We arrived into Warsaw for the second time on our travels slightly worse for ware, given the dent we made into the Vodka the previous night. Both Hutch and I were slow moving onto the hostel, arriving in an unfamiliar station, we managed to get across Warsaw to Centrally Station, before walking to our Hostel. Check in wasn't for a couple of hours, but Hutch was struggling and my stomach was grumbling. It wasn't hunger, as I soon found out a few minutes later; a well timed dash to bathroom saving me. The cheap street food bought of the ladies at the station not productive for my bowel. Hutch didn't eat much, but still suffered.
This was our last day at any of the Euro 2012 venues, and we didn't have tickets. We had previously both agreed to try and get tickets through the black market for this game.
I was more positive about our day, trying to drag Hutch up and out, given he had been sleeping during the day. Food was probably the solution, so feasted like kings with a couple of cold meat starters, we had a four person mixed grill between us, soothed down with Polish grog!
After the food, both of us were more spritely, we cruised towards the stadium, discussing our price for the tickets. Both agreed: Not much above face value.
We left the stadium station, greated by a few touts, our conversations and haggling were not getting us to our desired price. Sod it. I'd done this touting stuff a few times. We still had hours before kick off; we'll play the number game. We walked towards the ground, again meeting the occasional tout. We started talking to one, and got fairly good price. It wasn't the ideal price, but lady luck was on our side. A chap approached us "I have two tickets, face value,". Hutch and I looked at each other. It was the best deal yet... we chatted with the guy a bit further "We got more tickets than needed, we just want to recouperate the money we paid!", Hutch and I decided to trust our new friend, and ambled to the nearest cash machine (which wasn't near, it took nearly half an hour to get to the nearest one...) to pay our debt. Once the cash was handed over, Dominic, a German, invited us to join his friends for a beer, afterall, we would be sat next to them for the game.
We settled down in the shadow of the stadium to some Tyskie, talking of the sterotypes we had of the German's and vice versa, talking about the tournament, the chances of the remaining teams and swapping slang terms (they knew all our swear words) that are used in our languages.
The game approached as the beers were drained, our German friends bought us the last beer. This is what the tournament was about, meeting new people, we'd helped them recover their ticket, we had tickets with a beer thrown in for the price.
We walked off to the Stadium, all slightly tipsy, getting a portugese guy to take a photo of our newly formed group, admiring the stadium, then entering into the stunning arena. A gorgeous stadium, with uniquely designed roof and lovely structure for stands of the stadium.
The game started brightly, the Czech's probing forward dangerously. Gebre Selassie was a menace down the right, pushing hard from the full back position, a solid performance from this unknown from the Czech Gambrinus Liga. Alas, The Portuguese then jumped into life, a certain Cristiano Ronaldo providing the sparks, Joao Moutinho interrupting the Czech and feeding the three pronged attack. Ronaldo twice panged the post; once after swivelling and swerving through the Czech defence and crashing a fierce shot upon, then with a trademark zinging freekick, leaving Cech stranded, saved only by the woodwork. The game was sealed with 11 minutes. Nani fed Joao Moutinho, who crossed deep back across goal. Ronaldo sprinted towards the ball from a deep position before powering the ball past Cech, the first time he'd done so since the Champions League Final in Moscow in 2008.
We stayed and took the statutory photo's of this gorgeous stadium, before heading back into town. We contemplated going out, but I was still feeling rough, Hutch not much better, so we went for a couple of beers in the district near our Hostel. We had an early start the following day.
We awoke from our 8 hour restful slumber and departed for the station. We were leaving the Euro 2012 zone for the first time in two weeks, but alas, we were heading to Berlin, on the day that Germany were due to play Greece, a lucky addition to our trip.
Our train was uneventful to Berlin, a distinct lack of football fans on the train. We arrived into Berlin Haupbahnhof mid afternoon. We checked into our hostel in the hip Prenzlauer Berg of Berlin, then headed for the Brandenberg gate. Apart from it being a historic monument, it was also the place for the vast Fan Zone that was set up by the German authorities to give the fans at home a chance to support their national hero's. I'm not sure anything is done like this in England, probably because a mass brawl would ensue...
In the fan zone a great beer was found, Duckmeister, and after we consumed a couple, the game was under way. I didn't envisage the Greeks putting up much of a fight, but they kept the Germans out, including a rightly disallowed goal, until the 39th minute. Captain Philip Lahm pulled through and drilled the ball past the hapless Greek keeper.
Somehow ten minutes after half time the Greeks got an equaliser. Samaras bundled the ball over the line. But this was short lived. On 61 minutes, Khedira put the German's into a lead. Klose soon added another; the Samaras goal seemed to have sparked the German machine into life. New Dortmund signing Marco Reus added a 4th, meaning the Germans had got 3 in 15 lightening minutes. The Greeks got a late consolation goal through a penalty, but the German's were through.
We shuffled away from the Brandenberg, before going to party. Our destination the iconic electronic techno club, Tresor. We had a couple of beers, before heading into the club, dancing to some grimy industrial techno till the early hours. We departed in daylight, swaying back to the hostel before hitting the final stop of the tour; Amsterdam!
Our early train to Amsterdam was supplemented with some slumber. The previous two hours insignificant to our body's need. We had a quick change en route to ensure our arrival in Amsterdam Centraal, and not Amsterdam Suid. I know my way around Amsterdam and had previously stayed at our abode for the night. However, Hutch was peckish. I knew a noodle place, so we hit that, before getting stung in a typically Western style for 26 euro's...
Our last night was to be christened with the last supper. I had always wanted to go to a smart restaurant in Nieuwmarkt, In De Waag, where Rembrant's The Anatomy Lesson was painted. After a gorgeous tenderloin steak, we headed over for Amsterdam's best milkshake at the smart Hill Street Blue's coffeeshop. The Spain France again had already started whilst we were eating dinner. Former Liverpool midfielder Xabi Alonso put them 1-0 up with a firm header. The drab game went on and on, before France's hopes of reaching the semi's went up in smoke, like our surroundings in the coffeeshop. A penalty awarded, which Alonso despatched to secure Spain a semi final clash with the Iberian peninsula Portuguese.
We reviewed, joked and laughed about the previous 24 days. Our adventure drawing to a close; this was the final night.We went out and Amsterdam was not hustling like normal. Superclub Melkweg, Dead. Paradiso, minimal. We cruised a few late bars, before deciding to call it a day at 4:00am.
We arose the next morning, the weather for the third time in 24 days, was producing rain. We checked out. I headed off to find an internet cafe in the pouring rain to print our boarding cards, then we departed, for the last time, to the airport.
The mood between us was sombre, slighly depressed. This was the end of our adventure. 24 days on the road. We didn't feel the irony or coincidence of the rain as we tried, and failed, to find food in Einhoven, our departure airport.
The tube of the Ryanair Boeing 737 opened into sunshine some where over the North Sea. A silver lining perhaps to the end of the journey. More like a mercury poising lining...
I dropped my bags in Nottingham, and trudged up the road to the pub. The roads eerily empty, like a scene out of 28 Days Later, England that night were atypical of the national team. A bore draw, lacking invention. The attacking substitution of Jordan Henderson being laughed at by the other people supporting other teams throughout the tournament. 0-0, the first of Euro 2012. Then Penalties. The faint optimism in the pub... "Maybe this time", "I can see us doing this", "Joe Hart to save, then score the winner". I wasn't fussed. But I couldn't see England changing the habit of a lifetime. Nine kicks later, I was right. England were down and out. Just like Hutch and I. Tournament Over.
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