Two Litres of Vodka and a Diplomat of UN

We were woken the morning after the Denmark v Portugal game by our chinese couple room mates (the guy cried upon seeing Ronaldo the night before at the game) the following morning, by their incesant packing which took around 3 hours. This also included a partial photoshoot of them in their Euro 2012 gear. Make of that what you will.

We were due to move hostels in L'viv for economical purposes, and the Hostel manager, Bogdan, allowed us to leave later as it was our first chance to regroup some lost energy for our long stint of travelling.

We departed for our new Hostel, named Shevchenko (not after the footballer, but a historical figure). We were told of free washing facilities, and upon despatching our smouldering clothes went for lunch.

Our lunch consisted of a three course meal at L'viv's top restaurant, including Cavier for starter, I had quail with Raspberry and pear sauce, Hutch had a fancy chicken and Bacon stuffed with cheese and herbs. We both had a side of garlic potatoes. Dessert for me was a glorious Plum and double cream wrapped in a super soft sponge of honey flavour. Hutch had a fantastic chocolate gateux that was richer than Abramovic. With our customary local ale, it came to a massive £15 a head! Absolute bargain!!!

As we began to digest our luxurious lunch, we hung our washing out, then headed downstairs to be greated by a mob of locals, a couple of travelling Danish youngsters and a Portuguese guy, all nailing vodka. All quite tipsey. We were invited to join the inner sanctum with the locals topping our glass every time it hit empty. Before long we were merry and the bottle empty. We hit town for the football, meeting a Pole and a German couple, getting back onto Vodka.

The Danes challenged us to that well known Danish game of "Who's going to be sick first" (not Lego surprisingly!). Hutch and I were certain of the Danes, the Danes reciprocated, laying the loser to us English. As we continued our drinking on the table, within a minute of our new game, I noticed the younger of the Danes with his head over the ground. "Are you being sick?" I chirped as Hutch departed his conversation and turned and faced us. "Err, no, err, you know, itsch juscht the wadded before de schick...". Cue laughted and a heated debate as to whether this counted or not. Fortunately for us, and less fortunate for the Danes, we were crowned champions of the "Who's going to be sick first" game!

We continued drinking and watched the evenings games, I rember little, but the football showed the Republic of Ireland, full of free agents and Championship players, to be exactly that against a strong European and World champions Spain, whilst Croatia proved a force to be reckoned with by clasping a draw against the Italians. The Irish were out, the Croats needing a win against Spain, or a result from the Irish against Italy and a draw for them against Spain.

The next afternoon when we rose, was difficult. I hadn't felt this bad all trip, Hutch not too much better. We struggled through some sweaty meat, toured around L'viv a bit before deciding against the fanzone for the England game, having watched a sturdy Ukrainane performance turn to a 2-0 loss to the French. We found a swish bar showing the football, and settled down. Not long into the game, a few locals, wanting Sweden to win, invited us to their table as the Swedes equalized! We obliged and subsequently started the nicities. We soon discovered that one was a local TV presenter, proved by the occasional interruption from locals to say hi, and the Ukrainian Diplomat for the UN, with photos of him at the UN HQ in New York. We kept on drinking whilst the game swung into Sweden's favour, receiving jeers from other around us. Although I'm not an England supporter, it is difficult to explain I don't care and the subsequent answers to the questions of why. I just nod and smile. As Theo equalized with some luck from citeh reject Issakson, we ordered a Shisha pipe and carried on drinking with our new friends. I nipped to the toilet as Welbeck sealed the comeback (still haven't seen the goal), with grunts from the surrounding fans. England's victory was probably deserved, Sweden were only good from set pieces and held a weird midfield that was probed like a drug smuggler at customs.

Our friends were now more stociois than us, and after the UN guy passed out, they left. We noticed he'd left his iPhone. As good Samaritans, and no way of contacting them, we held onto it, before partying away into the small hours with some newly acquired Danish friends from the fallout and commotion of the UN dude passing out.

The following morning, with the iPhone dead, Hutch purchased a charger. Within a second of power coming on, we had a call. Hutch answered and it was Julian, the UN guy! We arranged a meet, and along with reimbursement of the cost of the charger, we were given a massive 2 litre deluxe bottle of Ukrainian Vodka! Win!

We slowly ambled through the rest of the day, changing hostel for the final time in L'viv, taking in more sights, before going for a beer at last nights venue. The Danes we met the previous night were there, and we slowly drank and ate through the rest of the day, hitting the first of the double headers in the group games, with the flacid Group A. The Danes had put a few Euro's on the games, which made it more interesting. We could only see the Russia game. The first half was timid, before Greece took the lead before half time following some poor defensive work. The game finished 1-0 as did the Czech vs Poland game, meaning my early tournament dark horses, Russia were out, along with host Poland, with a weak Greece and resurgent Czech team the teams to progress. The Danes lost a lot of money, which put a dampener on the last night in L'viv.

We headed to our new abode, full of ignorant and loud Germans, peaceful and timid Danes and had a terrible nights sleep. We regretably arose the next day and headed out. Our aim, was literally that. Fire some guns!

Our Hostel recommended a place, we went and had a safety lesson in Ukrainian, before deciding on our arsenal. We went for an AK-47, an optical 7.62mm sniper and a 9mm revolver. The total for our session was £15 each. I beat hutch with the AK and revolver, he won with the Sniper. I'll take that!

We then climbed the City hall, admiring the views across L'viv. It's lovely town was shouldered by some dour Soviet grey flats and factory buildings. L'viv wasn't touched by the wars, and so its history is clear to see from this vantage point, as capitalist constructed builds were a layer further out. The evening left us with the Group of Death to finalize. We had to leave slightly early to catch a train to Kiev, but were able to see the Danes take the lead with Krone-Dehli, only for Podolski the German Pole, to equalize. In the other game we heard the Dutch had taken the lead, but Ronaldo was finally finding form bagging a brace. I asked a good friend Lfec to text me the updates as we departed for the station in haste.

Upon arrive I received two pieces of bad news. Germany and Portugal qualified, with the oranje Dutch and Danes out, but also our train to Kiev was delayed by two hours, apparently this always happens (why not change the timetable??). Even more infuriating having left the football early.

We finally boarded the sleeper train, sharing for the first time, with a Ukrainian woman and a grouchy non descript Eastern European. We snoozed whilst our train zipped across to Kiev.

L'viv is an awesome city, had loads going on away from the football and has a smooth nightlife that is chatty and for us Western Europeans, bloody cheap. If you can ever muster your way over, do so. It has providied us with many a laugh, great local company and above all retains a good clash of east meets west. Go. Now.

Russian Invasion of Warsaw

It's been a while since the last update, and there are a number of reasons why. The most important being that we hit the Ukraine, where I don't get any data allowance and it would cost me a fortune to update. I've also had technical difficulties with my phone, which is where I've been blogging from, and the third is that we've been out and about far too much to be spending time blogging. However, I am aware of demand, mainly from parents, to get more information out.


So Warsaw! We arrived in good time from Gdansk; our main priority was linking from Kiev back to Warsaw later in the trip, but getting details of this journey, and booking it, had proved difficult. I mean, it's not like the two countries are hosting a major international tournament... oh wait. There was also the difficult Warsaw to L'viv leg that needed booking, and again, details were sketchy! The plan was to get as close to the Ukrainian border as possible; this was to be a town called Przemysl, then hopefully get an onwards bus or train. We ordered our tickets, but as we'd find out later, it wasn't too straight forward. The Kiev to Warsaw was apparently fully booked. If this is the case, we were are in a slight pickle, as once in Kiev, it is a race against time, with enough time to have a party in each city, to reach our flights home from Holland!


We dropped our bags of at the Hostel, had a quick shower, and headed out, in preparation for the England France game. With England taking a decent point from the France game, I was amazed at how poor Steven Gerrard really is. Although he assisted, he was poor afterwards and showed little of his club form. One thing to note on this: There are a lot of video's covering all the players at Euro 2012. The only player to appear in his club colours? Steven Gerrard, with his screamer against West Ham in the FA cup and some other good goals for the red half of Merseyside. If you think why this might be, it's because he's never done anything in an England shirt that warrants being put on the highlight reel.


The game that followed was the Ukraine vs Sweden game, the first game for the co-hosts. If you could write the script for this game, it would probably look like this: Sweden go one up, then the Ukrainian talisman, Andrei Shevchenko would bag a brace to seal a win, then be taken off with a few minutes left to a large standing ovation. Oh, wait...


It was a Monday night in Warsaw and we stumbled across a couple of nice bars, in anticipation of a quietish night. I'd disappeared to the toilet for a couple of minutes, only to come back to Hutch being chatted up by some Polish bloke. He had worked in Ireland for 3 years and the thick Irish/Polish accent was quite funny, however Cordan was our tour guide for the night and led us on a merry dance through some of Warsaw's finer night spots!


The next day in Warsaw started to resemble something from the 1940's... there was a Russian invasion as Warsaw prepared for Poland vs Russia. We ambled through the old town (probably the biggest and most beautiful so far!) through out the day, seeing the number of Russian paraphernalia of flags, shirt and painted faces rise dramatically. As kick of approached, we headed back to the Fan Zone in the centre. Firstly to see the Czech Republic Greece game, but to get a good spot for the biggest derby of the tournament so far: Russia Vs Poland!


After watching the Czech Republic resemble a football team following their 4-1 thrashing by Russia; they beat the weak Greeks in a comfortable 2-1 win, we were suddenly feeling rather compact in the fan zone. About half an hour before kick off, it kicked off. Although I couldn't understand a word, the 100,000+ fans were getting all fired up with national songs and constant pangs of 'Polska!'. The atmosphere was excellent in the build up and was strong in the start of the game. Poland scored a disallowed goal and the place errupted. Flares were lit, people were dancing; then the realisation of the assistants flag.


Russia then took the lead, the excellent Dzagoev turning in Andrey Arshavin's cross. The mood was very sombre in the fan zone. A bunch of maybe 200 russian fans were getting some steely looks from large swaths of the Polish fans.


Half time came and went, and frustration was boiling. Then a stroke of genius, Jakob Blaszczykowski, cut in from the right and riffled a shot past the flailing Malafeev. This time the goal stood and the Polish in the fan zone were going nuts. Flares again, passionate songs for 'Polska' arising.

With the final whistle, optimism rung loud from the crowds tone! The Polish were jubilant with a draw against the more illustious, former occupants Russia.


We trudged to the train station to start an undefined journey to L'viv. We found out platform and got our tickets at the ready. Half an hour to go. Wait... the dates are wrong. A frantic rush followed. Our tickets could be used, but we couldn't get a seat for the unknown journey length... and half of Poland was going to Krakow it seemed. A mad panic ensued and we threw ourselves in a carriage. After a couple of moments we were moved around a bit. Once settled we made friends with a large portion of Poland, picking up a beer in the process from a friendly chap called Peter, then unfortunately Hutch was firmly booted from the carriage. The five hour journey was probably the worst so far. Everytime we pulled into a station, the fans  tumbled onto the platform, setting off fireworks in the process. Hutch found a spot in the corridor, and found some tramp around him after he snoozed for a bit. I left my seat for the toilet, only to find someone spread out across it. I decided to watch the world flow by as it was getting light, but fell asleep vertically with the window of the train as my pillow.


Eventually we hit Krakow, but had a mad dash across platforms to get the train to Przemysl. This journey was uneventful and we were able to catch up on some much needed sleep. We awoke near Przemysl and upon jumping off, had a special train that would take us into the Ukraine...

Dancing up the Danube: Part Deux

So having left the balkans and into Hungary and the Secheng region where border controls are no more, I reflected upon the native people I'd spoken to, those that were part of the former Yugoslavia and had witnessed the wars. The feeling I got was of passion and a belief that the way things were in the former Yuogslavia were of a better time.

Things weren't better now, the fractions still there, but the fighting had now stopped. With the war criminal Mladic and his atrosities going through the relevant channels, there were occasional protest and marches in Sarajevo, afterall it was 8,000 Bosnian men and boys he callously ordered genocide upon whilst England was preparing to host Euro 96. Why did this go on? Had we not learnt from previous evil dictators? With the crap in Syria going on, why are, the Democratic and very self righteous West, so slow to react? Why were things so bad to some, that the decades of unrest that follow were fought so violently for? Leaving the Balkans had left me with a feeling of happiness in the courageous and welcoming people I'd met, but sad that nothing was done to help the majority who actually didn't want massive change...

Into Hungary and Budapest our journey laid us upon 'Grandio Party Hostel'. I've been to several good hostels who party hard, but this was something else. The state of the place was terrible, the staff so hungover and decrepid it took an age to book in.

Once done, we embarked on a massive walking tour of Budapest, a lovely city that straddels the Danube, one side Buda, the other, Pest. We traversed both sides, crossing the gorgeous Chain bridge to get great views of the Parliament buildings and St. Stephen's Basilica, which we'd earlier climbed the heavy 308 steps to the top.

We carried on walking, but stopping for Goulash, when a military chopper came zooming over the Danube, low and fast performing some pretty sweet manouvers. We'd been told Die Hard 5 was being filmed in the city, and the several repeat flights, in conjunction with a support chopper swooping but always focusing on the military chopper, led me to guess this was more footage for Die Hard...

That night we went out on a bar crawl organised by the Hostel, it was OK, until Hutch and I got split and I was left on my own. I got back to the Hostel and had a beer or two, then hit the hay. Hutch, apparently, wasn't far behind me after his night managed to collide back with the crawl.

Next morning we got ready for the next and final stop on the Danube tour, to Bratislava, a casual 2 hour 40 minute journey. After some frantic rushing to get tickets, we cruised into Bratislava late. A small and quaint city with classically architechture, we did the main sights within a couple of hours, however the main sight for two fellows, was the quality of the female species.

Now, throughout the tour, there have been some lovely ladies, but the Slovaks are a different class. Tall, mainly brunette and with all the correct curves in the right places, these ladies were the highest quality seen so far!

The next stop was to the first host city, Wroclaw (pronounced 'vrats-whaf', don't ask!) The train journey took us through the Czech Republic, and we weren't supposed to stay long. However, the Czechs were in Wroclaw for the first day, and panic ensued in the train station with hundreds of people and our grip on Czech not great. We missed our connection, and ended up late into Wroclaw. We missed the first half of the Poland Greece game, the one notable bonus, seeing how empty the streets were as we made our way to the hostel as Poland played out a draw. We downed tools and headed to the fanzone, and started a few beers, seeing out the first game, preparing for Czech vs. Russia.

The atmosphere in the fanzone was tepid; the majority of fans were Czech and those boys took a thumping. We saw few Russia fans. Until we hit the hostel. We were essentially staying in mini Moskva! Rauchus Russians downing vodka like it was water was an enjoyable sight, their steely nature in conversation whetted my passion for Russia, I pushed on for conversation, eventually earning swigs of Vodka from the victourious Russians.

Upon going to bed, our room mate was in... a giant 6'10 Ukrainian, named Sas, who followed the motherland as his mother was Russian. His English poor, but his French much better. We conversed briefly in French, before all deciding enough was enough and bed beckoned. The still partying victorious vodka drinking Russians were still audiable, but the 12 hour journey and subsequent grog meant I was out for the count.