In 2014, Liverpool was pushing to win the league for the first time in 25 years. Globetrotting Liverpool fan Pete Martin found himself in the Portuguese islands of Azores watching a title-deciding match.
In 2014, Liverpool FC was pushing to win the English Premier League for the first time in 25 years. Under the stewardship of Brendan Rodgers and lead by the genius of Luis Suarez, there was a strong belief that Liverpool can finally end their long draught. The author of this piece Pete Martin, after some life-changing events, embarked on a soul-searching journey of a lifetime to circumnavigate the world by ship and train. He watched the events in the Premier League unfold wherever and whenever he could. In mid-April, on the eve of the Hillsborough Anniversary, he unexpectedly had a poignant day in the islands of Azores as he watched a potential title-deciding tie between Liverpool and Manchester City.
I wake up just after seven o’clock. The sunrise is beautiful. The sky is bright red beyond the volcanic mountains of the islands of the Azores. I’m glad for some respite from the cruise today; it’s been a long, tortuous journey crossing the Atlantic from the USA. By eight o’clock, the ship is still and the lifeboats begin to escort those who have booked tours. At half past eight, the rest of us are allowed to queue to be tendered ashore. As I’m walking to the disembarkation point, there’s a general announcement that getting people to their tours is going slower than expected and those without tours, like me, are encouraged to linger over breakfast until the passengers with tours have departed. I have to wait another hour for my escape.
I step off the tender and take my first footsteps back in Europe again. It is Day 70 of this mad trip and the last time I was in Europe was Day 6 when I crossed the border into Asia on the Trans-Siberian Railway. Horta is the small port on the Azorean island of Faial. It’s used as a stopping point by sailors crossing the Atlantic Ocean. The island has a population of only fifteen thousand. I’m back in jeans and a fleece for the morning weather. The rain is just about holding off. The passengers waiting for tours are blocking the terminal building, so I head out into town away from them. I walk along the coastal road from the harbour to the centre, stopping at the cathedral. It’s very European inside with a grandiose altar and pews. The priest is laying out prayer books for morning mass. It’s still early on Sunday morning; the streets are empty and the shops closed. None of the other passengers have made it this far into town yet. This setting reminds me of the lines from Alfred Lord Tennyson’s “In Memoriam” – calm is the morn without a sound, calm as to suit a calmer grief.