Still in the good old U.S. of A.
Treknick's Travel Journal
Chill days in Liverpool, England
Clownin' around with Steve on the train from London to Liverpool
Santa Barbara, CA, USA January 29th, 2001 Today I packed up my life in SoCal and started my trek. My last day at work was Friday, January 26th, one day short of four years since I started working at TRW. Since Friday I have felt almost every emotion I can think of, mostly exhiliration but bits of sadness and nostalgia as well as all the others. And Deja Vu of packing your stuff up again and moving out. Packed my truck from mid-morning until well into the afternoon, and finally got on the road at 4PM. Initial plan was to stop by my friend Johnny's in Santa Barbara at 2 before continuing to Santa Cruz to visit Ryan and Chris, also friends from my hometown of Mendocino. Due to Mendo lag factor, a term you will become acquainted with, I finally made it to SB by 7, and decided to check in with Johnny for the night. I don't know about you guys out there in cyberspace, but in my opinion, that's not bad for packing up your life of the last four years. So now I'm sitting here with Johnny, eating a pile of pistachios and sour candies, listening to Tabla Beat Science, reading Tao Te Ching, and uploading pictures from space. Next entry might be with friends in San Francisco, or my Mom in Liverpool... ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ San Mateo, CA, USA January 30th, 2001 Woke at 6 AM, woke Johnny to say good-bye, meet me out there, and headed N on Hwy 101 before the sun was up. Navigated my way through poorly marked exits, construction, and lack of street signs in Santa Cruz to meet with Chris Bacon for some last words of wisdom, talk about what I wanted out of this trip and life in general, and hugs, and Ryan for some lunch, words of wisdom, lunch, and hugs. It was very important for me to see these guys before | left as they have seen me go through my most growing moments and this is yet another. After lunch and a stop at a coffee shop in downtown, I headed up Hwy 1 to Half Moon Bay. A little way into the ride, at Davenport, I saw a young, blond, punk rocker that I had noticed downtown, on the side of the road hitching. He was fully clad in black leather, boots, collar and wrists bristling with up to 2" spiked studs, baseball cap covered in beer bottle caps and lighter tops, and a pair of cheap wayfairer sunglasses. The cab of my little truck was a little packed, and I was wondering what he smelled like, but I looked at him and looked in my heart and felt it was right to give him a ride. He was working on a Natty Ice when I pulled up to him, and he asked me if he could bring it, I said "only if you got one for me" which he did, so the ride resumed with a curious passenger. His real name was Kyle, not Dustin as he told some (full name Dustin Bowls). He was a talkative chap and felt that it was his place to keep anarchy and the "street way" of life alive. People like him, the misfits from broken, drugged out families, who have had to fend for themselves since they were 13, by bumming change and drugs, it was them that kept the word free and stopped it from being overrun by government and concrete. One thing that was interesting was that he felt that he had to look more hardcore that the other punks, "there are only a few punks on the West coast that can front me man, but I gotta keep it up, bum more shit , have more caps, nobody can front on me but I gotta keep it up." He also thought the whole racism aspect of some punk rockers was totally bullshit and he wanted to show the other kids on the street how to live the street right. I had to agree with him on some things. One thing I believe in is that whatever it is that you do or are, do it with all you've got. KEEP IT CORE!!! And make a conscious effort to make a positive statement with your life, little things count. Also noticed he got out of my truck when I had to go in to get gas, made me feel better that he wasn't ripping me off, must remember that when I hitch. Now I am over at my brother Buzzy's house, with his wife Robin and my nephews, Mike and Chris, having just had a wonderful sausage pasta dish. Showed Buzz my website and had a great time. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ San Francisco, CA, USA January 31st, 2001 Another 6 AM morning, my nephews trying to pounce me before I wake but I am too quick for that and the sleeping bag monster eats one, then spits it out because it is distasteful, and eats the other. Breakfast of coffee and cereal, before I hug some good-byes, my brother a little jealous that I don't have to go to work this Monday, so I head up the 380 to the 280, through SF, pick up some stuff at Margot's house on Mt. Tam for her, then up the N coast, through wineries, redwoods until I hit the coast and Hwy 1, just miles from my house in Albion. Stop by Albion Store at 12:00 for a sandwich and a beer, then up to my house to unpack, which really only takes about an hour while talking to the woman subletting the house and eating my sandwich, drinking my beer. Then I look at parking my truck in the old woodbarn, which has 2x6" boards on the dirt floor as part of the barn structure, so I can't just cut or move them. I decide to place boards and dirt around them to build ramps for my truck tires. Ignoring that voice in my head saying, "You idiot, that will never work", I try and drive my truck in and promptly get high centered on the boards. Its 2:30 PM and I was planning on hitching down to San Francisco today. I curse a couple times and start running. Get jack, jack truck off board, peel out in reverse as the jack makes bad sound. Free truck from bondage. Park truck, kiss it good-bye and quickly pack my backpack, finish beer, and start to walk out down the ridge as a free man. Larry, a good friend who lives on the property comes cruising in before I get out the driveway, and gives me a ride 5 miles down the ridge to the Albion Store and Hwy 1. The time is 3:30, just me and my backpack. I make a sign that says, "San Francisco or close" and flash it to passing motorists with my most honest, clean cut smile. I wonder about the wisdom of trying to hitch out of Albion to SF, a 3.5 hr drive, with night falling in 1.5 hrs. But the little voice I ignored earlier says "KEEP IT CORE", so I smile and dance with my little sign. I am rewarded with a ride within half an hour. They're from Santa Cruz, which makes sense to me in a hitching karma kinda way, just bought property up Albion Ridge, very friendly cool people with good stories. We start talking about farming in the pygmy, politics, kids, god, and travel, have a few Heinekens, and are rolling through Philo. Make our way to 19th and Ocean, SF, where Lisa picks me up and we drop off stuff at her place and go to a little mexican restaurant where I get the best hand-held burrito, the Super Prawn, that I have ever had. Returning to the house to adjust the backpack, look at pictures of Turkey from her trip to Europe, which her and Christian just got back from, until Christian comes home , we have some wine and now it is Journal Time. This is it, finally on my way with my backpack, and it feels great, so free and powerful. The ease at which I hitched a ride to SF was fantastic and exhilerating, like I can do anything. Feel like I am really on it now, but very tired, must...sleep... ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Somewhere 33,000ft above Uranium City, Canada February 2nd, 2001 What a fantastic day. This entire last week has been great. A week previous I was walking out of what seemed like my last day of work ever, and now I am truly on my way. It seems surreal. Yesterday was incredibly moving for me. Woke up with Xchan and Lisa, made biscuits with cacks, and some of Lisa's friends came over for a wonderful breakfast with fruit followed by disc in the park, running like mad children in the grass. Toke care of the rest of my errands at Mission, medicine and banking, then Jed picked me up for a fun trahs-talking game of scrapper basketball, win one but not the second. Throughout the week, including the good-bye lunch at work, I feel the love of my friends. Now as Jed, Megan, Cody, Xchan and I have some 16 oz martinis at Blondies I can see their smiles and feel the warmth of my best friends around me, wishing me well , excited for my jouney. Lisa joins us for dinner at Puerto Alegre on Valencia, my last meal with beef (mad cow has got me scared) the second best burrito, smoothered in guacamole. Bart and Brandy meet us out for more drinks at the Albion Bar . "Service for the Sick" is the motto, usually pretty sketchy crack head bar but kinda tame on the Thursday night. I have some of my best friends around me, all good lovely vibes, it feels absolutely euphoric and I let everyone know how much I love them. Back at Xchan's, Bart raps and we talk until the wee hours. This morning we wake up, make some omelettes, and do my last calls to say LAAEE DERRRS, then we're on the road. After I fill out my mail forwarding and give it to Lisa, I check the last item off my list, drop it, no release it, into the trash can on Ocean. Run around the run literally to Circuit City and by my digital camera, the Fuji FinePix 2400Zoom. Ride to SFO, just as happy as can be, snapping pics left and right. Big hugs to Xchan and Lis, then check in my backlpack and down to the gate. Have a glass of wine at this swanky little bar, with cute girls, all business, and a Swede named Goran living in Hong Kong. One thing he says of particular interest is that US dollars, in 20's and higher, are accepted almost everywhere, liek universal money. I get some extra US dollars before boarding the plane then realize I am one of the last few people. Typical Nick Style, I took to hitch hiking to school in high school because I always missed the bus, or if I did manage to catch it, it was only because I wsa hopping to it tying my shoes at the same time. In the air I start messing with my camera and promptly erase all the pictures I just took, typical again. Oh well, there will be plenty more. B-Boys...B Girls...SuperStar DJs..HERE WE GO This is it, I'm on my way. LOOKOUT WORLD HERE I COME
Liverpool, England February 3rd, 2001 I HAVE ARRIVED. It is 7:30 PM local time and I just walked in the door to my new cheap digs at 7 Sydenham Ave, Liverpool, England. It has been a long journey to this point from Redondo Beach, but it is well worth it for the trip ahead. So far the trip has been just "brilliant". After getting through customs and immigration, I got on the tube for Euston Station to catch a train to Liverpool. After a jarring, crowded transit, I arrived weak, hungry, and tired. Some SuperbSoup and garlic bread did me good, as well as a pint of Fosters at Cooper's Pub, overlooking the station. As I went to get my pint, a young man sat my the table, so I said he could share it with me and we got to talking about football, definitely one of his favorite subject as he wants to get back into playing it at the club level. We were both on our way to Liverpool, he to see his girlfriend. The line was to long to get the tickets at the station and for other reasons, we just got on. We both agreed we might be interested in getting a "bargain rate". Later as the ticket man approaches, we go to the back and buy great Cadbury's chocolate, and as we roll into another station, Milton Keynes, we disembark and get back on at the front of the train. Steve thinks he has seen us, but no trouble yet so we talk about our dreams of becoming football stars and inventors, girls, travel, differences between people in the UK, play cards. When the ticket man comes, we tell him we got on at Milton Keynes. Saves us £14, about 21 dollars. Probably catch up to me later but right now I am feeling good about myself. I really enjoy talking to 20 yr old Steve and taking a dumb pic of him. Probably the first on in the journal. Arrive in cold Liverpool, take easy taxi from town center to 7 Sydenham and get greeted by my mom, Sandy, and Margot. I'm home! ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Liverpool, England February 5th, 2001 Well I have had a coughing cold the last few days, climate adjustment and exhaustion I am sure. Yesterday Margot, my mom, and I went on the Beatles Magical Mystery Tour of Liverpool. The MM Tour was pretty cool, very full, I think we went to almost every significant Beatles place in Liverpool, including of course Strawberry Fields and Penny Lane, which is less than a 1/2 mile from where we live. Today mom and I went walking around the neighborhood and came to Keith's Wine Bar in the charming neighborhood of Lark Lane. Cheap good food and wine, I had the Tuna Nicoise salad and two glasses of wine, for something like £7.40, aboout 11 USD. I will definitely be hanging out there more in the future, as there was a very young , hip crowd there. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Liverpool, England February 7th, 2001 Mom and I took a ferry across the river Mersey to the other side and back. Some of Liverpool is on the other side of the river, a lot of the shipbuilding and industrial side, but there is also shopping, and residential. It is cold and rainy but beautiful to see the city center from the water and hear about the history of Liverpool, at one time having 1/7th of the entire shipping in the world. That seemed like a lot for one city. On the ferry, I am taking pictures of my mom and we meet this guy. He is hard to understand but very friendly. He says he is an international art dealer (which I don't know if I believe) and is on two week vacation. He appears to be a wee bit pissed (a bit drunk) and as we walk onto shore he says we should go get some pints. I look at mom and say, "well I think we are going to walk around a bit but where would you suggest" It is still raining and blowing pretty good but he and I stand in the rain (mom has better sense and gets her umbrella out) and he starts to describe a few places excitedly, then drops his stuff and gets out a pen and paper so I can remember. He starts talking of where to avoid too, at least from what I can understand, and is very animated on this subject. He tells me to "stay away from Mathews Street" and writes "NO MATHEWS ST" in bold on the paper which I find hilarious since he is so emphatic about this Mathews St. He gives me a couple other good suggestions, some of which I have heard and lend credibility to his other suggestions. We take our leave of him, quite entertained and then wish we had bought him a pint because he was such a character he would have been worth it. We walk around for a bit then getting hungry we start to look for a good pub and wander ionto a street with lots of pubs and I look up into the dark sky and what do I see. The banner saying "MATHEW STREET" Oh God save us, we didn't mean to take this turn, or I guess we did. He made it sound like a very mean part of town but it looks like just the place for us. Mom and I skip down the streets, laughing at the scary Mathews Street. Then find a quite pub off the infamous street for a pint, then more walking, some 2 for 1 sandwiches, more pints... Later that night I go out to Keith's Wine Bar to see where the action is. It is right there and across the street at the Albert. I stop into Keith's and have a few glasses of wine, write down observational stream of consciousness, and end up talking to these two girls and a guy. Mike is an actor in a local MacBeth production, and Shirley and Helen are getting drunk on wine. They are very fun and friendly and soon a skinny bohemian looking cat is over at our table writing poems about someone if you give him some info on them. The People's Poet of Liverpool he calls himself. Helen gets him to do one on Shirley, telling him a few details on work, stuff like that. He starts writing and in 2 minutes has a damned fine piece flowing and rhyming. I am impressed and thinking of nobody more entertaining than my good friend John Gallo, I give him a few nuggets and out pops the poem. Check it out on the Poetry Page. Not quite as long and flowing as Shirley's but good nonetheless. I drop £2.40 into his hand and stuff the poem in my pocket, than saunter over to the bar for another glass of the Australian Shiraz. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Liverpool, England February 12th, 2001 Everyday, a new adventure. And if anyone is wondering if Liverpool has nightlife, that would be a resounding HELL YEA. But first a quick recap of my days since the 7th. Feb 8th, me mum an I take a bus downtown to the most prominant structure in Liverpool, the Anglican Cathedral. It being the 5th largest cathedral in the world, you can see it towering over everything from most places in Liverpool. It is amazingly big from the outside, but inside the vastness of open space is absolutely awe-inspiring. It takes us hours to walk around all the different chapels, and nooks and crannies. We get quite a kick out of the old man giving the tour, pointing out the quirks of the place with reverence and a good sense of humor. I put in a prayer for my loved ones, and my safety on my trip. You can certainly feel a presence and power in such a place. But a few hours of that is enough to make a man thirsty so it's off through a teeny Chinatown, to the student quarter for a pint at the Philharmonic Dining Hall. The next morning me mum and I stroll over to Sefton Park, right on the corner from our house. It is huge, with nice walkways through fields of green grass with millions of daffodils popping up, and long pools of water along the walkways, some in the shade still frozen in the afternoon with ducks struggling through it or slipping about on top, making penguins look as graceful as ballarinas. The pools go through walk stones and down little waterfalls to a big lake with geese and more ducks everywhere. But one thing breaks up this beautiful sight and makes you cring. I notice it everywhere in Liverpool, over and over again, no matter where I go, everyday I am here. GARBAGE, or rubbish I suppose. Tons, literally tons of it, all over the neighborhoods, peoples yards, the streets downtown, parks, filling up any depressions in the ground, piled in empty lots, down the sides of hills, floating into my yard. It is staggering and the other day I saw the source of this spreading menace. IT'S PEOPLE!!! Especially Liverpudlians. A young girl walking down the street with her friend, eating a candy bar, just drops the wrapper, not more than 10 ft from a rubbish bin. Another girls just throws a beer can in the street in front of mom and I before going in a pub. It seems as if for the most part, the Liverpudlians have no awareness of trash and how awful it looks piled waist deep on in the ditches. They simply think nothing of dropping their trash and walking off. It is really crazy to watch, I mean sure I threw beer bottles out the windows of cars when I grew up, but I was trying to hit signs, and not in my own neighborhood. That night, Friday, February 9th, I go to Lark Lane, but nothing doings so down to Aigburth and take the 86 bus to Lime St downtown. I get off the bus and immediately am treated to the sight of two young ladies in clothing so skimpy, I thought they were going to work at a topless bar. Miniskirts have a whole new meaning in Liverpool and the shiny top was barely any nore material. But the part that really shoked me, it was nearly freezing out. Unbelieveable. I check out a few of the clubs, but decide that tomorrow is the night to hit it, so I retire wondering if Liverpool girls are immune to fire and acid as well. Wake up early that Saturday morning, and Margot, Mum and I make our way by train to Chester, at one time a Roman town from 100 AD, me picking on them the whole way and rest of the day, being the naughty little boy that I am. It's blowing and raining hard so we walk around on the wall for a bit, then head into the Albion Pub, which seemed appropriate, for a smoked salmon sandwich and beer. The rain conveniently stopped, allowing us to walk the city walls, once Roman walls and the best way to see the history of Chester, from Roman fort, to Saxon, to Norman, even attacked by Cromwellian forces while Charles the I watched his army defeated. Trip through the Chester Cathedral completes the day and we are back to Liverpool for dinner with Steve and Vicky, friends of the the Burns, the family who we are subletting our house from. She is a little fiesty and he is just plain funny and they put on the most generous spread, with appetizers of breads and cheeses and spreads, lamb dinner, with salads and other good stuff, dessert, even dessert wine. Quite a spread indeed and the best food yet. They are wonderful fun to talk to about anything and quite informative about the city and way of life here. After Steve and Vicky's, I catch the bus down to city centre to check out the club scene I glimpsed the night before. It is 11 PM and right off Bold St, I stumble onto about 10 clubs in one block, all completely JUMPING and throbbing to a trance/techno beat. The music is great, the girls are amazingly hot, but quite young I suspect, and the clubs are so close together, you can walk out the door of one into another and those are just the clubs in this block. Maybe has something to do with the fact that Liverpool has 60,000 students in 6 colleges. And contrary to popular held notions in the US, I found a lot of the girls in England quite stunning really, with only very few with bad teeth. I think they are getting orthodontics these days. They certainly dress way more risque than I have seen in most US clubs. I have heard about this club called Society so I pay a £5 cover and have a great time just DANCE TO THE TRANCE, not necessarily with any one person but with small groups of random people. Everyone just dances around others and smiles and has a good time, it is very cool, and drug induced most likely. I bounce to the beat in Society for about an hour, then curiousity leads me out the door to the other clubs. No covers, but not not everyone dancing or as dark and cool of a light show as Society, a few people just drinking and mulling about the bar. But I am still totally blown away by how good the vibe is. Dance in the other clubs for an hour, then back to Society. It's about 1:30 and I have another one of my new favorite beer, Stella, weighing in at a kick ass 5.2%. The beat starts dropping harder, I start breakin' and poppin', going for it, just unconsciously hitting every beat. Around 2:30 or so, end up dancing and talking to these two girls, Samantha and Susan. Samantha is totally excited about traveling and being positive in life. We keep dancing and then she offers me, among other people, a sniff off this bottle. It is like a mini-nitrous oxide rush, and makes the electronica sound even more wicked. I like it but decide not to over indulge, and have another Stella at 3:30AM, and keep dancing until they wind down at 4AM. There is another after party, but my body feels great and I decide to turn in after a long great day capped by the hottest club scene I had seen yet. Quick taxi home to my warm loft and comfy covers. Sunday of course is a day of rest, but for core trekkers like mom and I , that means going to a museum, in this case the Walker Art Museum and grabbing some drinks and food at a Greek restaurant near city centre before going to the PhilHarmonic Hall to see the Russian Red Army Dance and Chorus Ensemble. You know the Russian dancers flying through the air and kicking their feet up. The chorus is great, ranging from soft, somewhat pensive, and melancholy to deep, loud and full of vigor. It seemed to reflect the spirit of a people who have struggled and suffered much. The dancing was very spirited and it looked like they were having loads of fun, just the stuff you might expect of Russian folk dancing. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Liverpool, England February 19th, 2001 One more week in Liverpool, but out and about I have been. Walked from house to Albert Dock to see Maritime Museums and get a slice of Liverpool life on the way, little schoolchildren in suits running to and fro, playing king of the dirt pile, running home crying. A week for museums, but the fun gets going Friday, February 16th, when mom and I ferry 'cross the river Mersey (pronounced Merzy) to Birkenhead. It's bitter cold over there, the kind that bites at your ankles, a quick look at the square, then head to a cafe for a bite to eat and warmth. Soon as we enter the little side street cafe, a man's voice gushes forth from the back, over-joyed that we are here. It's Jonnie, the guy from our last ferry trip , the one who warned us of Mathews St. What are the chances? And this of all places, "his cafe", for he knows the owner/keeper and seems to do work for him. He is very excited to see us and makes sure we get the best seat, next to him. Starts right into conversation of what has transpired since last we saw him, the art deals he has been making and places he has gone. Wants to know what we have been doing but I can't tell him much really. He is a manic kind of guy, the conversation dominated by him a bit, but he does listen and is so energetic that conversation is comic enough for the ride. After lunch he invites us to his house/gallery, but we decline and suggest a pub instead, that we may get a pint. This he goes for, mom walks off to explore more, and Jonnie and I step into a very full pub at around 3PM. I buy him a pint of Kroenenberg, we look at the paintings in the pub, talk of art, his art and others, and whre he lives and all the dodgy characters on his street. He shows me a photo of a painting of his and a note from a writer friend of his. I believe that he is an artist and dealer now, which I wasn't to sure when first we met, and regardless he is so friendly and excited that he is fun to talk to over a pint. My mom returns and we talk of travel, the US, Mexico. He tells a story of how he lived in a palupa on the beach in Mexico, with this Native American girl, and how she taught him the old Native American trick when you move into a new palupa, to find one of the many scorpians running about, cut off it's tail, grind it up and smoke the damned thing. Gives you quite a buzz, he said, and teaches the scorpians that a badass dude had moved in and means business. He says he smoked a few... We take our leave of him to catch the last ferry at 6:30PM, and he lets me know I am welcome to stop by his place on the river anytime, which I may do before my days here are done, to hear more manic stories of dodgy fellows and wild women.
