World Cup joy: it really does get everywhere

In the kind of bizarre sense this trip is working out, I have now come across the World Cup party atmosphere I was looking for - in a country over 1500 kilometres away from any participants in the match I watched. En route to Valencia, I made a brief stop in Catalonia for a couple of days. Don’t think Catalonia would be a hotbed for partisan World Cup passion? Nor did I. Then I discovered Salou. The costal town represents a somewhat untainted Costa del Sol or Benidorm - i.e. a successful beachside holiday resort, with plenty of foreigners (and even a Wetherspoons) but lacking in the ultra-intoxicated stag parties spewing up onto its pavements. And the other thing it has is Dutch people. Lots and lots of happy-go-lucky holiday makers from the Netherlands. So when I heard this was the case, plans to visit Barcelona were shelved and I headed to a Dutch bar to watch Holland’s quarter final vs Brazil.

Accompanied by Anthony - we’ll call him a friend of the family because explaining his link to me via my mother and various other people would be too laborious and probably not all that interesting - we spotted The Ski Hut as soon as the bus pulled into Salou, a particularly oranje decorated establishment. Indeed not only did we spot the Hut itself, we also spotted the various orange-clad employees lining the street attempting to coax as many Dutch people through its door as possible. And they did a decent job - come kick off the atmosphere has developed into a bit of a mini-Amsterdam, minus the whiff of pot or the billions of bicycles.

Naturally the atmosphere suffered due to Holland’s somewhat muted first half performance. But, for once, this represented one match where my so called ‘prophecies’ actually rang true. Pre-match I said “You will win 2-1,” to Kevin, just about the most decorated of all the Netherlanders in the bar. And at half time I said to him: “You need some Sneijder magic.” Whether a fairly hopeful cross from deep which was turned into the net by a Brazilian defender and a header from five yards really classes as ‘magic’ is debatable but I’m regarding my utterances as wise and true nonetheless.

Kevin was, of course, just one of many who erupted with joy following the full time whistle. Along with that video, there are so many joyous scenes I managed to capture on camera and should you meet me in person in the forthcoming months I’ll probably show you some of the material which didn’t make it here. Nonetheless, I’ve tried to upload as much as possible to give you a colourful display of images rather than words for this particular entry. Let’s just say, with this particular flag bearing group making themselves known to every vehicle on the road whether they liked it or not, the people of Salou would be hard pressed to remain oblivious to the result that evening.



Is that Owen Wilson carrying the flag? Could be.

But what’s that I hear you say: what about the camera of pain? The inflictor of misery? Surely a day didn’t go by where I didn’t capture some form of World Cup disappointment? Of course not. Bizarrely, in the small Catalonian town of Valls I found myself watching Uruguay v Ghana with strong Ghana supporters behind me and Uruguayans watching through the window. Particular bizarre considering that when myself and Jan, another, let’s say, family friend, arrived in the so called Barça bar (due to the fact the walls are covered in FC Barcelona posters) it was empty and they didn’t even have the game on - the barmaid had to be prompted by us. Within minutes of changing the channel, the place was suddenly packed out with African followers - or, at the very least, sympathisers.

And you know what I did when Ghana were awarded a penalty in the very last seconds of Extra Time: I got the camera out. I truly regret, however, that I stopped filming the second the penalty was missed - I think part of me thought I was going to get beaten up. But you’ll be delighted to know that come the shoot out I also zoomed in on my unfortunate African friends for Dominic Adiyiah’s poor penalty, complete with Uruguayan celebrations (it would appear that she is giving me the finger at the very start - perhaps she knows what this camera can do):



What I enjoyed most about the winning spot kick was that the South American Señor wasn’t even watching, too consumed as he was with lighting his cigarette. Wifey lead the celebrations, and the Barça bar went from busy to empty literally within seconds - you can see many of the African supporters streaming out in the background:



At the time of writing, I am on a train away from Catalonia towards the city of Valencia for Spain’s quarter final tonight. I’ll of course try and find a bar with Argentineans and/or Germans this afternoon, and from there I will make the 24 hour mammoth train journey back to Amsterdam for Holland’s semi final against Uruguay. Wesley Sneijder may not know it but he may well have just saved this trip from culminating in a two week holiday in Spain. Not that I have anything against Spain, but the itchy-footed traveller in me salutes him.