I Went on My First Pilgrimage. It Really Did Change My Life.

Yes, my trip to the Beatles' birthplace counts as a pilgrimage. And it may have forever changed the way I travel.

For the audio version of this article, read by the author, go here.

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Michael and I recently spent two weeks in Liverpool, England, and while the city has seen an impressive amount of new development lately, it’s still fairly gritty. It’s very working class, and on weekends, expect to see a lot of drunk, late-night mayhem.

I loved it anyway.

Then again, I didn’t travel to Liverpool for the city’s charm. I went because ever since I was a kid, I’ve been obsessed with the Beatles.

I wanted to see the locations from the Beatles’ early days: their childhood homes and the famous Cavern Club where the band first found fame.

Mostly, I just wanted to be in the actual physical space that led to the creation of the music that has given me so much joy.

Photo by Guido Coppa on Unsplash

But upon arrival, I did think: Was this a mistake?

The city definitely celebrates its most famous sons, but the Beatles aren’t quite as ubiquitous as I expected. John, Paul, George, and Ringo grew up here over seventy years ago. The Beatles connection is now strictly a tourist thing. Most Liverpudlians — or “Scousers,” as they’re much more likely to call themselves — have long since moved on.

As for the various locations I planned to visit, most aren’t in the city center, and I wondered if it was really worth the effort to track them down. They’re just places — and fairly nondescript ones, it seemed.

But Michael and I had come all this way, so we took a tour. And to my surprise, I found myself repeatedly overcome with emotion.

Before I knew it, I was in front of the house where John Lennon grew up, on the street where, when John was still in his teens, his mother was killed in a tragic car accident — inspiring the wistful Beatles song “Julia,” but also creating the life experience that enabled John to bond so quickly with Paul McCartney, whose mother had also died early.

And then I saw George Harrison’s house, which used to have an outdoor toilet and only one coal oven for heat, and also the school where George met Paul — who lorded over him because at eight months and a full school year older, Paul was sooo much more mature.

And there was one of the hospitals where Ringo Starr spent three years of his childhood bedbound with a series of chronic illnesses. Alienated and alone, Ringo relieved himself from boredom by tapping out rhythms on the cabinets next to his bed — so much so that one nurse finally said, “Hey, you’re pretty good at that.”

A recreation of the Cavern Club at the Beatle’s Story Museum.

I’ve been traveling for a long time, and I’ve now seen and felt a lot of interesting things. But I’ve never felt anything quite like what I did in Liverpool.

Did it change my life? Well, it changed how I think about the Beatles — and art in general.

It also changed what I think about pilgrimages, one of which I now see I was on.

A “pilgrimage” is defined as a long journey to a shrine or sacred place, particularly for the purpose of personal transformation.

And, okay, it wasn’t that long a journey to Liverpool: a five-hour train ride from where we’d been staying in Portsmouth. But British trains can be pretty lousy, and they’re mobbed in the summer. Plus, I had to travel to England in the first place.

I’m also using a liberal definition of “sacred place.” Then again, I’m not religious. For me, the birthplace of my all-time favorite band is about as sacred as places get.

A statue in Liverpool. Photo by Neil Martin on Unsplash

I did wonder: Were pilgrimages always this satisfying and fantastic?

A few weeks later, Michael and I were on a cruise ship that would stop in Belfast, Northern Ireland, and we were researching things to do. I immediately zeroed in on C.S. Lewis Square, which includes a collection of statues inspired by Lewis’ books, The Chronicles of Narnia.

As a kid, I was obsessed with these books too — except for the last book in the series, The Last Battle, which, even as an eleven-year-old, I thought took the books’ central religious metaphor far too literally and killed the stories’ magic.

Even so, I decided C.S. Lewis Square would be my next pilgrimage.

The day we landed, I dragged Michael far from the Belfast city center in search of this place — several miles, all on foot. In the rain, no less.

When we finally got there, the statues were…nice. They were entertaining and impressive, especially the massive Aslan one.

But I didn’t feel anything like what I had in Liverpool. Maybe it was the rain and the fact that we were both soaked by the time we reached the square.

Sculptures of Narnia’s Mr. Tumnus, Aslan, and Maugrim the wolf — and me, soaked from the rain.

Emotionally speaking, was the catharsis of my pilgrimage to Liverpool a one-time deal?

No. I wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

A few cruise ship stops later, we were visiting Invergordon, Scotland, near the famous Loch Ness. And — yes — I was once also obsessed with the Loch Ness Monster. I read all the books and saw all the movies, and I can totally tell you the difference between the surgeon’s photograph and the Dinsdale film. As a child and teenager, I’d always subscribed to the theory that the “monster” was probably a remnant dinosaur population, possibly a land-locked plesiosaur.

Needless to say, I have always been easily obsessed with different things. But hopefully, that’s part of my charm.

As I grew up, I came to accept the scientific consensus that the Loch Ness Monster is almost certainly a myth. For one thing, plesiosaurs lived more than sixty million years ago, and Loch Ness was frozen solid many times during various ice ages. All the “evidence” and eyewitness accounts of the creature are probably some combination of misidentification and hoax.

Even so, l still felt great affection for Loch Ness, the source of so much of my childhood passion, and I wanted to finally see the lake in person. A teensy-tiny part of me also thought, Well, maybe the scientific consensus is wrong, and there is a remnant dinosaur population, and I’ll be the one to finally discover it!

But mostly, I wanted to test my theory about pilgrimages and how beautiful they can be.

So what happened?

On our way to the loch, I felt pretty stupid. I mean, this was a stop on a cruise ship. I was on a damn tour bus! This was even less of a “long journey” than the one to C.S. Lewis Square.

Then we turned a corner, and I saw Loch Ness for the first time.

And it looked so…familiar. Over the years, I’d seen so many pictures and films of the lake, and while many locations don’t live up to their photographic reputations, this one did.

If anything, it was better — even more Loch Ness-y.

We climbed out of the bus and headed down to the iconic Urquhart Castle, which gives perspective to the size of the creature-like object visible in, yes, the Dinsdale film.

No, I didn’t spot the Monster myself — or if I did, I’m not yet ready to publicly share the news.

But it didn’t matter. Being at this place of my childhood dreams once again moved me, almost to tears. It didn’t change my life, not exactly, but it did remind me that I’m living one — and a pretty passionate one at that.

And so, I have discovered that there is really something to this “pilgrimage” thing — even loosely defined or lamely executed pilgrimages like mine.

We’re already making plans to hike one of the world’s most famous pilgrimages, Spain’s Camino de Santiago.

Or, better still, I can pursue one of my many other previous obsessions and go visit Tunisia to explore the filming locations from the movie Star Wars.

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See also:

John Wasn't the "Cool" Beatle. Paul Was.

What Makes 80s Music and Movies So Appealing?

Madonna vs. Cyndi Lauper: What Their Careers Taught Me About Art

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Brent Hartinger is a screenwriter and author. Check out my new newsletter about my books and movies at BrentHartinger.com.