I hate becoming a cliche but I am one of those who has well and truly "caught the bug", having developed an unquenchable desire and lust for undiscovered surroundings. No sooner have I booked up one trip I am also planning another. It's like an obsession for me; my desire to make up for lost time; having spent such a long period of my life restricting myself to no interests beyond following Dover Athletic to whichever slumpit just off the M25 we were playing.
You might think that sounds daft - after all, I only turned 23 last month. Despite mentally feeling I have reached middle age I do still potentially have a lot of my life ahead of me. But I do feel like there is a period on my post-school life that I need to redeem for.
One question that is often asked of me and/or sealed beyond the lips of others is; "how do you afford to go away so often on a shelf-stacker's salary?". It's a valid query, though I would like to pedantically point out that my role doesn't entail stacking shelves; I actually do people's shopping for a living.
The main thing of course is that I have no life. I am a failure of status. I still live at home with my mum, I do not drive a car and have to pay towards the extortionate upkeep of one (nor do I understand why people my age do unless they actually need one), I do not have a ladyship to fleece pennies out of me and my working schedule means that I rarely ever go on nights out in England. Thus it is obvious why I have more disposable income to spunk away and the long, shitty, unsociable hours that I put in during my regular, depressing, everyday life does eventually reap its rewards when I go on these trips away.
I also don't think that the average person is aware of just how cheaply you can do these trips away. I have a weekend off next month which I initially took off for FA Cup 1st round weekend. So the other day I was just having casually having a browse at the ryanair flight finder in the event that Dover revert back to normality with an embarrassing qualifying round exit, a trait which has spanned several decades against such heavyweights like Hythe Town, Dorking and Worthing.
I was quite stunned upon my search that you could get a return flight to Basle for £17. Seventeen bloody quid! It will cost more for me just to enter Alfreton Town's ramshackle ground next month. We live in a world where it is now obscenely cheap to fly anywhere in Europe thanks to council airlines like Ryanair and Easyjet, thus I really do try and make the most of it and am surprised that more of my generation don't.
Accommodation is very cheap too; you only realise how expensive it is in this country when you get it in other countries. For example, I've recently looked at hotels in Newcastle next month when we play Gateshead away but we've had to settle on staying in Durham instead. There are no properties anywhere closer to the centre that aren't of extortionate value.
By contrast, a private four bed apartment in our centralised Prague apartment cost just £10 per person, per night, in the warm season (early June). And that was one of the more expensive rooms I've paid for; Budapest was £6 pp, pn for an eight bed private apartment (would have been £4 if we filled out the room), Bucharest next month will be £5.50 a night (though that is in a dorm). Barcelona, which is obviously a more expensive, world-class city, cost £14 a night for a private room in one of the main attraction areas - in late June. And I only booked that at a month's notice.
I have previously always searched and stayed in the private rooms at hostels but from now on I will cut costs even further by staying in dorms. I have stayed at enough now to know that the perception of hostels being grim, dinghy, unsafe and overcrowded are far from the truth - while they may not be a 5 star luxury they are oftenly comfortable, homely and have plenty of character. You're also likely to meet, speak and make friends with other broad minded travellers like yourself, and it's great speaking to people of other nationalities and cultures. As we found out when we were rehoused to a dormitory in Budapest. For me, a hotel shouldn't be out mind-blowing facilities anyway; it is merely just somewhere to use as a base, somewhere to pass out when you've rolled in at 4am and beyond.
It's always been concerns of safety that has really prevented me staying in dormitories before but find a decent hostel as I always do (always go for a property that scores an overall of 85%+ and 90%+ on location) and you'll be provided with lockers/safes.
Do you research correctly and snap your flights up early and these trips are very affordable. For four nights accommodation and flights Budapest cost £78, Prague £90, Krakow £120, Bucharest £65 (3 nights). And any country without the Euro currency, or any anywhere in the slavic/baltic/eastern European region tends to be gloriously inexpensive, so you can go out there and eat & drink like a prince on a budget that you would deem slender or moderate (at best) by contrast in the UK.
So what attracts me to all these European cities and what does define a good trip? I won't try and lie and pretend that I am some really cultivated person who is merely interested in the fascinating historical aspects and that I'm refined enough to just be happy to see all the stunning architecture.
Though both aspects do draw me in; the aesthetic pleasantness of some of these cities does never cease to amaze. Krakow's main city square was jaw-dropping in the evening time; Vienna's buildings were all flawless even in the outskirts of the city. Each city is so unique with its landmarks and landscapes, character that some of the modernized world cities cannot buy. I do like to get out and sightsee, I'm not a completely uncultured little Inglander as I may seem on the outset. I love my European and contemporary history, particularly in terms of post-WWII relations and the rise & fall of communism, so many of the cities are relevant to what I enjoy learning.
Of course though, drinking and nightlife are still prominent to me in this stage of my life and are both important aspects - though again, each country has exclusive elements which differentiates one from another - something which can hardly be said of most typical 18-30 tacky holiday resorts. For example, the Ruin Bars of Budapest are like nothing you'll see elsewhere, the fantastic on-site microbrewery pubs we discovered in Vienna and Bratislava have been rarely replicated to such quality elsewhere, while the Poles made me discover that vodka can actually taste damn good and that strip clubs are somewhat
Eating and dining are also an important aspect for me. Being the least fussiest person in existence and being completely open minded to all sorts of cuisine I adore the typical stodginess that archetypes typical European food. While most of the dishes tend to be similar across these countries I'm always on the prowl to try the localized delicacies, such as the wonderful goose liver of Hungary, or the sheep cheese dumplings with pork fat that tasted so divine in Slovakia.
Football, too, is something I try to incorporate into most of my trips, and on the odd occasion is the sole purpose. Some may find that sad but why devoid yourself of your favourite interests? Watching it in different countries usually always provides a fascinating experience, particularly in terms of atmosphere, stadium and matchday culture, that again, differentiates from country to country.
So, if you are for some reason not bored out of your skull reading me drone on here, I will present to you my personal experiences of each and every non-UK city I have visited this year........
Krakow, Poland.
Zagreb aside, which I found to be more mediterranean in terms of its culture, this was my first visit to anywhere most would consider Eastern Europe. "Poland?? what on earth are you going there for?" remarked one daft bint at work. Though to be fair, years ago I would have harboured similar ignorance.
The reality is actually that those of who have been fortunate enough to visit Krakow would instead feel pity for those who haven't. It is an absolute top city, one I consider a 'must visit', which has provided me with two life experiences that will remain forever unforgettable. (Unless I of course contract amnesia or another memory-loss related illness).
Indeed; although the concentration campsites of Auschwitz and Birkenau are some 60 odd kilometres outside of the city, it is a tourism trade (if you want to call it such a thing) that is closely associated to the city because of the proximity and you'll find various outlets in the city offering tours.
We booked our trip through the hostel and agreed to do it on our first day there - get the solemness of the occasion out the way with so the weekend could end on a positive note. It was all very well organized, travel to and in between the camps and a personal tour guide came to around £20 worth of polish zloty. You can of course decide to make your own way there and not use a guide but I think it is better this way.
I'm normally a pretty emotionally sterile person but the whole experience really does hit you in a way that is quite hard to explain, as anyone who has ever been will probably tell you. You are visiting the province of a site of organized mass murder; the location of where the worst crime in humanity ever took place. It was difficult to concentrate and listen to the guide through the headphones at times because I was so numb and deep into thought.
I've always been hugely interested in world war/modern history so this was one hell of an experience. I do wish though, however, that I'd read into and polished up on my knowledge before arriving; reading the book that I bought whilst there afterwards made me realise things that would have clicked whilst I was there. I'd particularly highlight reading detailed into Dr Josef Mengele and Irma Grese.
The skies were set grey and bleak during the day and the atmosphere was just.... well, I'm lost for an adjective; it's everything you would envisage. The memorial message inscripted at Birkenau is most important and poignant in reminding why we visited.
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| "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it" |
A place that each and every person must visit if the opportunity ever arises for that very reason. An overwhelming and harrowing occasion, yet it must be done.
Fortunately my other unforgettable life experience on this trip was for more upbeat rationale and nope, I'm not talking about my first ever visit to a strip club. I am of course talking about the Krakow derby, which also took place on the very same weekend.
It would be unfair to just write a few paragraphs about the game dubbed as "the holy war", as it deserves a whole blog post dedicated to it. But even then, not even such great writers as like Shakespeare, Dickens, Golding and Katie Price possess enough linguistic ability between them to articulate into words that would serve the atmosphere at this game justice. It made the Yellow Wall at Dortmund by comparison seem like a tea party.
Granted, it was my first real experience of a such an intense and vitriol-filled derby (one that saw 8 ultras killed in a city battle in 2005) and that there are even greater spectacles in Europe, like the Belgrade derby (which is later on the bucket list). And this is a derby that has come under greater policing measures in recent years which has restricted the amount of violence, pyrotechnics and whatnot.
But the whole thing was just incredible to witness; it was difficult to focus on the football at times because the choreographs and noise decibels coming from the Wisla ultras were so absorbing. Fair enough, my usual idea of a good atmosphere is twenty portly blokes going away to Basingstoke and warbling "Chris Kinnear's black and white army" a few times before retreating to the bar early once they've gone two nil down to two awful goals, but you'll have to take my word for it.
For the record, Wisla did triumph in an entertaining game - they were 3:1 victors which included a few top-draw goals. But it's the insane atmosphere which I will always remember it for. I highly recommend to even non-football fans to go out there and witness a derby, or failing that another high profile game. The games against Legia Warsaw are meant to be even more fanatical.
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| Fan cards which you need to register for at the stadium with a passport. Common occurrence in Europe these days. |
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| No Pyro No Party and all that. |
Anyway, onto Krakow itself. The city is majestic, extremely pleasing on the eye with a real medieval and gothic vibe with its architecture - with the main old town square hauntingly beautiful in the evening time. It has to be said that this is largely attributed to vast amount of palaces and churches; while I may be largely anti-religion - it really has provided some of the world's best buildings and art. It also helps that Krakow came out relatively undamaged from World War II so it has retained its rich cultural heritage. There is also a Jewish quarter to the city, which is similar to many other cities across European.
Most of the bars in Krakow continue the theme of castle like interior; proper caverns with many of them being based underground. It was the first one we entered that we rapidly established a love of Polish vodka, having been encouraged to divulge by the bartender. The thought of drinking vodka straight in the UK is something that wouldn't even cross my mind in the UK, yet for some unknown reason their recipe makes it a fully-quenchable, genuinely likable drink. And it still retains its high 35%+ volume. Strange! Across our four nights there we would drink it oftenly along with a beer, usually trying it in all sorts of different fruit flavours.
It was in the first bar where we came across a Scottish ex-pat, previous owner of said bar, who gave us some useful intel on the city. His most notable advice was a phrase that we have since repeated since; Martyn being able to perfectly mimic his broad Glaswegian voice - "Ya wee lads need tae get ya get yaeselves to a titty bar" before adding "Never, and aye repeat never pay on card. They'll focking sting yae. Always ask for a price".
We acted upon his good words, well, me and Martyn certainly did with the other lad, thumb-stricken Chris, (probably) sensibly opting not to join us on our seedy visits.
For some reason the lure of strip clubs has always evaded me before but this time I wanted to make sure I tried the experience, just for the craic. I must admit, I'm far too childish for it, I can't help but laugh and giggle, particularly when the strippers try and entice you for all your worth into getting a private dance.
But I won't lie - I enjoyed visiting the three or four we did, sometimes it's nice to just chill out with a few beers and look at some tits and arse, as much as any male tries not to be misogynistic its just human nature. We'd had a few nights there where we were so tired out from tourist activities that it was a preference to going out to try and a wild nightclub.
It's a way of living out there, so many different strips competing with each other. Me and Martyn ended up in one where we were the only 2 customers in there. This provided me with one of the funniest things I have ever seen to date. Martyn, seeing the glances from the hot stripper across from us (who quite clearly was aiming to entice some zloty out of the fat, desperate, sex-starved Brits) decided to vigorously pat his chair, as an invitation to come over to us. This may not seem that amusing in written form but trust me, I burst out laughing with equal measurements of cringing feelings at the same time! He clearly felt like he was the don in that situation, in control. The look on his face as he did it was something else.
God bless Martyn, he may not be everybody's cup of tea but he sure does provide value, if nothing else, in social situations.
The best bar we found out in Krakow was the aptly named The House of Beer (www.houseofbeer.com) which became a favourite haunt of ours on its beer list alone. It had 9 rotating draught beers, featuring several strongly hopped ones straight out of the bearded craft beer enthusiast's manual, while it had enough variation of the bottled stuff to end thirst problems in Malawi. This alone made up for the slow bar service and the ridiculous lack of facilitating for bowel movements - one pubicle in the entire pub per sex- in which is a popular pub. So it's probably not best advised having a session in there if you suffer from having a weak bladder.
I didn't keep note of any of establishments but on the Old Town strip you'll struggle to not find any lively bars and clubs in which you can have a good time. I do have one outstanding memory of a karaoke bar on our final night there in which Martyn produced the worst ever rendition I have ever suffered through in my entire life. I'm certainly no Pavorotti on the microphone myself and am not in a strong enough position to sneer at other people's vocals but christ, his attempt at Don't Look Back In Anger fails to make me look back on it with any feeling but that.
In terms of cuisine and drink - I've already expanded on vodka for the latter and you should be familiar with many of the branded Polish lagers; tyskie and lech being readily available pretty much anywhere, along with Zwyiec and Warka. So if you enjoy your strong pilsener styles then you are very well catered for - though that isn't to say you won't find variation in Poland. Most bars have a quantifiable bottled selection as well - the pick of the bunch for me was Okocim Dark, which was a very pleasant drop when you consider the brewery is owned by Carlsberg.
My favourite local delicacy in Poland was pierogi, a plate of small potato dumplings that are traditionally stuffed with cheese, potato, grounded meat or sauerkraut. While a little bit greasy from the butter they are fried in, they sure as hell are tasty and worth indulging in, if like me you enjoy stodge.
The best restaurant we found in Krakow however was a Mexican establishment (Manzana - in the Jewish district), which is a cuisine that is probably my favourite when it is done well. My goat's cheese enchiladas turned out to be an inspired choice from an expansive menu and I almost felt guilty that the sizeable and delicious portions from the main course, starter and drink accompanying it only totalled to the equivalent of around 10gbp.
Also, a special shoutout to our uncultured, thick-as-shit, little-Inglander, goggle-eyed friend who ordered some "chicken fadge-eaters", causing fits of 'hilarity to myself, Christopher and the waitress, who couldn't quite believe such ignorance towards such a mainstream dish. Bless him.
Poland was superb, it really was, if I didn't have so many other countries and places I want to visit then I'd go back in a shot. Contrary to the stereotypes they get labelled to here by our racist, right-wing press I found them amongst the friendliest locals I have encountered as well. We were only outside the airport for 2 minutes before geezer saw us looking like useless, confused tourists, and interrupted to offer us advice on the best way to get into the centre. That's not something many of us do with tourists in our country, though I concede we perhaps don't rely on our tourism trade and need to welcome outsiders as places like Krakow do.
Lille, France
It's quite a stretch to include this as part of my overseas travels, given that this was a day-trip purely on the grounds of a footballing basis. It was actually Martyn who initiated and planned this trip, for a change. He has previously been acquainted with Eurolines coach company whenever he has needed to organise budget travel visiting his Dad in Germany, which regularly involves changing at Lille. So it would be a logical pattern to take in a game at France's third biggest club (going by the reasoning of average attendances) with the city only being an hour's drive from Calais.
The thing with Eurolines though is it isn't actually that cheap for the service you get, and is particularly bad value when compared with budget flights. But with the convenience of the town of Dover being a gateway over the border, a £44 fare for a return journey isn't too horrendous in the grand scheme of things. The real downside was that our outwards journey to France was via the eurotunnel, while our overnight coach ride back was via ferry. Ideally on a day out you'd prefer that situation to be reversed.
I try to be open minded with every place that I travel to and not get bogged down by preconceptions that people attach to certain countries. So the 'cheese-eating, surrender-monkey, garlic quaffing, immutable, rude people' tags I tried putting aside for the visit. Though I have always been bogged down with propaganda from others that Paris is just a grimmer version of London; aside from the obvious attractions it's crammed with beggars and the streets are filthy. So it's never really been a country that has appealed to me too greatly.
But, from the several or so hours I spent in France there would be little to dissuade me from that negativity about the country. I concede that Lille, and northern France in particular, is hardly somewhere that ranks highly on the average travellers to-do list. It's like a tourist over here formulating an opinion on the country after spending a couple of nights in Skegness.
However, given it is the fourth largest city in the country, and pretty prosperous in terms of financial status and industry, I was pretty unimpressed. The very inner city centre and the main square were pleasant, but the leading streets immediately outside it were run-down, graffiti-clad and felt a bit unsafe.
The most striking thing about France though was how fucking expensive it was. I knew it was hardly cheap but it seemed to be on a par with Scandinavia in terms of what I read about beer prices. The cheapest we paid for a half litre was €5, and we visited 1/2 dozen watering houses. In the evening we settled in a small, off-street bar with some dodgy looking characters that we liked because the beer was 'cheap'. But essentially we were paying €2.40 for what was less than half a pint!
The metro system was impressive though and very modernized, as seems to be the case anywhere outside of the London underground. The ground, which opened in 2012 after replacing their run-down, carcass old stadium, is situation 6km outside of the city centre and with a capacity of 50,000, will be one of the main venues in Euro 2016. So if, as many of you seem to have planned, head over there for the tournament you may be able to replicate the experience for yourself.
I try not to criticise all recently-built stadia, as many others do, as I'm sensible to realise that they are created with the purpose of increasing capacities and providing new viable facilities, when many existing ones have grown the end of their course and are beyond redevelopment. Nobody can expect a home in it's infancy stages to possess the same level of character and homeliness that the predecessor did.
Even so, Stade Pierre-Mauroy was fairly unexciting in its architecture and design. It's a decent venue, don't get me wrong. Reminds me of a slightly smaller Emirates, with the three-tiered design, and excellent views across the stadium. But from the outside it's revolting, an ugly metallic block and not easy upon the eye.
One of the few inexpensive expenditures for the day was the match ticket. Purchased online and printed from home, at €15 for the cheapest seats in the house it equated to being cheaper than DAFC admission for conference south football last season. Obviously I understand that a club who have 10k spare seats every week playing at the highest level can afford to subsidise with some cheaper areas of the ground, plus the cheap admission fee was offset by scandalous prices inside the ground; a half-litre of non-alcoholic kronenbourg totalling a staggering €7, and soft drinks were not much cheaper. No thanks.
And in terms of quality and entertainment of the match, even €15 was vastly overpriced for showing on offer. A real terrible contest; Lille, even having seen star players like Eden Hazard and Dimitri Payet move onto pastures new in recent years, still possess enough quality in their squad to put in a better showing than we saw against lowly EA Guingamp, a club based westwards in Brittany and famed for being one of Didier Drogba's former haunts. The only player to put in any kind of decent showing was Florent Balmont; a balding, ageing, diminutive midfielder who buzzed around everywhere, despite having never previously heard of him.
The visitors missed a golden one-on-one, spurning the chance wide shortly into the second half, in which was one of the games very few notable incidents. But just as it appeared we would return across the Channel Tunnel having witness a goalless bore, up popped household name Soloman Kalou into injury time to steer the ball home from a cross. GOAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL! Exciting right? Aren't last minute mentallers great?
Well, not quite. The cantakerous old cunt situated behind me, irked that I was still standing 15 minutes after the ball had touched the net, aggressively tapped me to pull me back to my seat so he could continue watching the aftermath in his tranquility. It's a shame I didn't polish up on my French beforehand so I could translate my "piss off you fucking old fart" response, but here's hoping he had a reasonable enough grasp of my fine BRITTISH QUEENS INGLISH.
The atmosphere weren't bad. Lille are very ultra style in terms of support; their main singing section behind the goal with lots of flag wavers, and were very consistent in producing noise, which sporadically broke across the entire ground. Like most supports really. Guingamp fans, situated above us, apparently only took 110 to this game. Granted, it's a club punching above its weight in a small province, playing on a Sunday afternoon in what actually turns out to be a near 6 hour drive away. (You only realise how big other countries are once you look outside the Britain map!!). Fair play to those that travelled - they made a fair bit of noise and were unlucky to get nothing out of the game.
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| Yeah, not really a looker is it? |
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| The Guingamp masses. |
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| Yeah I know, I'm inept at taking panoramic photographs. |
That said, the whole matchday experience isn't one that makes me eager to return to the country in a hurry, even though I am aware that clubs such as their fierce rivals Lens, Marseille and St Etienne, to name a few, are meant to have passionate and lively home supports. The expensiveness was the main downfall if I'm honest, but it doesn't appear to be on a same level as neighbours Belgium in terms of lax matchday restrictions on alcohol, standing etc.
On the crowded metro back to the centre we got chatting to a pretty Welsh lass, studying in the country, who clocked onto our boisterous, little-Inglander, cockney-vermin accents and struck conversation with us. She actually seemed to be quite charmed by Martyn, who then decided to completely mess up the predicament by quipping a very sick "I'm sweating like a........" gag, which is too offensive for me to finish here. Bless him, he does his best to live up to the social-atom bomb tag at times.
We found a cafe in the centre afterwards which again, was vastly overpriced, but I'd be lying if I said my goat's cheese crepe was anything but delicious. My accomplices' pizzas were sizeable and looked PROPER in terms of production and freshness, so I'll begrudgingly give the Froggies a thumbs up on the cuisine mark.
Despite an agonizing journey back on a crowded coach jammed with whiny children, and all pitfalls of France aside, it was actually an enjoyable day out. While France consequently doesn't feature high on my return list, I'll be open to trying out some of the more appealing Southern destinations in the future, which I'm reliably informed are lovely. And being the cultural upstart I've turned into I'm a huge merlot fan, so I'm sure somewhere like Bordeaux would be worth venturing into.
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| A micropub selling some superb own beer. Just a shame how overpriced it was. |
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| Like I say, not all ugly. |
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