Once Everton has touched you, nothing will be the same – Part One: Arriving in Liverpool
Liz Lefebvre (@elefebvre11) an Evertonian from Minnesota recalls her first trip to Liverpool.
“You made it!” proclaimed the banner in the distance, visible from the exit of Liverpool Lime Street Station on a beautiful Friday late afternoon. I broke into a huge grin right there on the platform. I had crossed my fingers for months that there would be a home match this weekend, as I was already set for a family vacation to London over international break the following week to watch Laver Cup tennis. The schedule worked out; I was able to get a ticket. Despite a nervous few days as the date of the queen’s funeral was being decided and Premier League matches hung in the balance, everything ended up falling perfectly into place. It seemed like fate: the match was happening, I was going to Goodison to watch Everton play West Ham. I had made it.
I set off right away to try to cram in a bit of sightseeing before things closed for the day. After a quick trip through the Central Library (don’t miss the Picton reading room!) and the World Museum, I had been wandering around the city without a specific destination when I turned a corner and caught a glimpse of the Mersey. I changed course immediately and sat down at the waterfront, between the Museum of Liverpool and the Mersey Ferries building, the Liver Building looming in the background. It might have been the jetlag, but I was overcome with emotion at the Liver Building. Get a grip, I thought to myself, it’s just a building, you’ve seen pictures of it before! But something about the birds and their watchful perches facing the river and the city, thinking about how many people had come and gone from the city over time, the sun was setting over the Mersey, the seagulls adding their voices…yes, it might have been the jetlag, but I felt tears welling up in my eyes.
At the last minute, I had reached out via Twitter to see if I’d be able to attend the sold out View from the Bullens live event scheduled for that evening. Not sure what to expect, or if I’d be seen just as a presumptuous American trying to bend the rules, I was beyond delighted when the response came back: How many tickets do you need? Come on over, just say your name at the door! On arrival, I was greeted literally with open arms and given a big hug as if I were an old friend coming home for the first time in years, rather than just a rando from Twitter.
I had no idea what to expect at the event. As instructed, I gave my name at the door. I was greeted literally with open arms and given a big hug as if I were an old friend coming home for the first time in years, rather than just a rando from Twitter.
I was pulled inside to be introduced to more and more people. Some I knew of from social media, one was another American who happened to be spending a few months in Liverpool, some were from the #HerGameToo WhatsApp group I’m a part of (absolute saints who took me under their wing and dealt politely with my increasing inability to form coherent sentences as the jetlag DEFINITELY started kicking in).
As the show got underway, the hosts announced that there were two Americans in the audience, encouraging us to stand up and wave as everyone gave us a hearty welcome.
I’d gotten a taste of what a big gathering of Blues is like at the preseason match in Minnesota over the summer, but being surrounded by a pub full of locals was something entirely different. The evening proceeded with songs, conversation with former Everton players, and just an overall sense of happiness and camaraderie.
I set out for more exploring on Saturday, another day of perfect weather. I grabbed a morning tea on Bold Street, walked around St. Luke’s bombed out church, toured the cathedral, strolled through the Georgian Quarter.
Fate then intervened again: I had set off in the general direction of my lunch destination at Baltic Market when sidewalk construction sent me down some side streets off my planned route. I knew I was near an Everton mural that was on my list of things to see, but I wasn’t sure exactly where it was, only that I was close. I peeked down an intersection on my altered route—and there it was. Once Everton has touched you, nothing will be the same. Here I was, a living testament to the words. I was in Liverpool, flown in from across the world, not another soul in sight, walking around a warehouse district…and wouldn’t have had it any other way.
I rounded out the day at the waterfront, circling Albert Dock, fighting off seagulls eager for my pastry crumbs, checking out the Tate, hopping on a Mersey Ferry—I think alarming some other tourists as I very eagerly took about a hundred pictures of Bramley Moore rising from the skyline, I’m sure wondering why I was taking selfies with a bunch of construction cranes.
After logging a full 24,000 steps, I felt I’d done my best to see as much of the city as I could in one day. As I collapsed back at the hotel that night, I sent a text to a friend: When can I move to Liverpool?
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