Moving on

Liverpool feels like one of those empty cities that the world has decided to leave behind, passerbys looking back occasionally to marvel at its history. Besides Anfield and museums, there really isn’t much here. Streets are broad, sometimes empty, clad with old bricked buildings. Pretty low population density, you don’t see crowded streets packed with commuters. Always a slow stream of pedestrians, or just a speckle of people across the streets.

It’s hard to imagine that this city was once richer than London with an incredible sea port trading industry. Everything is so quiet now, to the point that you’d start wondering where have all the people gone to. You catch tourists equipped with their DSLRs and their compacts firing away at tourist spots, but other than that, it seems like people who once lived here have moved on to somewhere else, leaving just a trickle of locals who still reside in this old city.


Go easy on the feet, but never on the tummy

You know your traveling itinerary is a bit too packed when you have to start backdating your blogging. I’ll get to that later.

Right now it’s chilling out with late night dinner/snacking, with a bit of time to write while the boys watch some crappy soccer lol. Imba vending machine spotted at the lobby, more awesome munchies tonight, I forsee.

New continent musings

Europe is so similar and yet so different from America. Residential districts are clad with low-rise, standalone houses spanned across spacious land masses, with more to go around than ever seemingly needed. You can feel the age of the place — old buildings tell you much of a city’s history, but yet it’s not quite the same kind of oldish feel as in America.

I’d always thought of Ireland as a country that is rustic and flavorful, covered with grassy landscapes and populated with people carrying deep, rich culture. And beer of course.

Dublin seems to fit that picture. Love how perpetually every house follows this template of bricky, low-rise terrace rows with arc doorways and brightly-coloured doors. Bold colours seem pretty much in favour; dull streets in monotone sometimes have a couple of striking structures installed — shophouses with tinted colour glasses or residential blocks with bright yellow doors.

People speak in deep, rich languages that I don’t understand, but their intonations and exuberance somehow creates a sense of grandeur and pride. Like how I enjoyed listening to people articulate French in Montreal like it’s some kind of tune, the myriad of languages I’m hearing everyday along the streets is music to my ears.