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.

Soviet Engineering

We arrived into a hot and balmy Kiev, late, following the delays fromaà L'viv. Our immediate task was to plan our departure back to Warsaw. With the sporadic information we found in Warsaw telling us there were no spaces left, we were becoming frantic to discover our returning fate. We duly received assistance from the gorgeous Maria, who helped us translate through our ticket booking. Not only were there tickets, but did we want the Ukrainian or Polish part of the train? The clear lack of cohesion between these countries is infuriating.

Once booked, we cruised towards our hostel, which conviniently overlooked the Olympic Stadium. Named The Olive Hostel, it was lovely and clean and well decorated. We showered then hit the sights of Kiev. We headed towards the Caves Monestries or Kiev Pechersk Lagrange. This 28 hecter site is a wonderful complex and is full of gold domes churches, mixed with beautiful gardens and walkways all the way down to the vast Dnipro River. I was amazed at how big the Dnipro was, larger than the Danube at its widest in Belgrade. Nikolay Gogol joked in his writting that it was so wide, that birds fall down before reaching the middle.

We were then drawn by a large silver statue, representing the finish of WWII and commemorating all who battled. The entire complex was serene and very Soviet. An eclectic clash.

We were keen to find a monument to commemorate those that died in the repercutions in what is known as The Death Match, a football game between some Kievite players that took on the Nazi  Wehrmacht. Details were sketchy on this monument, some said the "Start Stadium" but maybe the Dynamo Kiev stadium had this monument, to which we were nearby. Upon trying to get close we were told by the security guard it would be 50 Hyrivna's (£4) each. Clearly a bribe, we argued with him, before he said it wasn't really what we were looking for, there was something at Dynamo, but the one we wanted was at Start Stadium. Where was this? He could offer no further help, even with a map.

We headed towards the fan zone to capture the main square, then the football. Spain Vs Croatia was the game to watch, the Ireland vs Italy game almost a bye for the Italians...

A smart and intelligent Croatia played well against Spain, but a poor miss following some neat play by Modric was punished by a dubious offside goal from the Spaniards (Bollocks to this phase play nonesense. Nevas was offside). With the Italians cruising to a 2-0 victory with a remarkable goal from Ballotelli, the technically astute and tactically sound Croats were out.

We decided to have an early night, a big day lay ahead tomorrow, but we wanted to get a late snack in the largest city we've vistited by far. It was impossible, we ended up with a stodgy piece of Raspberry cake and a bottle of water, for a heavy eastern European price too!

We arose the next morning at 7:45, early for our standards. We prepped for our day ahead; long sleeves, trousers, no flipflops or open toed footwear, then departed to our collection point in the North of Kiev. As twenty of us waited for our bus to arrive we were nervously apprehensive. Yuri turned up and we headed north through a slowly building up rush hour traffic set. We eventually broke free of the busy city traffics grasp, and two hours later were at a checkpoint: The 30km exclusion zone for Chernobyl. After a brief check, our tour guide for the day, Nikolai borded the bus. We headed deeper into the depths of the exclusion zone, whilst Nikolai laid out the plans for the day, whilst also giving us information on the events and outcomes of that fateful day on 26th April 1986.

We approached the town of Chernobyl, where we stopped at a local store. Chernobyl has a population of workers still, there is on going work at the Nuclear Power Plant, research of the continuing effects and building of a new Sarcophigous to contain the Elephants Foot of nuclear meltdown material. Staff can only do 15 days on/15 days off or 4 days on/3 days off. We went to a shop to stock up on water, ice cream and a few souviners.

We departed to an old village school, which was evacuated a couple of days after the incident, but totally abandonded. We were allowed into the building, the only one due to changes to what can and can't be done with health and safety.

Next up was the ghost town Pripyat, with our first viewing of the infamous Reactor 4 and chimney stack. We also went over 'Death Bridge', where the towns people went upon hearing the explosion, as it looks onto the power plant. All who went to this bridge either died shortly after or suffered long lasting illness due to radiation posioning.

Prypriat was constructed to support the workers and families of the Power Plant. Following the incident, the 50,000 residents were evacuated within a tight 3 hours. They were told it was a temporary measure and would be back in a few days. To this day, no one has lived there since. The town is serene. We had a 45 minute walk around, visiting the famous Ferris wheel and deserted football stadium. We had lunch inside a building near the Power Plant, then took in more sights, before going as close as we would all day to the Monster that is Reactor 4.

We got to within a couple of hundred metres; we were warned we had a strict 15 minutes, we viewed the Geiger counter: more than 100 times the normal backgrounds radiation levels. At 36.7 micro sivets when a high 'normal' is 0.3! Nickolai was swift to get us in the time scales. We then drove slowly back through the two checkpoints, getting checked for radiation. Everyother day someone has too high a level, it is normally their shoes that have picked up too much radiation loving Leichen. They must leave their shoes behind if this is the case. I didn't ask what if it isn't their shoes...

Upon leaving I was thrilled. I am fanatical about the Soviets, and Chernobyl. The whole story is fascinating, the cover up, the discovery from a Swedish Nuclear Power Plant the only reason the Soviets owned up!

However, I was also solemn. The ghost town, the several monuments to the 28 Firemen that died as they went to tackle fires from the initial explosions without any radiation protection. The 600,000 people who helped in the clean up opperation...

Upon getting back, via our minibus breaking down just outside Kiev twice, with Yuri somehow fixing it, we had the evenings game. Another game we had tickets for, Sweden vs France in Kiev.

The Stadium was impressive, bang in the centre of the city, non of this Industrial Estate crap. The number of Swede's was impressive, given their exit. There must have been 15-20,000 in the stadium. Sweden attacked strongly, France were retaining the ball, but lacked anything in the final third. The first half finished goalless. I feared we might witness the first 0-0. I also heard England were 0-0. Zlatan Ibrahimovic had been creatively industrial all game. A lot came through him as he came deep looking for the ball, linking play well. Nasri was his usual petulant playboy self. Benzema might as well have not played. Ten minutes of the second half and the breakthrough came. A stunning scissor kick volleyed strike to put Sweden 1-0. Who scored? That man Zlatan.

France foraged, but were giving up, England were 1-0 up thanks to Rooney's hair piece and that result would seal France's passage to the last 8. As we approached injury time, Sweden kept on coming to the French, desperate to repay the hordes of travelling fans further.

After some pinball in the box, Sebastian Larsson took control of the situation, smashing the ball into the roof of the net for 2-0. Minutes later, the final whistle went, the Swedish players went to their corner of the ground, several players throwing boots and shirts into the sea of yellow. With England winning they topped the group, France limping over the line, with the Swedes and hosts Ukraine out.

We went out that evening, meeting up with some French guys and having a good laugh, drink and dance.

The next day we decided to hit the Chernobyl museum and to finally try and find the Death Match monument. I think I have found it. We dropped bags of at the station, before hitting a cab to the Chernobyl museum. We had a heated debate upon arrival; the first tosser of a taxi driver all trip, trying to rip us off. We argued intensley, before throwing what we felt was a fair fare at him and legging it.

The Chernobyl museum was amazing, more a homage to the aftermath and those that perished. I was able to help a tour guide and talked through some of the chronology of the accident to his American group, impressing the guide with my detailed knowledge of the incident, he asked for my E-mail so I could help him with future guides. I obliged.

Following our harrowing Taxi ride, we went via the Metro to our next destination: Death Match monument. We found the Start Stadium with relative ease, and with some help from a pretty local, located it. Excellent! Right, few snaps, then we have to leg it, we have 40 mins to get our Train to Warsaw. We were running, the plan go get a taxi in a taxiless district not good. We found one and negotiated a price prior to destination station. We arrived, and saw the lovely Maria again, before collecting our bags and finding our final sleeper train to Warsaw... We decided to get quite drunk on the train, tapping into the two litre bounty we acquired in L'viv. We were surprised for a 14 hour train that there was no restaurant car, however, the locals knew this, and our first stop with any time drew around 30 locals selling everything from beer, cigarettes and home made food. We stocked up and continued our party. The border was intense and took 3 hours, not only did we have the usual welcoming Eastern European border patrol, but the wheels had to be changed because of the variation from the Soviet guage to European. It was no F1 pit stop. Once done we settled for the remainder of the trip to Warsaw, slightly tanked from the session.

I enjoyed Kiev and the three days we had, although it wasn't long enough including the Chernobyl trip. I would like to come back and to see its beauty further. There were a couple of sights we wanted to get in, but time didn't allow.

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.

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. 

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...

Celebrity Big Pizza

Awaking the next day to an oversized Ukrainian in your room is quite scary, Hutch and I decided to get ready and get out to the Stadium in Wroclaw, walk through the old town and then settle on a spot to watch the days games in the fan zone.

We first had to drop our bags at the station, as we had a night train to Gdansk and didn't want to drag our bags around all-day, and Sas the Ukrainian was going to come too as he was in need of a train to Frankfurt, before buying a car and driving to Donets'k. I didn't ask too many questions on why...

So on getting to the station I was translating from French to English, for this train info. After finding out it was going to be €150, Sas then decided to inform me he could get a lift from Wroclaw to Frankfurt, for €35 with some friends. If we'd got this information earlier, I'd have told him not to bother with the trains and saved 45 mins. Now bagless, we headed for lunch, the translation issues were still here, so we just ordered for Sas on the basic info we could get. He eneded up, like Hutch, with Pigs Trotter, me, a steak!

Now full of assorted cuts of animal body, we headed towards the stadium. The trams were smart and efficient, and there were plenty of them heading out.

Upon approach, the stadium looked good and trim. We wanted to get close to this masterpeice, but the security perimetter didn't allow us to within 200 metres, we checked by walking the perimetter, but in doing so discovered this stadium wasn't quite finished. Fence posts still jutted with no fence attached, instead temporary measures in place. The footpaths had kerbs, still awaiting their tarmac surface. Although not core to the stadium, still functional requirements I'm sure. One thing going through our mind was would this ever get completed post tournament? Who would care? What would be the point? League attendances in Poland are low, and can't see this tournament driving them up to fill these gorgeous, half completed stadiums.

Another thought, UEFA, the money machine and masters of expoliting most opportunities for more of the fans money, had potentially missed something here, we weren't the only people looking, holding the outter security fences wanting to get closer. Surely a €10 organised stadium tour on none match days would reap a sum, but also satisfy those that couldn't get tickets because the slightly empty corporate sections had been sold off for millions in lucrative deal?

We watched the evenings football, stunned by the Dutch defeat. Our thoughts, including Sas was that the Dutch didn't play as a team. The world cup finalists from two years ago weren't so cohesive as then. Robben too selfish, van Persie not his usual self. The only positive was the mastering strokes of Sneijder and apart from the goal, an otherwise solid defence. The Danes had a game plan, not negative, more containment and counter attack, which they did to great aplomb. Poulsen looked cool and competent on the ball, Krohn-Dehli's goal composed.

Before the last game, we grabbed some food, an extra large flavoursome traditional Polish casserole for less than 3 quid.

The Germany Portugal game was interesting for Hutch and I, we would be in L'viv to see Denmark Portugal in a few days time, so a first chance to see the stadium. Another big game seemed to pass Ronaldo by, Nani looked out of his depth. The Germans were, as ever, well drilled and fresh. Gomez is not a favourite of mine, he reminds me of a poor mans Andy Cole; he gets into positions, but needs 5 chances to get a goal. He most certainly could have stopped the Rubble machine Chelsea from buying that Champions League. He took his goal well to his credit, and the Germans played out the game well.

We trundled off to get our train, swapped contact details with our Ukrainian friend and boarded to depart. We joked about the potential of the electric cables coming down, before setting down in our new and fresh, ready for the Euro's carrige and we were impressed. Despite this, also slightly upset, we wanted an ageing communist peice of engineering, with an occasional malfuction, not the modem IKEA spec.

Rolling into Gdansk after a good night sleep, we wondered the old town for several hours. A gorgeous centre, with a nice baroque variation on Wroclaw. In distance ahead, remnants of WWII were still presnet. Bridges and building not reconstructed. Although done due to to a lack of budget, and not for dramatic effect, we both thought it added to the character of the city.

Our home for the night was a campsite in the shadow of the Gdansk Arena. We decided to get out there early and see if we could get tickets. Upon approaching the stadium, its beauty befell upon us, a gorgeous amber coloured bowl glistening on the blue sky. Amber because the Baltic coast, where Gdansk is situated, is known for large amounts of Amber along the shores.

Once we found our pitch, with a few hundred Spanish; excitement came when one Spanish woman returned to the camp, ecstatic because she now had a ticket, fellow Spaniards whooped for her joy.

We meandered back to the stadium. The completion was worse than Wroclaw, whole roads half completed, a bridge with only the rebar complete, awaiting the pours of concrete. Our campsite was on a dirt track, this was actually a main thoroughfair from the nearby train station. We enquired for tickets. €275, €200, special deal €500 for a pair. I wanted to go, but not that badly. It wasn't United.

We settled for a beer, only to see Joe Calzaghe the boxer, sat next to us. He was in his Italy top(half Italian, half Welsh, like tthe Welsh will ever qualify, well actually with the stupid 24 team Euro's to start in 2016, who knows...), a brief nod of acknowledgement was all that was required and we left him to his beer as we chatted over ours.

We were getting hungry, our morning pastries now digested. We saw a sign: Pizza. We'd yet to have any non traditional food, but the stadium was on the outskirts and food was rare.

We entered, it was a pub, that served pizza, the sign to allure the Italians no doubt. The waitresses attractive and the menu... WHAT... a 24" pizza! A meat feast was ordered. A whopping 452 square inches of pizza. Compared to 113 on a 12". We had to break to finish but finish we did. Even the waitress was impressed. But this pub had more to it; cheap beer, pool and a football table. After three games of pool and table football, the pizza and pints, we'd spent less £15. Bargain! Best pub so far!

We searched for tickets briefly again, the touts profiteering to the decrepid Spanish economy, reports that some had paid as high as €400... had we not just lent these fools €110bn?

We returned to the campsite to watch the football in the shadow of the awesome arena. A good atmosphere ensued. A scrapy game, which I feel the ref failed to discourage. Italy looked good, controlling the game at times. The decision to remove Balotelli was justified with his petulance showing, whereas De Natale showed he is class. The decision to remove Cassano was bad, Italy didn't look the same after and there only looked to be one winner. Somehow it ended a draw. If I'd paid more than €30 for that game I'd be disappointed.

Next up, the Irish, or was it? The Spanish wanted to see Alonso mess up the F1 with his one stop strategy before Englishman Hamilton took the prize, so would I in heindsight
, but this was the Euro's, Hutch and I fought a verbal battle on principle that we should watch the football with pointing and gesturing. We won.

Unlike the Irish. A poor incepid performance that looked like Mick McCarthy might still be incharge. Weak, unorganised; Trapatoni the tactician must not be happy. The Croats solid and technical. I fancy their chances for an upset in this group!

So football done, we decided to head to the stadium, to see it lit up. What a gorgeous site. We managed to get a little closer than one ought to due to 'a technicallity' with the building site, but as I hope you see, it was worth it.

So, bed, then to Warsaw in the morning! I write this enroute to Warsaw, so look out for the next update, which I think will be tomorrow with an England performance to write up...

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.

Dancing up the Danube: Part 1

From Sarajevo, we our Journey took us to another war torn fall out from the hedonistic days of the former Yugoslavia, the states former capital, and now capital of Serbia, Belgrade. The journey departing Belgrade left at the bleary eyed time of 6:00am, the previous nights BBQ and beer not encouraging much enthusiasm for a 5:00am awakening. The journey was again sumptuous, bouncing through gorgeous tree filled swathes of aggressive hilly terrain. This included seeing spots marked off by tape, an indication of land mine filled countryside. The final approach to the Serbian border was a captivating lake, which the road followed the lakeside, with gorgeous backdrops of a slightly mountainous view. I had little idea that this lake was part of the border between Bosnia and Serbia, only twigging when the occasional Serbian flag was seen on the other shoreline.

Going through the border was again slightly drawn out. Hutch's desire to get a 'Welcome to Serbia' sign on the border, was less welcoming that he'd imagine, getting frog marched back onto the bus! This was the second land border we had crossed, and the second time Hutch had pissed off a border guard, following his topless approach into Bosnia and the failure to produce the passports in record time, resulting in the border guard in Bosnia to scream at me!

Once through to Serbia, the landscaped changed as did the use of the alphabet; the Serbian's use Cyrillic, the landscape now flatter and less scenic. Poverty also seems to slightly improve, with better established housing and more cars scattered as we headed to Belgrade. Once dropped into Belgrade, another currency was required to ensure we could have the statutory arrival beer; The Serbian Dinar, with a conversion rate of ~150 to the pound.

In a scorching hot Belgrade, we were due to meet a friend who was on a 6 month placement. The last time I had seen her, she was in New York on a different placement. What a contrast, but nonetheless, we were in Belgrade, and Charlotte Read had foolishly agreed to not only meet us, but host us. Before the rendezvous, we had a meander through Belgrade (via a split toe nail for me; lesson, don't wear flip flops on undulating pavements in Belgrade), and settled at a recommended lunching spot. To our surprise, the traditional menu hosted:

• A Calf's Head in Tripe
• White Glands (Bulls Sex Glands)

Once opting for and consuming less outrageous food, we departed in a taxi to Boleč. We arrived to a jubilant Charlotte, who was glad to see English people. Once having a beer and idle chatter, we worked our way into downtown Belgrade, ready to experience the reputed party capital of Europe.


There was no disappointment. We stumbled upon a frantic private party on a boat on the Danube and were welcomed to the party by the ever so stocious Ivan. The back drop from the boat was the gorgeous Kalemegdan Park and more of Belgrade. We partied hard until 6:00 and knew it would soon be time to go, when Ivan was carried off the boat looking pretty ill. Ivan will forever be known from this trip as Ivan the Terrible after the former Grand Prince of Moscow. Belgrade didn't disappoint for nightlife; we were there on a Monday night, and the appetite was buoyant and the locals welcoming and encouraging to our requirement for a party!!


When we gently awoke, we got ready and headed off, but not before being struck but something strange. Rain! It was the first time on the tour we had experienced it, and thank goodness for my borrowed Anderlecht jacket. After a tour of the previous nights back drop, Kalemegdan, and other pivotal sights in the city, we headed into the bohemian quarter Skadarlija for a final beer in the city before heading back to Boleč to go to the station for our next Danube destination: Budapest. The final beer was a thanks and fairwell to Charlotte for hosting and joining us; Hutch and I have offered a reunion meal upon Charlotte's return to Nottingham.

Once aboard our new host, we settled into our sleeper carriage and started consuming the couple of beers we had for the journey. Upon departing Novi Sad, a sudden flashing and banging occurred (I know I've mentioned this in a previous stat post, but for continuation I will include in this post). Initially I thought it was some firework being launched towards us, but this flashing and banging continued for 30 seconds or more, I started to fear for my life; we were in Serbia, and the possibility of coming under attack was high. As soon as it had started, it disappeared, the train coming to a sudden halt during the 'attack'. After some moments, we were informed that it was from the high voltage electric cable. It had fallen onto the train, causing high powered static and plasma explosions. The fact the cable had come down on our carriage accentuated the visual and sound quality. To also find it hanging precariously outside our window was not only confirmation, but fascinating. 

Whilst we were looking out, Hutch noticed another curious passenger poking his head out, further up the carriage; he too had the cable, but hadn't seen it's proximity to his head; centimeters. Hutch pointed this out, and the passenger had a sudden jump and was panicked. Accordingly, Hutch was rewarded a hero; he had just saved this dudes life.


The repercussions of the cable meant we would be behind schedule, whist the required repairs were executed. The jubilant mood of our first sleeper train had been killed, and in between the noises of the repairs, we slumbered in our carriage until we got to Budapest, only being awoken at the border for Passport checks (this one went without incident, given the two previous troubled crossings). I was also fortunate enough to quickly make a reflected sun camera, to witness the rare transit of Venus, over our life source, the Sun. This was fortunate because it was due to occur at sun rise, just as the border control was happening. If you missed it, the next one occurs in 2117.

Stat Attack

I've been putting the main part of this blog together a day before the last blog. Although nearly complete, I decided to finish and post it minutes after the overhead electric cable came down onto the train, right by our window (no shit), about two minutes after leaving Novi Sad, an hour north of Belgrade, as we head to Budapest.
The flashes and bangs initially made me think it was fireworks, then I thought we might be under attack when this didn't stop for about 30 seconds or so (We're in Serbia...) and jumper low down in sleeper cabin with Hutch. The train came to a halt, as did the flashes and noises...
Eventually, upon being told it was not rebles attacking, we cranked the window to see a huge cable hanging by the side of the train.
A chap two compartments down put his head out of the window also, centimeters from his head, Hutch gave him a quick heads up, so to speak, and the Guy looked like he might nearly have another problem at the other end of his body... he immediately came and thanked Hutch for saving his life! Here's the original blog...
I thought I would deliver some statistics, both the story to date, and the overall mission. I will start off with the overall picture to give an idea of perspective, then update where we are so far.
The overall journey stats:
Distance covered = 7,740 Km (as the crow flies, it is expected to be near 10,000 Km upon completion)
Countries = 9
Flights = 3
Train Journeys (if everything goes to plan) = 11, of which 5 are overnight sleepers
Bus Journeys (if everything goes to plan ) = 3, none of which are overnight sleepers
Different Hostels = 15
Friends House I'm visiting = 1
Different Cities with accommodation = 13
Currencies = 7
Ok, so that is a rough guide to where we are now. If there is anything that you think I've missed, then please ask!
The journey so far:
Distance Covered = 2,200 km
Countries (not including Germany) = 4
Flights = 2
Trains = 0
Bus Journeys = 3
Different Hostels = 3
Friends house visited = 1 (Thanks Charlotte Read in Belgrade)
Different Cities = 5
Currencies = 4 (We've used Euro's on occasion)
OK, so now for some less regular stats...
Lives saved = 1 (new)
Beers consumed = Can't remember all of them, let alone count them. Lots.
Different local beers tried = > 8
Random local liqures that we can't rember the names of = 4
Random local liqures that we can rember the names of = 1
Borders Crossed = 2
Border crossings where Hutch has ended up annoying the border guards = 2
Borders Crossings where Mosski has ended up annoying the border guards = 1 (But only because Hutch didn't know where the passports were)
Hours Sleep since departure:
Mosski ~ 24
Hutch ~ 21
Bombed/Shelled buildings seen > 10
Famous Assasination Locations seen = 1
Injuries = 2 (both Mosski; a bloodshot eye, split toe nail due to poor streets of Belgrade)
Vomittings = 1
Number of items that have sex organs mentioned on the menu = 1 (as defined on the menu "White Kidneys (Young bulls Sex glands)", upon asking for a better definition from the waiter, was informed testicles, by gesturing)
Times booked a hostel but never went to bed = 1
Total taxis = 6
Hero comdedy good value Taxi drivers = 4
Things that once on tour, stay on tour = Can't say
Photo's taken > 700
Photo's taken that are artistic and don't have either one of us looking like chumps = 0
Hours Partied = 45
Hours Hungover = Total time away - hours partied - hours asleep
Total Time away = 104 hours (since landing in Zadar)

Lets make like a Croatian town and... Split

Starting at 2:00 in the morning for anything is normally a pain. But not when it is the start of a 24 day excursion around Europe. All the planning and indecisiveness has been dealt with and now, finally the journey starts, with a car journey from Nottingham to London Stansted Airport.

As previously mentioned, our flight into Croatia was via Frankfurt, and departed Stansted at 7:15. Stansted at that time of the morning, just before a mega bank holiday, is a disgrace! The Weatherspoons was full of hen and stag do`s and there was just nothing pretty about it.

So we eventually departed, and pretty quickly end up in Frankfurt. A short stop over (with a dodgy interaction with a transvestite) and we were on our way to Zadar. The original plan was to get a bus to Novalja, the town on the island of Pag, about 90km north of Zadar. Upon landing it was red hot and immediately the beach and an ice cold beer was calling me. The bus journey was ditched and replaced with a hire car to speed us along our way.

The car journey was sumptuous, the scenery consisted of rolling arid coast line backing onto a mountain range with the Adriatic glistening in the sun and loads of islands dotted about; this was paradise!

Once in Novalja, we settled down with a beer on the beach, the hostel, Big Yellow House has a great bar and some fantastic staff to help the party atmosphere. I was the victim of my own success, and end up falling asleep upright at the bar!

The next day we lazily up, feeling slightly worse for ware. We moved out, next destination Split. The previous days scenery couldn`t be missed either, so we stopped off in the town of Pag and had a quick dip in the sea, before hurtling to our bus to Split.

The bus route to Split from Zadar is fantastic, and traces the coast down passing numerous islands and rolling over some dramatic hills and mountains. Upon arriving in Split, we settled in our home for the night, Beach Hostel. It was getting late and upon some great help from the manager of the hostel, we walked through Split old town and through the decaying roman ruins and had some dinner, before heading to the beach and hitting the bars hard. We met up with a group of Croatians and waded into the sea once the club had kicked out, before heading back and sampling some local liqueurs, which were pretty rank, then realising we had about an hour before our morning bus departed for Sarajevo. We had to drunkenly rush back to our hostel, pack, and head straight for the bus station, before starting yet another leg of our journey.

Once on the bus, we both conked out, only to be rudely awoken at the Bosnian border by a steely faced police officer, shouting "Passport" several times at our fragile faces. Once awake, we witnessed yet more lush scenery, dancing through mountains and valleys. We stopped a couple of times before hitting Sarajevo, to witness some abject povety and the biggest challenge so far; nobody could speak any English. With some basic pointing and gesturing, I managed to secure some Bosnian Marks to acquire some snacks and drinks, whilst also having to find the petrol station so I could break the large 100 note the ATM spat out at me.

We eventually got to Sarajevo and the scars from war were still evident. The occasional bombed out building and several poc marks from bullets on the building. Our hostel, Harris Youth Hostel was atop a large hill, with a fabulous view over the fantastic city. Once our bags were dropped, we headed straight into Sarajevo, taking in the Latin Bridge, where World War I was effectively started with the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife Sofia, then cruising around the old town, stumbling across a couple of relics from the war and admiring the clash of east meets west. The hostel offered a BBQ for the evening, so after walking around and finding a couple of excellent viewing places of the city and a roman fortress, we headed back.

So, that is where I am, I`ve had plenty of food and have a couple of beers waiting, which by the way, cost about 50p each, so on that note, I am going to leave you and enjoy the view, which you can see in the picture.

View over Sarajevo, where I will be enjoying my beer

The final planned route across Europe.

More Bookings than Paul Scholes

We'd now planned the route, but the next bit was probably tougher. All the planning now had to be put into action. There were the initial flights into Croatia, then the horrible return flight back to the UK out of Amsterdam, all of the overland travel, some of which can be booked in advance, but in some of the far flung corners of Europe we were heading, there was no advance internet bookings. Then the slight problem of the multiple languages that the information we could find was in...  Oh, and we had to find somewhere to stay.


Hutch and I work at the same company, and had to sort out getting the required 14 days off work. I had to pull together an intricate handover document, Hutch just seemed to get it authorised. Jammy sod. In the time it took me to get the time authorised, the flights into Zadar had jumped from about £100, to £170... blowing our budgets. Another solution was required.


I became very familiar with www.skyscanner.net, and found some extraordinary low cost budget airlines. Suddenly, something cropped up. An indirect flight via Frankfurt from Stansted, costing nearly half of the direct route, at about £86. A lot of people dislike Ryanair, but I bloody love them. Cheap travel and actually quite efficient and organised for the crap quality they offer.


Then the return flight from Amsterdam. Expensive. An adjustment was needed. Return from Eindhoven? Peanuts, again on Ryanair, plus another city, abliet for just a couple of hours. Thank you Mick O'Leary.


So that was thr flights booked, and over the last few weeks the accomodation has fallen into place. All is now done and dusted. We have shortened Kiev from the original plan; when England are in town for our visit, the prices rocket! So we adjusted and are staying in L'viv for an extended period. So, more bookings than Paul Scholes, it most certainly is, the dossier of information would make the KGB weep!!

Euro 2012 : The pipe dream

Occasionally in life, something crops up and you just can't drop it. No matter how crazy it seems, awkward to organise or marginally expensive it feels. This is just an introduction to the start of many a blog entries in what I hope will be a great story over the next month. A friend, Stuart Hutchings, and I covering one of the biggest football tournaments in the World, mixed with a mad trip across the eastern red and iron clad part of the continent Europe. This is a blog about Mosski and Hutch going to Euro 2012.


In February, a colleague told Hutch he might have a couple of tickets for a European Championships game; England vs Ukraine, in Donets'k. This is about as far east as you can get on mainland Europe to Russia, the last stop before you will need a visa to enter the Motherland.


This immediately got my travel juices going. I never look at a direct journey, I look for the awkward, crazy and different approach. I knew that prices to fly directly into Donets'k when England were playing would be ridiculous. An alternative was required to get to this far flung corner of mainland Europe.


One of my good friends has a 7-seater Space Wagon, and he also likes an adventure. I proposed the idea of driving through Europe, dangling the carrot of reward; the finish of his thesis for his doctorate soon appearing over the horizon, just before the start of the Euro's. He was in. So were quite a few others. We could fill the car comfortably.


Then he was out. We were entering April. He wasn't going to get his thesis finished in time. May was a busy month for him, it just wasn't going to happen. We couldn't take the car without him. But the prospect of travelling across Europe was still in the back of my mind, as was it in Hutch's. This had to happen.


Over the next few weeks, the two of us collaborated and figured out different crazy routes. This wasn't just going to be about football, but an adventure, checking in a number of countries, sights, sounds, history, cultures. And football. We had ideas, we spent endless nights looking at routes, trying to get in as many games as possible, even if we didn't have tickets, the atmosphere, the adventure...


Moral was down, we just couldn't make the planned route overland to and from Donets'k to cover enough games in enough time. We'd spent hours one night looking at different options. Just wasn't feasible, too much was giving, not able to get to certain cities in time for games. UEFA, the games are horrible to traverse!


I sat back in my chair once Hutch had gone, it was past midnight. Why don't we reverse the route? Go though Poland first, then end up in Ukraine? Do we need to go to Donets'k, the potential ticket was gone. Donets'k was the problem, it was too far east. Will it work? Drag. Drop. Copy. Paste. Logical. Sense? That makes sense... bit tight in places, but possible. The route was bloody possible.


The next few weeks entailed a review of all the possibilities and combination of the routes; can we do this, and that, or the other... do we have enough time in x, will the overnight train leave late enough to allow time for the game? Most of it fitted. I even started to understand, because of the booking systems , lightly, the Cyrillic alphabet (thank god for Chrome and it's auto translate!)... apart from when I pressed cancel after a long booking process to find train times from L'viv to Kiev to find the times!


This was on. Euro 2012!


Below is the proposed high level itinerary* of the jaunt. If you have any advice on any of the places we are going, how to travel best between them, or any other general advice, then please comment.

*this is still subject to change

Date	Match	Country	City	Transit	Sleep
Fri-01-Jun		Croatia	Pag	Fly to Zadar	Pag
Sat-02-Jun		Croatia	Pag	Bus to Split	Split
Sun-03-Jun		Croatia	Split	Bus to Sarajevo	Sarajevo
Mon-04-Jun		Bosnia	Sarajevo	Bus to Belgrade	Belgrade
Tue-05-Jun		Serbia	Belgrade		Train
Wed-06-Jun		Hungary	Budapest	Train to Budapest	Budapest
Thu-07-Jun		Slovakia	Bratislava	Train to Bratislava	Bratislava
Fri-08-Jun	Russia v Czech	Poland	Wroclaw	Train to Wroclaw	Wroclaw
Sat-09-Jun		Poland	Wroclaw	Train to Gdansk	Train
Sun-10-Jun	Spain v Italy	Poland	Gdansk		Gdansk
Mon-11-Jun		Poland	Warsaw	Train to Warsaw	Warsaw
Tue-12-Jun	Poland v Russia	Poland	Warsaw	Train to Lviv	Train
Wed-13-Jun	Denmark v Portugal	Ukraine	Lviv		Lviv
Thu-14-Jun		Ukraine	Lviv	Train to Kiev	Train
Fri-15-Jun	Sweden v England	Ukraine	Kiev		Kiev
Sat-16-Jun		Ukraine	Chernobyl	Train to L'viv	Train
Sun-17-Jun	Denmark v Germany	Ukraine	L'viv		L'viv
Mon-18-Jun		Ukraine	Kiev	Train to Kiev	Train
Tue-19-Jun	Sweden v France	Ukraine	Kiev		Kiev
Wed-20-Jun		Ukraine	Kiev	Train to Warsaw	Train
Thu-21-Jun	Quarter Final	Poland	Warsaw		Warsaw
Fri-22-Jun		Germany	Berlin	Train to Berlin	Berlin
Sat-23-Jun		Holland	Amsterdam	Train to Amsterdam	Amsterdam
Sun-24-Jun		UK	Eindhoven	Fly to Stansted	Home