The journey back to the West

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.

From Russia with L'viv

Having left Przemysl and hitting the Ukrainian border, we were staunchly checked by the Polish guard before they departed the train, and we chugged along for a few hundread metres. Next thing to follow was something of a media circus with the Ukrainian border patrol jumping on board. All well dressed and seemingly chirpy (Our Ukrainian can order two beers and a please and thank you...) chat from the guard, as they went about the business of checking passports, we then noticed other guards taking photo's, whilst the border patrol posed with passports, looking intensely, yet caringly onto our documents. The Soviet Union was a staunch advocate and emphatic power with propagander plays, and for a former Soviet state hosting a major event, there seemed to be a focus here on looking like a friendly host and showing a care free border crossing experience allowing people into the Ukraine.

The truth, having spent weeks planning this trip, was that working out a time and cost effective way to travel between these co host countries was farsical to say the least! The cohesion between them not apparent. We have still yet to find a way between the two capitals; Warsaw and Kiev.

Upon finally hitting L'viv, our host for the next 4 nights and first port of call in the Ukraine, we were greated by yet more media circus. Camera's pointing in our direction, and requests of interviews being laid down. We allowed the travelling Danes and Portugese to pick up the limelight, whilst we headed beyond the shadows of the train station and into glorious weather towards the tram stop to venture into town.


The 1940's tram approached and as we boarded, we realised that if we thought Poland were not ready, then the Ukrainans may have forgotten their duty as host all together. Signage in the roman alphabet was sparse and volunteers were no more beyond the station. We coped and within twenty minutes had hit downtown L'viv and found our accomodation! We downed bags and stumbled across a local restaurant. After some finger jabbing, jesturing and random translation we order the local delicacy Borsch (a local soup) for Hutch and Tripe in a cream and mushroom sauce for me (I hate mushrooms, but the translation was lost!). When in Rome and all that! As was standard practice by now, we shared the food we'd ordered to allow both of us a  taste of the local cusine. The food was suprisingly nice, despite the mushrooms, although Hutch still can't believe he ate tripe...

So, part of the reason for this travelling is to see some live football; we had tickets for Denmark Vs Portugal in L'viv. So after consuming the local cusine (and pints), headed towards the Arena L'viv. We borded a bus (there is no tram to the new stadium, that was plauged by construction problems throughout!) and after a 25 minute journey arrived... but there was still another 15 minutes of walking.

We had to collect our tickets in what I can only describe as a chaotic and badly organised queue. Once collected we headed into the ground. The stadium is a modest sized 35,000 capacity, and was constructed in a fairly hastily fashion. The surrounding areas were still unfinished, but the main compound was complete. The stadium itself is quite unique in it's style and for a new build has character.

If the stadium was impressive, the game was better. Although the first twenty minutes were fairly bland (I was fearing I could witness the first goalless draw of the tournament) the game opened up with Pepe's firm header from a corner. Suddenly the game jolted from it's slumber and action was abound. The otherwise useless Helder Postiga soon doubled the advantage after some good wing play and a drilled cross by Nani left Postiga with little to do. Portugal seemed in crusie control.

Just as the half was coming to a close, the Danes took advantage as the Portuguese were caught napping. The fancy named Krone-Dehli managed to unselfishly nod a loose cross back across goal for Bendtner to head into an almost unguarded net. Game on!

The second half started and again was cagey. Portugal had the better of the play, but failed to make anything count. Cristiano Ronaldo disappointed with a one on one, which was punished minutes later as Bendtner again nodded in to draw things level. Ronaldo was angry; he knew his poor finishing had potentially cost his team. He raised his game another notch, although his petulance earned him a booking. With just three minutes remaining, Portugal would be almost out of contention. Cue substitute Silvestre Varela to steel the show with a composed half stike past the flailing Andersen. Ronaldo looked relieved; the Danes devastated on the final whistle.

Once the game had finished, we took a while leaving, spending time walking around the insides of the stadium. Considering the tickets had cost 70 Euro each, we were treated with little respect when trying to take photo's, being ushered out quite quickly. I found this hugely frustrating, given that the previous stadiums were fortresses to get near; but when you pay up, you are urged to get out again quickly! This all smells of corporate UEFA, I'm sure the corporate dignitaries, those that turned up, were still inside, drinking complimentary champagne... Our journey back to the centre was a wierd one. It involved walking about 20 mins to the motorway, though a field with something that could be a path upon completion, and waiting for a bus, before rushing on in no particular order, in fact, walking alongside the bus until it stopped, then dashing on!

That evening came to a rather sharp close after watching the Netherlands capitulate to Germany and the previous days treck between the hosts. The Netherlands needed a small mirical to qualify now, whilst the German's, baring a minor mathematical miracle, were through. Both Denmark and Portugal needed the other to lose and for them to win. The Group of Death indeed!

So, the first day in the Ukraine, we saw an eventful game, but also the second of the co-hosts ability to, erm host. My impression is all the political unrest hasn't helped the Ukraine, a country that has phenomenal wealth with it's Oilgarchs, and extreme povety that is slowly getting over the early 90's economical hangover following the much maligned Soviet divorce. The stadium looked good, but it's location, and supporting infrastructure is weak. The city is awesome, but it's ability to house those unfamiliar with the Cyrillic alphabet isn't good. It reminds me of the situation with Moscow's for the European Cup in 2008.