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Published: July 15th 2009
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On our morning in Liverpool we had breakfast at the hotel (who are those crazy people who eat meat with their breakfast? and no vegetables?) and then embarked on our pre-ordered tour to the childhood homes of John Lennon and Paul McCartney.
Beatles songs in the background, the yellow van with huge faces of the Beatles on it drove us and a few more tourists first to Lennon's house. Amazingly simple and authentic, the gray-walled, two-story house with a little garden, has the original doors, floors, windows, and even some furniture, of the time where John Lennon grew up there. We saw his room, small and modest, with Elvis posters and some more items from the life of a 60s teenager.
Next was Paul's house, and to our surprise the guide who greeted us at the gate bared a surprising resemblance to the great musician. Again, the strange feeling of visiting a house where time had frozen somewhere in the early sixties. If it wasn't for the pictures on the walls, taken by Mike, Paul's photographer brother, hanging on the walls next to the spot where they were taken, you'd be expecting Paul or someone of his family to enter the
room at any moment. there was laundry hanging outside, pots on the shelves in the kitchen that was so typical in those times.
Back at the hotel, we decided to let Yarden go to the Beatles museum; since the tickets were quite expensive, only he and Bam went, while the women of the family went to get lunch. We ate soup and sandwiches in a little caffe in a gorgeous place called Albert Dock: a former dock remade as a shopping compound. We took sandwiches for the boys, and there we were, on the road again... Bam trying the new coordination challenge of driving on the left while eating a sandwich that was threatening to come apart at any moment, and Yarden gleefully chewing his own wearing his newly purchased John Lennon glasses.
The next mission was to get to Drymen camping, the place where we chose to start our West Highland Way trekk. (Drymen is oficially the second stop, the Way begins at Minglavie) after Gypsy got us to a dead end in Glasgow, we started doubting his directions. but when we found ourselves riding narrow little roads between fields and forests, where the only one with a
slight idea of where to go was our friend with the metallic monotonous voice, we decided we had no other alternative but to trust him. and sure enough, we suddenly heard the long awaited phrase: you have reached your destination.
A small farm with horses grazing peacefully in the distance. Ima went out to find someone to report our arrival to, and returend with a face radiating with happiness: it's the right place! we're here at last! to unpack, to put up the tent. since it was quite late when we were finally organized, we decided to take the car to the village instead of walking. But we still got there too late: the pub that we had heard much praise of was packed, and the places that weren't taken were already reserved, no chance to reserve a spot before the kitchen closes. Disappointed, we turned to buy our dinner at the local supermarket. At least now we were fully equipped with food supply for the next few days.
Tired but satisfied with our first camping-burner-cooked dinner, we went to sleep, some more enthusiastic than others about the long walk awaiting the next day.
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