A backpacking trip with a difference

It was around a few weeks ago that I felt we’d officially crossed the line into the ‘World Cup Zone’. By this, I mean the period of the year in which if you don’t hear the words ‘World Cup’, or variation thereof, over the course of a day, you either live an admirably sheltered life or you come from one of those weird countries, like America. Admittedly, we entered into the ‘pre-game’ a long time ago – it feels like it was at least 18 months ago that Ian Wright and his fellow Cockney tabloid harbingers of doom were appearing in front of an ominous black background, imparting on us sage and insightful wisdom along the lines of “If Rooney plays, we’ve got a chance for sure” and “If you don’t think England are gonna win it, what the hell you watching for?!” For me, the first signs we were entering into WCZ proper was when Pepsi decided to unleash the improbably rapid voice of Thierry Henry – “canwegetzepepsimax?” – in the latest attempt to ensure that the Loads Of Footballers Playing Football In An Unusual Environment genre of advertising remained a key cornerstone of any major tournament (a genre which, I think a lot of us feel, peaked before it had barely begun with the Brazil boys of ‘98. But the final confirmation that the relentless ultra-marketing of the game we love had hit full throttle was when Carlsberg rolled out its full minute and a half of stomach turning In-ger-land jingoism, complete with all your favourite sporting icons (and that bloke from Kasabian) and probably the best cliché-ridden ‘inspirational’ team talk in the world – with lines which could bring a tear to your eye such as “he says you know how good you are,” and “you know how good you are”, and “it’s time to prove how good you are.” Sir Bobby would undoubtedly be proud to see his image exploited for such a noble cause.

Aside from confirming that the remaining few half time advertisement breaks of the season would now, instead of representing a break from the game, begin to resemble a continuation of the game itself – a bit like when they bring on kids to take penalties at a giant mascot in a miniature goal – it also reminded me that I had a great deal of planning to do. For once the tournament itself has started, I will be avoiding the talk of WAGs and the voice of Venables, the wet blandness of Shearer and the furore created by all those marginalised people who aren’t even allowed to wear an England shirt or wave a St George anymore (even though no one has seen such restrictions imposed on anyone, ever.) Instead, I will be sampling for myself how the greatest sporting tournament on Earth is enjoyed in some of its other countries. Unfortunately, logistical and financial restrictions dictate that a trip to the Ivory Coast, Honduras or Japan just wasn’t possible, so instead I will be concentrating my efforts on Europe. To be precise, I will be taking in, across their bars, cafes and public squares, at least one match of the respective national teams of Greece, Serbia, Slovakia, Slovenia, Italy, Switzerland, France, Germany, Holland and most probably Spain and Portugal. Sorry Danes, if there are any of you reading – Denmark is just in too awkward a place on the map. And speaking of maps, here is one, which ought to illustrate exactly what I’ll be writing about a lot more succinctly than I could by writing about it – while also proving that when it comes to Microsoft Paint, I am second to none:


The method of transport will be my Interrail global monthly pass, my mission to simply to have an adventure and learn a few things while I’m at it. Granted when most people go travelling they go to learn a few things about culture, art, themselves. Frankly I’m more interested in learning about how Serbian people remember Savo Milosevic, or getting the thoughts of the French on the very French scandal that puts John Terry’s shame to shame. I’d like to know if any other countries beside ourselves have a media possessed with a bizarre compulsion to stick the boot into their national side at any given opportunity, and whether anyone outside of our country rates England’s chances in South Africa – or whether, as I suspect, they reply in a Pelé like manner to that line of questioning.

As far as backpacking plans go, this particular one is generally met with one of two reactions when I share it among my peers. Those who like the game, or at least have an appreciation for the World Cup and its effect upon a country, generally give it the thumbs up, knowing full well that if I was ever destined to travel, I was probably destined to travel from bar to bar watching a bunch of millionaires kick a ball around. Those who have nothing but disdain for football, however, and deplore its effect upon the TV schedule, tend to react with bemusement, perplexed at how something as arbitrary as a fixture list can dictate what otherwise would have been a lovely month in Europe. Frankly, I’m thankful for the fixture list – it has essentially done all the planning for me. Up to a week beforehand, I will still have no idea where I shall be spending 2nd July onwards – I will just be getting on the train towards whichever countries are left in it. Essentially, it is glory hunting on its most literal terms - a leech upon other nations’ success, hoping to suck on all the joy of quarter and semi final victories almost as if they were England’s.

Don’t think I’ve forgotten little old England however. In my head I’ve already calculated a series of scenarios ranging from the ‘Complete Catastrophe’ worst case scenario – lose my passport and wallet on the first day, get arrested for not bribing a Serbian bobby, World Cup is postponed due to a terrorist threat – all the way to what I call the ‘Icing on the Cake’ scenario, whereby each and every team I go and watch win their games in style, creating a carnival mood wherever I tread, right up until the semi final stage where I smugly and triumphantly enjoy England defeating Germany in a penalty shoot-out in central Berlin; a plane back to London is caught shortly after, in time to see us lift the trophy in a monumental atmosphere at Trafalgar Square, and this blog becomes essentially the easiest feel-good story man has ever had to write (don’t point it out, I’m aware the makeup of the draw actually makes this scenario an impossibility). In between those extremes, I’ve considered a series of events which would essentially satisfy most of my desires – an entertaining incident-packed tournament, friendly and passionate natives and table-topping success for my fantasy football side, David Cameroon. Then there’s the dreaded Anti-Climax – which follows a pattern of every game I watch finishing goalless, every European team crashing out in the group stages and every penny I have being spent before I reach Strasbourg.

But the vast unpredictability of it all only entices me further. Considering I’ve barely done so much as cross the Channel without a parent or schoolteacher alongside me, I figured it makes sense to start my trip in the one country on my hitlist with an entirely different alphabet, mired in a savage economic crisis which has already turned violent and whose football fans have a reputation for nothing short of volatility. To Thessaloniki, Greece it is then (on British Airways no less – my flight is currently outside of the strike period by about 6 hours). Should anyone reading be based in these cities (see full schedule below), or know some friendly football loving English speakers who are – or if you just know these countries well and wish to recommend the best places to watch World Cup matches - it would be grand to hear from you, as I seek to put together a network of continental contacts. Not because I fear for my safety, more that I fear the ‘don’t quite know anyone at this party’ feeling – as in, when you and a friend go to a house party because you have a spurious connection to someone else attending, in expectation of having a merry off-the-wall time with complete ‘randoms’ - only to find yourselves awkwardly engineering conversation between each other because all the other attendees are too busy being merry with the people they actually know. Imagine that but without the mate, and not understanding a word anyone is saying. And if they’ve just lost to New Zealand, you can take the merriness out the equation as well.

So by all means get in touch, and not just if you are of tangible use to me. I’m happy to hear suggestions on things you’d like from this blog – photos or souvenirs you feel I should obtain, questions you want answered by the locals, any quirky challenges you want to set me. One overriding sentiment I am receiving from those who love football is one of jealousy – so live vicariously through me, and I shall repay your faith.

Full itinerary:

10th June - 12th June: Thessaloniki, Greece.
(GREECE v S Korea; 13:30, 12.6.10)

13th-14th: Belgrade, Serbia.
(SERBIA v Ghana; 16:00, 13.6.10)

14th-17th: Bratislava, Slovakia....
(SLOVAKIA v New Zealand; 13:30, 15.6.10)

17th-19th: Ljubljana, Slovenia.
(SLOVENIA v Usa; 16:00, 18.6.10)

19th-21st: Bologna, Italy.
(ITALY v New Zealand; 16:00, 20.6.10)

21st-22nd: Zurich, Switzerland.
(SWITZERLAND v Chile; 16:00, 21.6.10)

22nd-23rd: Strasbourg, France
(FRANCE v South Africa; 16:00, 22.6.10)

23rd-24th: Munich, Germany
(GERMANY v Ghana; 20:30, 23.6.10)

24th-29th: Amsterdam, Holland
(HOLLAND v Cameroon; 20:30, 24.6.10)

29th: Madrid, Spain (Unconfirmed)
Spain likely to play in 2nd Round at 20:30

2nd/3rd July: Remaining European Quarter Finalists

6th/7th July: Remaining European Semi Finalists

11th July: Remaining European Finalist