with it’s famous Liver birds appears in the distance and I struggle to concentrate on following the guiding buoys and the rapidly receding stern of Penny Less whilst wanting to drink in every aspect of the iconic dockland landscape. We enter Princes dock and after passing through another lock the first, and longest, of three tunnels.

Light at the end of……

Entering the tunnel everything looks black despite our headlight but my eyes quickly adjust and it’s easy to follow the twists and turns to emerge into blinding sunlight once more. More bridges, famous buildings, a cruise ship on our right and then suddenly the huge angular facade of the Museum of Liverpool is directly above us.

Hello Liverpool!

O look, a cruise ship

Not a view of the Museum of Liverpool I have seen before

Into the Albert Dock

The final bridge

Tourists on bridges wave and call to us. It’s hard to hear what they say over the sound of the engine but I do hear “Welcome to Liverpool” which makes the impossibly wide grin on my face even wider. One more lock and we are making the tight turns now through Canning dock under yet another bridge into the famous Albert dock. Finally we enter our allocated place in the Salthouse dock without embarrassing ourselves too much and tie up on jetty S3.

We made it.

All of a sudden the sun comes out and it’s hot. Friends appear from another boat to greet us, the kettle is on and we are sitting on the deck talking excitedly about the adventure. Just trying to take in how surreal it is to be right in the heart of the Liverpool docks and to have arrived here on a narrow boat is difficult. Tea is followed by beer and finally it begins to sink in that we have arrived. There is only one word for the experience and our situation and it’s another ‘C’ word. It’s just plain crazy.

On our first full day the hot sunny weather brought the crowds out and as we walked through the bus station with visiting friends I witnessed a perfect example of the diversity of this famous port. Several buses were delivering their passengers for a day out; about seventy percent turned right into the Liverpool One retail extravaganza while the remainder turned left for the docks, museums and art galleries. A young couple strolled arm in arm in the bright sunlight looking as if they were heading for a glamorous photo shoot. He was handsome and tanned. Many hours of hard sweat in the gym had earned him an enviable muscle bound physique which threatened to burst out of his fashionable designer shirt. His partner was slim and beautiful with perfect hair and make-up and his strong arm supported her as she teetered on her needle like heels over the rough cobbled paving. Expensive perfume and after shave followed them in the breeze. They changed direction to avoid what appeared to be a pile of rags and rubbish. A couple of grubby looking sleeping bags, old newspapers and assorted debris piled against some railings. They didn’t notice the movement, as the homeless man, about the same age as them, raised his unshaven, ragged haired head from within the smelly heap. They showed no recognition as he lit his roll-up, took a deep satisfying drag, coughed, spat and reached for the half empty bottle of Lambrini to ease the pain of his miserable situation. This place, I thought, is definitely a place with many faces. Somewhere that is crying out to be scratched well beneath the surface.

After four days we are exhausted and I am reeling from the onslaught of contrasting emotions, information and images. Cultured or crude, rich or poor, modern or ancient; Liverpool has got it all in buckets and I love it.

We are coming for you Liverpool

I am sitting in the boat listening to rain rattling on the roof and watching the branches of a large oak waving in the strong breeze on the opposite bank. Spring, it would appear, is back on hold and it seems like a good excuse for a lazy day off.

We left the marina on a glorious sunny morning four days ago and other than it being a little chilly, and occasionally breezy, it really has been a wonderful start to our journey to Liverpool. The passage into the historic docks is controlled by the Canal and River Trust and we are booked to go in on the 4th of May. In contrast to the whole ethos of life on a narrow boat we have a schedule to stick to but rather than it creating any sense of urgency it simply means that we have a surplus of time on our hands and can afford to sit out today’s unseasonal weather.

Bye everybody, see you in six months

Pulling out of our home berth last Saturday was a strange mixture of the kind of excitement that comes with the start of any new adventure tinged with a modicum of sadness. We were leaving behind a wonderful bunch of new friends and a community that has enveloped us with warmth and support during our brief time on the marina. One of our neighbours gave us a farewell blast on his horn to send us on our way but we mistook it for a warning, thinking another boat was approaching as we emerged from the marina entrance. I suspect they are still chuckling now at my hasty engagement of reverse to avoid being sunk before we had even begun our journey.

Typical of the type of people we have found ourselves surrounded by in our new home, Paul and Dave were waiting for us just around the first corner to help us out at the lock. This meant that I could stay on the boat with Gill while she had a go at steering it in and controlling it as the lock filled up. The process is more daunting than difficult and she passed her first test with flying colours and I am pleased to report, without any threat of divorce. It makes lots of sense for both of us to master all the different skills in handling the boat and it also meant that with Gill driving the boat I would be able to work the lock mechanisms to control the water flow and to open and close the gates for her.

Here comes Gill into her first lock solo

and this is me putting my back into it.

Two locks later as I heaved with all my might at another monstrously heavy balance beam and contemplated what felt like the beginnings of a blister on my hand I became aware of a terrible flaw in my strategy. As Gill proved to be more than competent in her new role I tried to put a positive slant on the situation and told myself how much fitter and stronger I would be after six months of hard physical labour.

We have been very slowly making our way west towards the big city, enjoying a sociable time with Mick and Sara who are also on their way there and from our home marina.

Tow path friends

Golden Girl has been showered with compliments and photographed so often it’s like being in the company of a minor celebrity. I’m worried she will be wanting her own dressing room soon.

Golden Girl admiring herself in the reflections

So four days, seven locks and eleven swing bridges later we find ourselves a staggering seventeen miles from where we started. We were determined to take this new adventure at a leisurely pace and so far I think we are doing quite well. A couple of people we have chatted to on the tow path have suggested that we are like a snail carrying our home with us. The main difference though is that a snail would probably be in Liverpool before us.

Passing through a swing bridge with new found boating friends

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