St Etienne, England v Slovakia 20/06/16

It seemed appropriate that today was the summer solstice, the longest day in the calendar as a very early start was required with the game not scheduled to kick off until many hours later at 9pm. Our initial destination was Luton airport as we departed from home at about 3.15 am; aiming for a flight departure at about 8am. All went very smoothly and the flight landed in St Etienne on time about an hour and a half later. The reception from the local immigration and Police could be described as a little frosty as the passport check was extremely thorough and time consuming. Processing a plane load of dedicated England supporters took at least an hour and was extremely thorough. Other passengers were allowed to the front of the queue therefore delaying us even further. However as we left the airport to board our buses to the stadium we were faced with an armed welcoming committee and a host of dogs, just seemed a tad OTT to me.

The welcoming committee! That was nice of them!

Yep, a few dogs and machine guns!

We headed for the stadium, arriving about mid day, so that we could locate the same buses after the game. There was some distance between the stadium and our drop off point but it was a nice warm day and the mood was very jovial. After the troubles of Marseilles and the extra precautions around the Lens game this, hopefully, would be more upbeat and a fun-filled day.

Once we had our bearings we all trooped of to enjoy the sights and sounds of the city centre. It was a bit of a trek to be fair, but the weather was good and the mood was light with most people looking forward to a day of fun and a good game of football. We recalled playing in Bratislava some years ago where the weather had been unkind to say the least and the reception from the locals and their Police also left a lot to be desired. Hopefully none of that would be repeated in St Etienne.

We ended up in the square known as Jean-Jaures square which had been infiltrated by several thousand England fans. It was surrounded on 4 sides by restaurants and bars of all shapes and sizes and a nearby Italian pizza restaurant was calling. Service was slow, but it was a seemingly busy day for everybody and I doubt if the local business's had seen such patronage in many a year.

For the England fans, and ourselves Jean-Jaures square was one big street party, with everybody participating in a drink or two, singing, dancing and above all good humoured fun! Enjoyment at a European championship game of football was back on the cards to the delight of everyone.

And my pet hate? Never enough toilets when England fans travel abroad. This time it was France, but it could be most countries across Europe, especially those without a real pub culture, that their 'café's' just don't seem to be allocating enough toilets. Queues, queue, and more queues!

A long walk up to the stadium, stupid entry procedures and here we are!!

Of course the less said about the game the better!! A boring 0-0 draw wasn't what we wanted or expected. Yet again this England team frustrates, and yet again we don't finish top of the group as we would have liked. Why can't we do things simply??

So, at the end we made our way home yet again, a coach journey to the airport, flight to Luton and a long drive home. I just need my bed!

A very British affair in Lens

England v Wales in France does seem rather odd. And ever since the draw had been made this was the flashpoint, the one game where violence and hooliganism could potentially break out. The troubles in Marseilles had only highlighted what the authorities had feared and extra precautions were to be taken to ensure this didn't happen. Lens, surprisingly, was to be a dry town and alcohol was to be banned. I'm sure those precautions weren't thought up and written on the back of a fag packet but it sure felt that way.

We'd set off from home in the early hours having decided some months previous that  this game, being based in northern France, would be much easier to get to by car and using Le Shuttle to do so. We arrived at Dover to find it a little busy. At the check in point though we found we could make an earlier train if we desired and opted to do that. It left just enough time to visit the loo and buy a coffee and a breakfast bun before we were called. But that's where our luck ran out. The extra precautions put in place, coupled with a seemingly mass exodus from these shores by car enthusiasts heading for Le Mans, meant that the crawl through security and passport control took a long long time. And for what purpose? The check went something like this;

Police Officer: 'Going to the game lads?'

Us; Yes

Police Officer: 'Have you got tickets?'

Us: Yes

Police Officer: 'Did you go to the last game?'

Us; Yes

Police Officer: Enjoy!

Now, what possible use were those questions? I'm obviously oblivious to the security operations surrounding leaving the country to go for a game of football but that little exchange, carried out thousands of times that morning delayed everybody in Dover by about an hour. And for what?

Once on the road we made good progress, the weather was a bit miserable but French roads are always good making travelling seem so much better in the EU!! We took a turn off the autoroute heading for Lens to find our progress blocked by the Gendarmerie. They spoke little English but our knowledge of French indicated we had been stopped for a vehicle search and a passport check. Both went well although slightly longer than I would have preferred. It does seem a little extreme to make sure that the alcohol ban was to be rigidly enforced so that all English cars were searched by armed Police.

We parked close by the stadium in a residents parking area and made our way into the town. A further security cordon meant another body search by the local Police designed to stop us carrying beer into the town. How utterly fruitless! So heading for a local bar to meet with friends it became obvious that all of these checks and extra precautions meant very little when alcohol was freely available once you'd arrived, a pleasant day meant everyone was in the streets enjoying each others company accompanied by several beers.

And today was different, it felt very very British, much like a Saturday afternoon at home mingling with the opposition, sharing a joke or two and discussing the game which we were all looking forward to.

 

And we made our way to the stadium, remembering the last time we were here, even down to the little pinch points on the journey, the ones where impatience meant climbing slippery grass slopes and falling over much to the amusement of everyone else.

 

Even the stadium seems very British with its distinct stands set on 4 sides, fans being very close to the action and an atmosphere to rival any English game. This was different yet very familiar all at the same time, an English moment set in a northern French town, and all the better for that.

And, because of the result it was a smiling set of English supporters who left the stadium. Smiling from ear to ear because of the result, but also because it had been a good day, a good day despite those security concerns, a good day because it felt just right. Maybe now the competition could be what it was always meant to be, about the football, about supporting your team whilst  enjoying the company of your friends and companions, but also with your opposite number, enjoying their company too. And with that we made our way home, enduring yet more problems in Calais but nothing would wipe the smiles from our faces, at least not for a few days yet.

Marseille.... the good and the bad

Plenty has been written about the events in Marseilles, and plenty more has been added by others so keen to believe that the English football fan has not changed one iota. Being at home for the few days after the game I was incensed by the stay at home England fan, or those who purport to be England fans during tournaments whilst constantly aiming criticism at the national team at other times, for their self righteous indignance that somehow those fans in Marseilles had besmirched their good name. Or at least brought shame upon the country itself.

And yet my attempts to offer an opinion of someone who'd been there and witnessed various scuffles, spoken to those who had witnessed much more and those who had a closer insight to the real goings on brought a certain level of criticism for even thinking that those fans in France might not be as guilty as some wanted them to be. Strangely enough though I was contacted by various individuals who did want to applaud me for having spoken out and tried to offer an alternative viewpoint. And to those I say thank you!

But Marseilles, apart from the obvious difficulties was an enjoyable city. Kick off was to be quite late that day, so armed with several spare hours we hopped onto what seemed like an empty tour bus and spread ourselves out so as to enjoy the ride. Little did we know that in the minutes prior to departure it would fill up and then some! But hey, we didn't object to sharing with French, Russians and others all doing the same. And what a revelation Marseilles was from being there the last time. It was clean, warm, smart and had hidden treasures around every corner. The centrepiece though was the port area and the little back streets and squares which offered respite from the heat and liquid refreshment to quench the travellers thirst. One pitched battle, started by the Russians, and finished by the English curtailed our time there and a short metro ride down to the fan park area to meet up with others seemed the right thing to do, and it was!

We've met some great people over the years which sometimes makes the effort and cost worthwhile, and this time was no exception. Several drinks with our old friends turned out to be exceptionally pleasant and the walk to the stadium, which was long and tiresome, all the more enjoyable. To be fair the organisation around these games was pretty awful, but I doubt if I've ever applauded this element at any tournament I've been to. For some reason access to stadiums during any tournament, be it UEFA or FIFA, is always incredibly complicated and this was no exception. The approach to the stadium was from one side but the England fans section was at the other with no seemingly easy route to get there. Once there the ticket check, bag check and pat down was a farce. Having to exchange our extremely small bags for a blue ticket at a portacabin before being allowed to progress further seemed completely unrealistic and troublesome. I struggle to understand the mentality of stewards who when faced with a English flag dedicated to some obscure northern town suddenly break out into a cold sweat and view these as the most dangerous item anyone could take into a football stadium. Those pesky flags eh, breaking ground regulation all on their own!

I liked the stadium though, very atmospheric, very spacious and I'm sure the seats would have been comfortable too had anybody bothered to sit in them. And yet again, not a single attempt to get anybody to sit down, yet again another ground regulation just ignored; why do we put up with this pantomime over and over?

Getting away from the stadium wasn't to be easy though. The queues to recover your bags from the portacabins was bad for us, but would have been much much worse had we been another 10-15 minutes later as the numbers just seemed to grow and grow. I heard later that some people abandoned their belongings because of the lengthy queues and missing transport connections. The dash to the metro appeared to be OK but the queue for the entrance was awful. I know we may have invented queueing but this was no time to be polite and a smart overtaking manouver around the outside appeared to be the way forward. Rude of us I know, but eminently sensible with a plane to catch!! All in all a good day was had, tiring, poorish result, but altogether just nice meeting with old friends. A definite plus.

Altogether now, 'Fifty years of hurt, never stopped me dreaming'....

And the agony continues! Its now fifty years of hurt with no sign of a change in our fortunes anytime soon. I have yet to hear a single pundit who can put his finger on the reason why we are as poor as this at seemingly every tournament we enter. Qualifying isn't an issue, nor is playing friendlies against the best teams in the world, so why do we struggle so much at tournament time?

Hopefully I'll find time to expand on this topic in time to come , meanwhile a few pictures to remind us of how we did enjoy our time in France, despite the results...

This was in Marseille, on the steps of the cathedral which gave great views across the city....

Looking out across the city and the Med...

Looking north towards the stadium..

 The flag is always an attraction...

 

Having lunch in a sun drenched square, before the Russians decided to invite themselves....

Anybody fancy a boat trip? 

Nice stadium though, despite the lack of security and the emphasis on stopping people with flags. Smoke bombs, flares and other stuff is OK though...

Hopefully I can return to this blog and post other subjects and photos in the coming weeks. Fingers crossed..