Disaster Strikes: The Final Chapter….

Disaster Strikes: The Final Chapter….

As our time wound down in Barcelona, Fiona & I started to look forward to the homeward leg of our trip and a few days rest & relaxation in Hong Kong before finally heading back to New Zealand. A couple of days before our flight we found out that there was going to be a taxi strike in Barcelona on the day we needed to get to the airport, but this didn’t really worry us, as we had used the Airport Bus service when we arrived, and our hotel was only just a few minutes’ walk from where we were going to catch it from. We left our hotel with all our baggage at around 11:00am and headed toward Plaça de Catalunya where we could catch the Airport Bus. When we arrived at the Airport Bus Stop the place

was a zoo with approximately 200+ people queued to catch the airport bus, and as we joined the back of the massive queue we were approached by a representative of the bus service who suggested that we take the Metro if we were in a hurry. The Metro was only across the road so we decided to take the advice and went down only to find approximately another 100+ people queuing to get tickets from the automated machines. 

I joined one of the queues to get a ticket while Fiona went to look at another ticket machine that had significantly fewer people standing at it, where she worked out that she could use that machine to get an appropriate ticket to get us to the airport. I tried to find her purse in her bag and when I couldn’t find it I passed the bag to her and she paid for the ticket and returned to where I was looking after the luggage. To get to the trains we needed to descend a small flight of steps from the ticket hall with our rolling luggage, along with a small crowd of other travellers. As we descended the stairs, pushing our rolling luggage in front of us in the crowd, we were both bumped into and jostled from behind by a well-dressed man & woman, who backed off when we turned to address them. At the time we thought nothing more of it, and put it down the stairs being extremely busy with lot of people carrying heavy suitcases and bag because of the taxi strike. When arrived at the Airport and made our way to the check-in desk for our flight to Hong Kong, via London, Fiona went to get our passports from the document purse we carried them in, only to discovered that the purse was gone. The only way that this could have occurred was when we were jostled entering the metro at Plaça de Catalunya

FUCK….!! 

To say we were stunned and upset would be an understatement. We obviously could not check-in for our flights without passports, and given that our flight was going to take off within the next 2 hours, it slowly dawned on us that the rest of travel plans were now out the window and that we would need to sort this problem out before being able to go anywhere else. We both contacted our appropriate Embassy / Consulate to advise them of the loss of passports, and I was told to get a Police Report and to start the online process to get a UK Emergency Travel Document (ETD), after which the Barcelona Consulate indicated that they could issue an ETD in a matter of a few hours. Fiona, on the other hand, was advised that she would need to attend the NZ Embassy in Madrid to start the process of replacing her stolen passport. 

In my opinion, there cannot be anything more dispiriting than having to go to a foreign airport police station, wait around for hours with hordes of other unhappy travellers, to explain to someone that you have had your passports stolen, and wait for the bureaucratic process to finally issue a police report.  After a very long and tiring two and a half hours we finally had a police Report in our hand and could leave the airport, and as there was a chance I could get my emergency passport sorted out quickly in Barcelona, we headed across town. Travelling back into the city with all our luggage followed by a good 15-minute uphill walk in the heat of the late afternoon left me very sweaty and did not put me in a particularly good mood. Upon arrival at the British Consulate offices, we then discovered that even though it was only around 4:00pm, they had already closed for the day. BUGGER…. We sat outside the consulate for 30 minutes or so talking on the phone to the after-hours duty officer in London to decide what to do next. As Fiona needed to be in Madrid to process her passport, I decided that we should travel to Madrid that evening, where I could continue getting an ETD via the Madrid consulate. So we once again set off on another foot slog, this time to Barcelona’s main train station to look at how we get to Madrid that evening.

Just as we arrived at the train station, Fiona received a text message that the passports had been found by a Metro worker and handed-in to the hotel we had been staying at. HALLELUJAH….., finally some good news and Fiona went back to the hotel to collect the passports. Whilst she was gone, I contacted our travel agency to try and arrange for next flights out of Spain to get us home and was told that the next earliest flight they could book us on to was in a weeks’ time…. DOH…!! Could this day get any worse…? Of course it could, the airline was going to charge us almost $3k for the pleasure of changing our flight, but by now my spirit was completely broken and I agreed to the flights and the costs…. I hoped that our travel insurance was going to cover the cost of these flight changes and the additional week accommodation we would need before we could head home….

As we had already started the replacement process we decided that it would be good to be in Madrid to be closer to Fiona’s embassy, so we went to see how we could get there. Obviously, the only available seats on the high-speed train to Madrid that night were first class tickets on the 9:10pm train, so we reluctantly booked these tickets and waited at the station before boarding the train. During the 3 hour trip, I managed to book a reasonable hotel close to the main train station in Madrid, which at least meant we would be in bed before 1am and draw a close to what had been a very trying and stressful day.

The next morning we were up and ready to get an Uber to the British Consulate at 8:00am to find out what I needed to do to travel. Because I had completed the online process for reporting a stolen passport whilst in Barcelona the previous afternoon, and even though we now had the original passport back, my passport had been immediately cancelled and was no longer valid and was I going to have to be issued an Emergency Travel Document if I wanted to get out of Spain and back to New Zealand. I was also advised by the consulate that before an Emergency Travel Document could be issued, I would need to provide evidence of my right to enter every country on the scheduled route back to NZ, and also evidence of my permanent residence status in New Zealand. As our return flights were scheduled to go from Spain, via London to Singapore, and then to Sydney before flying to Christchurch, entry into the UK and Singapore did not require anything special, but to transit through Australia would require a visa.

Next on our list was to visit the NZ Embassy to investigate travel documents for Fiona and provision of evidence of permanent residency for me. Unlike the ultra-efficient, no-nonsense, follow-the-rules British process, the NZ Embassy in Madrid had not cancelled Fiona’s passport when she rang them the previous day and therefore it was still valid for travel, although the Barcelona Police would need to be informed that the passport had been recovered. Whilst on the surface this sounded like a piece of good news, the NZ Embassy would still need to contact NZ Immigration in London to investigate what evidence of my permanent residency status in NZ they could get for me in my effort to replace my passport. I also contacted the Australian Global Service Centre by phone to investigate how I could get a visa to allow transit through Australia on the return to NZ, where I  was advised that they would only issue a visa for travel via Australia against a valid passport which obviously I did not have.  Classic Catch-22, couldn’t get a visa without a passport and couldn’t get a passport with our the visa…!!

We left the NZ Embassy feeling marginally better and hoping that they would contact us later in the day to update me on my permanent residency status, as it was Friday, and if they didn’t then we would not hear anything until Monday….. We slopped off to the

nearest Starbucks to use their Wi-Fi, where I booked an Airbnb apartment for 6 centrally located roughly midway between the British Consulate & the NZ Embassy. There was nothing else we could do that day except go and find our Airbnb and wait for more news on Monday…. Let me assure you, it’s difficult to relax and enjoy yourself, even in Madrid, when you are stuck in a foreign country not knowing how we were going to resolve our issues to get us out of there. We tried to do a bit of sightseeing over the weekend but our hearts were not really in it.

On Monday Fiona went back to the NZ Embassy to clarify her passport status and they re-confirmed that Fiona’s passport was valid for travel back to NZ, that they would contact the Barcelona police to advise them that the passport had been found and to remove any notifications. The NZ Embassy also provided us with a letter from NZ immigration in London confirming my permanent residency status in New Zealand. YIPPEE…!! Finally, we were getting some positive movement.

Due to issues obtaining a visa to transit through Australia, I then had to contact our travel agency to re-schedule the existing return flights to fly directly from Singapore to Christchurch, to miss out Australia altogether. As we were flying British Airlines and they had no code-shares with Singapore, the only airline that flies a direct route between Singapore and Christchurch, they could not re-route the flights as requested. Therefore the existing scheduled flights with BA were changed to fly out of Madrid via London to Singapore, (and the onward leg to Christchurch via Sydney was cancelled), and Fiona then booked separate tickets for direct flights between Singapore and Christchurch with Singapore Airlines, and I booked one nights’ accommodation at Singapore airport. This was once again costing us the equivalent of a limb or two… 

The next day I once again attended the British Consulate in Madrid to successfully complete the process get my Emergency Travel Documents issued, which meant that we were finally free and could leave Spain on Thursday as scheduled, and make our way back to New Zealand via London and Singapore. We went out that evening and had a nice meal and a few drinking close to the apartment to celebrate.

We found ourselves with a free day on Wednesday and we decided we would try and finally get out and about and actually enjoy being tourists in Madrid. We jumped on the ‘Hop-on/Hop-off’ bus close to where we were staying and travelled around admiring the city from the top of an open top bus, stopping off at the Prado to swap to a different route and then stopping again down near Atocha for lunch. In the afternoon we jumped back on the bus and headed off to see the ancient Egyptian Temple of Debod, and then walked to the nearby Cable Car in the heat of the day, (the needle pushing 40 degrees C), to take the trip out to the middle of the Casa de Campo, a tranquil oasis of calm with awesome views back to the city. After a leisurely return trip on the cable car and a short walk

in the shaded back streets, we were back on the bus and heading towards the apartment. We had had such a nice day we decided to go to the bar across from where we're staying and have a few cheeky early evening beers in the cool of their outdoor seating area before we decide where to go for dinner on what we hope would be our ‘real’ last night in Spain. As it happened, we ended up in a Bedouin-style tent in the backstreets of the Charmatin area of Madrid having a very spicy, but also very tasty Indian, and a very suitable end to our misadventures in Spain I think…. 

The day we were scheduled to fly out we spent the morning packing our belonging into our backpacks for hopefully the final time, and we left the Airbnb apartment headed out to the airport in the early afternoon for our evening flight to Heathrow with plenty of time in hand to sort out any last minute problems. After a meal and successfully checking-in for our flight, we went through customs & Immigration, where we had a heart-stopping moment when the female immigration officer looked at Fiona’s passport and declared that it had been stolen and indicated she could not travel. We implored with her that the passport had been returned to us and that Fiona’s Embassy had spoken to the police to lift any ban on using the passport, and after consulting with 2 other immigration officers and obviously sensing our distress, they shrugged their shoulders and let us through….. When would this rollercoaster ride ever end….? The rest of the flights to Singapore, via London, were blissfully uneventful, although each time we went through immigration, our hearts were in our mouths…

We had almost 24 hours in Singapore to wait for our final leg to Christchurch so we had a room booked at the Crown Plaza Hotel that is actually built into terminal 3 at Changi airport. After finding a great Singaporean restaurant in terminal 1 we went back to our hotel and slept like logs that night, luxuriating in the comfort of a swanky room and enjoying possibly the biggest bed I have ever slept in. The next morning we awoke and went out on another exploration of Changi airport, primarily to find some breakfast, but also to take a look at where we would need to check-in later that day. We killed off a few hours until we had to check out of our room, and the killed off another few hours until we could check-in for our flights, (Fiona took a ride on the World’s biggest slide in an Airport, who knew..?), and we successfully made it through immigration without a hitch. We still had a few more hours to kill so we found some comfortable chairs and lounged around for a while before finding a fantastic food court where we continued our adventures in Singaporean cooking before we finally got on the plane that would take us home to Christchurch. Of all the airports we have seen on this trip, Changi Airport in Singapore is by far the best, I reckon we could do a trip to Singapore and never have to leave the airport, it was that good….

At around 9:00am on Sunday 5th August Fiona & I finally arrived safely back into New Zealand, and with only the minimum of fuss at immigration, we met up with Fiona’s sister, Jenny, who had graciously offered to pick us up from the airport and take us home. By 10am we were back at the house drinking a warm & comforting cup of tea on the sofa, thanking the various God’s of travel that had helped us make it back to New Zealand. It had been just over 11 weeks since we started, and whilst the last 2 weeks had been extremely painful, overall it had been another great World Cup trip. 

The BIG FIVE-O

The BIG FIVE-O

The 23^rd July 2018  marked the auspicious occasion of Fiona’s 50^th birthday, and as such was the reason we found ourselves in Spain on this gloriously sunny Monday morning. Fiona, being the organiser that she is, had arranged for us to go on a Food & Wine tour to the spectacular mountain town of Montserrat for the day, and after an early breakfast, we headed off to the Placa de Catalunya to pick up our bus. Montserrat was about an hour or so away from Barcelona, and soon we were whizzing through the outskirts of the city and into the Spanish country heading towards the ominous mountain that stood out from the rolling hills of the local area.

There are many ways to get up to the monastery and associated church, including hiking and a cable car, but we enjoyed a short trip on the modern and quite speedy ‘Cog Railway’, which had obviously been upgraded recently, climbing a precarious route along the edge of this impressive peak. When we arrived in the small town we had a tour of some of the food and drink that the Benedictine monks of the monastery spent their time making, and then when into the church to see the famous ‘Black Madonna’. If

we had so desired we could have joined a long queue of people that were in line to go and actually ‘touch’ the holy statue, but not being of a religious persuasion or needing any external help for the unseen deity in the sky, we gave it a miss. When we had the opportunity to go off and explore by ourselves, Fiona & I went up the Sant Joan funicular to the very top of the mountain, from where you see all the way back to Barcelona from the 1200 metre vantage point.

We joined back up with our tour group and made ourway back to our coach for a pleasant drive down the mountainside and through the winding countryside, eventually arriving at the site of our wine and tapas tasting, the ‘Oller del Mas’ Winery. Set in beautiful rolling countryside with awesome views back to Montserrat, the winery was built around a walled medieval Castillo that had recently been renovated. We were soon tasting a unique white wine made the local and

somewhat rare Piquepoul Blanc grape and admiring the stylish architecture of the Castillo, before having a short tour of the cellar and a talk about the winemaking process, before we entered a very medieval looking room to sit and eat some tasty Tapas and try some more of the local wines. Very enjoyable afternoon indeed but all good things come to an end and we were back on the coach to Barcelona.

That evening we went to the rooftop restaurant the swanky Hotel 1898 on La Rambla and enjoyed a very nice meal and a couple of cocktails while watching the sun set slowly over the city as the sun dipped below the edge of the mountains. Overall it had been a lovely way to celebrate such an auspicious birthday for Fiona, a day I am sure she would not forget.

Leaving Russia: Hello Barcelona

Leaving Russia: Hello Barcelona

The day before we were scheduled to leave Russia was spent packing all our crap up once again into our various backpacks and getting ready to head off to the Moscow Domodedovo airport. As Fiona & my next flight was leaving at the ungodly hour of 5:40am the next morning we had decided to check-in to the local airport hotel the night before to make the transition a little less painful, and Yates decided to do the same even though his flight left a far more reasonable time of 9:00am. Packed and ready, we left the apartment in as good a condition as we found it, including a toilet lid fix, (don’t ask..!), and crammed ourselves into an Uber to the airport hotel. We all chilled out for a while before heading over to the airport itself to check out the dining options for the evening, and we collectively decided that our final meal in Russia was going to be Burger King.... After eating we made our way back to the Airport hotel at around 8pm and said our goodbyes to Yates, as we wanted to get an early night if we were going to get up at 3am for our check-in and flight.

It’s always sad having to say goodbye to friends at the end of a great holiday, and this time was no

exception, maybe I’m just getting a bit soft in my old age, but as this might be the last World Cup we attend together, I had a real lump in my throat as I hugged Yates goodbye. I know I am not the easiest person in the world to get along with when confined in my exclusive company for 6 weeks or more, (just ask Fiona, she’ll tell ya.!), but Yates always does a great job at hiding any annoyance or irritation I cause and has a cheery smile and a positive attitude at all times. This trip has been a little different from the past, as Yates has had the distraction and additional responsibility for looking after his family members that joined us throughout this trip, helping them solve the myriad of issues associated with such an ambitious adventure, and I think both Fiona & I have a new found respect for Yates’s patience and perseverance. Without these abilities, none of these World Cup trips would have been possible over the past 24 years, and for that reason alone, I will be forever grateful, so long mate, see you next time wherever that may be...

When I was planning this trip a couple of years ago, the fact that this year we would be potentially still be traveling over Fiona’s fiftieth birthday needed to be taken into account, so I asked her where she wanted to spend this significant birthday. As we would be on the other side of the World to home the week before the big day, I told her that she could choose anywhere in the world to spend her special day as it would invariably be on our way home, and so the next leg of our adventure was going to be a week in Barcelona. Our flight out of Moscow was uneventful and we had  a pleasant enough time with lounge access at Heathrow during our stop-over there, before an equally humdrum flight and swift airport bus into the heart of the city, and we arrived at our swanky hotel midway between ‘Plaça de Catalynya’ and ‘Plaça Universitet’, by mid-afternoon. After a brush & wash up, and being only 3 minutes from Las Rambla, we went out into the streets to reacquaint ourselves with this mesmerising Spanish city. It had been 17 years since we had both coincidentally been in Barcelona last and things didn’t seem to have changed much, maybe a bit busier and more hectic, it’s hard to tell in a city like Barcelona. Having just come from

Moscow the one thing that we noticed immediately was how much dirtier and scruffy Barcelona was in comparison, but I guess that has always been a part of its charm. It wasn’t long before we were wandering done Las Ramla, dodging street performers, hawkers, and wave upon wave of fellow tourists, before we headed off into some of the side streets to look for food. Fortunately, we stumbled into the back of the Boqueria market which fortunately was still in the process of closing up, and found a fabulous outdoor market stall cum restaurant called theRambelero, and sat down for some well earned Tapas. I’m not sure if it was the heat, our hunger, or the tiredness of travel, but once we started eating & drinking we just couldn’t stop, it was delicious, so delicious in fact that we found ourselves ordering a second round of Tapas and drinks, and stuffed ourselves completely. Even though it was comparatively early, most people were heading out to look for something to eat as we waddled back to our hotel, we still found time to head to the roof-top terrace for a couple of nightcaps. What a start to the week in Barcelona.

Over the next few days, we did quite a bit of sightseeing and touristy things that you just seem to find yourself doing when in Barcelona. We took ourselves on a little excursion around the hillside attractions of Montjuic, riding on the cable car up to wander around the castle, before stopping off on the way down again at Miramar for a sit in the shade, and then heading over to sit outside the MNAC art gallery and taking in the commanding view down across the city down into Plaça d'Espanya and beyond. We have also taken part in the traditional ritual for all visitors to Barcelona that is wandering the streets and looking up at the buildings designed by Gaudi, before finding a shady park area, of which there are not that many

in the heart of the city, to rest, eat an ice cream and do that other traditional pastime in Barcelona; people-watch, there is always something to see if you sit around long enough. We spent Sunday morning in the park and then along the seafront afternoon, taking the aerial tram from the port to Miramar, and having a well-earned drink overlooking the city once again.

Every day so far has been burning hot day, maybe too hot for this sort of meanderings, but you’ve got

to do it if you want to absorb this city and see it in all its glory. By mid-afternoon most days we were headed back to the air-conditioned luxury of our room for a little siesta, (you know, when in Rome....) Most evenings we have been tired and didn’t venture too far from the hotel to look for dinner, but the choice of places to eat close by is astounding. Fiona indulged me with dinner and few beers at the BrewDog bar which is not too far away, and we had a really nice Indian meal too. The thing that draws most of these days to a close is heading up to the rooftop bar at the hotel for a Cava & Sangria or two, just for a change.

2 Weeks in Moscow: From High to Low and Back Again

Moscow is a furnace. The distinctive European heat builds up across the plains from mild warmth first thing in the morning, through to a stifling humid blanket during the middle of the day, then strengthening blasts of hot wind kick-in during the afternoon until the thunderstorms of early evening, and even then there is little release from the humidity that stokes the embers of the dying day and makes the night sticky and uncomfortable. This has been constant for the past week or so, sucking the energy

from us and even despite our best efforts, has sent us scurrying back to the apartment for mid-afternoon naps, or into bars to wait out the storms, and whilst we have started to acclimatise to it, we are nowhere near being as used to it as the local Muscovites are. I had forgotten what a central European summer was like....

After the euphoria of the England win over Columbia we need to prepare ourselves for the upcoming Quarterfinals game with Sweden, and we decided to head to the Moscow Fan Fest to enjoy the experience. We got there in the sunshine and rode out the inevitable rain and bag ourselves a prime spot with a table close to

one of the giant screens with high hopes and fingers crossed.. We needn’t have worried, England cruised past the Swedes with ease and before we knew it we were celebrating England making it to a World Cup Semi-final for the first time in 28 years, more time that both Yates & I had been doing these World Cup trips, and to cap it off, we had tickets to the game.

At this point in the competition, we had a couple of days with no matches so we plotted out our sightseeing schedule to fill in the gaps. We spent an afternoon doing a self-guided tour of the Moscow underground which is quite rightly described as ‘the most beautiful underground in the World’, which is no idle boast with some of the stations and platforms are genuine works-of-art. We also had the chance to once again celebrate my birthday on this

trip as we invariably do every four years, this time clocking over to 57 years young and what better way to celebrate such an auspicious occasion than by visiting a Soviet Cold War era bunker situated 65m below the streets of Moscow. It was an impressive complex, with 18 flights of stairs to get down to 4 massive underground tunnels converted into a cold war command centre, 2 of which are still

accessible, 1 being a museum and a recreation of

how the bunker would be used, and the other into a bar & nightclub. Suffice to say, we spent a couple of hours in a bar before heading down to Bunker-42, and then a couple of hours drinking White Russians in the bar after the tour. Just to round of the day, there was a cake, with candles, waiting for me when we returned to the apartment and several vodka shots, most of which got snorted through my nose.... Don’t ask...

We were soon back into Football mode with the Quarterfinals kicking off, and our hardest decision was where we were going to watch them, lucky there are plenty of bars and restaurants within a few minutes of our Lomomovsky Prospect apartment. The day of the England semi-final was spent walking around Gorky Park, (a far cry from what is depicted in most films), eating at a fantastic Vietnamese restaurant and then a slow and leisurely walk along the Moscow River towards Sparrow Hills and the Luzhniki Stadium.  There was a good buzz around the area and we found a Russin place for the pre-match dinner where we shared the garden patio with fans from England, Croatia and a heap of others besides. 

We arrived early at the stadium, gathered some beers and marched up the 6 levels of stairs to our seats in the Gods. I was a lot calmer about this game than I had been the Columbia game, and this sense of calm soon turned into an air of expectancy when Tripper scored in the 5^th minute of the game, regardless of the little voice in my head say “they score too early”. We played well in the first half and had chances to

increase our lead, but as the half wore on, Croatia got a bigger foothold in the game. The Second half was terrible, England spent far too much time back-passing to the keeper and sitting back and inviting pressure upon themselves that it was kind of inevitable that the Croatian pressure would bear fruit and they drew in the 61^st minute. England clung on for the last half an hour and the game went to extra time, and I could tell that they had run out of imagination as the Croats got stronger and stronger. Then in the 2^nd half of Extra time came the 2^nd Croatian goal and from that point on it was all over for England, they just didn’t have the creativity or imagination needed to prise open the Croatian defense. Well Done Croatia, and hard luck England. Even though they lost we stayed to celebrate their hearty display and when all is said and done, England did far better than most people expected and I for one was proud of their effort.

The next day was a write-off, we were all so very tired and drained from both the exertion of the previous day, the emotional highs & lows of the football, and the stifling heat & humidity, I don’t think we left the apartment until 5pm to search out some food. Feeling exceedingly slovenly and repentant, we resolved to go and see something the following day, regardless of the heat or the effort. We ended

up visiting a park called VDNKh, or Vystavka Dostizheniy Narodnogo Khozyaystva to give it it’s full name, mainly because I wanted to ride on the Monorail that they there. Once that slightly underwhelming achievement was done we wandered into VDNKh took in the spectacular buildings and displays and retreated to a shady bar for a solid 2 hours of ‘people-watching’ and the occasional beer.

The following day was the 3^rd/4^th play-off game between England & Belgium, and even though I can’t remember ever having watched this dead-rubber of a game in all my time watching World Cup football, I decided as it was England’s last chance to salvage a 3^rd place medal I thought we should give it a watch.

Before the Kick-off, Yates was off to the Moscow State Circus which is alarmingly close to the apartment, while Fiona & I went to Victory Park, created to celebrate what the Russians call the’1941-1945 Great Patriotic War’. We met up in our local bar to watch the game and were not too disheartened by the lackluster result; at least we had a couple of beers to cheer us up. We decided to go to the same place to watch the final, all firmly supporting Croatia, and help to create a great atmosphere in the bar as we watched the closing ceremony and the kick-off. The game had a bit of everything in it, from a dodgy free kick, and VAR penalty, a howler from the French keeper,  (he plays for Tottenham you know...?), and

a couple of stunning goals from the French to seal the deal. Overall the French probably deserved it, and the Croatians finally ran out of energy, and apart from the massive thunderstorm during the presentations, that was it for another World Cup. In my mind, this had been the best World Cup ever, both from the perspective of the quality of the Football, but also for the excellent organisation and the first class venues, and the warmth and friendliness of the Russian people. Russia should be very proud of what they have done in the last month.

The last couple of days have been back into the hardcore sightseeing, trying to get to see all those things that you thought you had ages to get to, only to realise that there was only 3 days left to cram them all in, plus pack and get ready for the slow return to New Zealand for us, and back to Colorado for Yates.  Yesterday we rode the Metro back to Gorky park for another slap-up lunch at the Vietnamese restaurant we had found last week on our travels, and we also went to a ‘Banksy’ exhibition at Moscow’s central  art centre just along the river, which Fiona & I really

enjoyed, and I think Yates liked too. Today we braved the excessive heat and the crush of the Metro to go back to the centre of the city to visit the Kremlin and to walk in the spectacular grounds and visit the stunning buildings in Cathedral Square. Moscow has an awful lot to offer its visitors, and like St. Petersburg before it, Moscow has blown us away with its beauty, its heritage, and its friendly openness. So to paraphrase the words of the great philosopher, Ferris Bueller, “It is so choice. If you have the means, I highly recommend it”.

Blog Extra: England vs Columbia, 3rd July 2018

Blog Extra: England vs Colombia, 3rd July 2018

It was intense. The Spartak Stadium was filled with a sea of yellow-shirted Colombian fans and what seemed like only a few thousand England supporters in small pockets around the stadium. The noise of the Colombian passionate singing was okay but once the game kicked-off and the jeering  & whistling started, it was both deafening and intimidating and drowned out any noise the small number England fans could make. 

The game was a dirty one, the South Americans playing a style of football we don't see very often in the modern era. There were some crunching tackles, punches, pulling and pushing, but England kept their composure and pushed on. England scored first from a penalty putting us into rapture and the Colombians around us incensed and even louder in their booing and hissing, but as time ticked on toward the final whistle, the pressure started to build and England started to wilt a little. We reached 5 minutes of injury time and surely nothing was going to stop England clinging on to this important win this late in the game...  A last-minute corner for Colombia led to a desperate header hitting the ground right in front of where we were standing, and bouncing up and over the despairing keeper & defender and creeping into the goal. 

FFFFUUUUUCCCCCKKKKK.....!!!

By now I was thinking that this was only going to end one way, just like it had so many times before for England, we would play 30 minutes of extra time, and then get beaten on penalties, the most inglorious way of losing and being dispatched from a tournament. I watched the first 15 minutes of extra time with a deepening sense of dread, as the Colombians were all over of us, the England team looked all out of ideas and dead on their feet. The 2^nd half of extra time was a little better with England threatening to steal the game at the death, but each attempt, each half chance, each shot, each limp effort to get that ball into the back of their net just seem to either head off over the bar or trickle achingly just past the post. And then the final whistle blew full time and it was upon us, penalties. 

I have a history with watching England penalties shoot-outs, in the early days I would watch in hope as England let themselves down badly time & time again, so I started not watching them as it became increasingly more painful, so I don’t think I have actually watched an England penalty shoot-out for 20 years, and this time was going to be the same. As the Colombian players walked up to the spot, I would watch their efforts in hope that the England goalkeeper would make a brave save, but when it came to one of our players taking a penalty, I simply turned my back on the action, muttered, “come on England, score”, under my breath repeatedly and with increasing urgency in my voice, and watch the sea of Colombian fans behind me for their reaction. On the 3^rd penalty for England, I watched the exquisite joy and excitement in the eyes of the Colombian fans as England had one of the penalties saved and I thought for a final time, “Here we go again”....

The next penalty stunned the Colombian reaction into a surreal momentary silence as their player missed the goal and hit the bar, and I instantly recognised the look of fear and worry in their fans eyes, thinking that they surely couldn’t lose it from here, could they..? I still couldn’t watch the next England penalty, and with my back turned, I could again see increasing disappointment in the Colombian faces around me as England scored again. It was now 3 penalties each, with one more for each team to be taken and any mistakes from here on would spell disaster for either team. The 5th Colombian penalty taker stepped up, shot well towards the right-hand side of the goal but the English keeper reached out his hand and swatted the ball out of harm’s way. With one penalty left, if the England player could put

this away, England would win, could it be possible, would 30 years of disappointment be ended here and now for me in the stadium and all England fans across the globe, would a dream come true..? If it was going to happen I wasn’t going to see it, I couldn’t watch, I turned my back and growled to myself, “score, Score, SCORE”... The crowd erupted around me, and for an instant, I couldn't work out if we had scored or not, until I saw Fiona & Yates were jumping around wildly, whooping & cheering, England had done it, we had finally got that penalty monkey off our backs and we are heading to the quarterfinals. 

I was drained both physically & emotionally, but I had a smile-a- mile-wide and endlessly sang my heart out singing “Football's Coming Home”, I wanted to savour this historic moment for all it was worth. I  did not want to leave the ground, I wanted to hear the small group of England fans at the far end of the stadium singing, and even after the bulk of the defeated Colombian fans had left their seats, and Yates and his family had gone, I wanted to eke out a few final moments to enjoy the atmosphere. What a night....

I wish I had taken more photo's or even some video of the key moments of the game, but I was too wrapped up in the heat of the moment to think of doing anything as prescient. 

I have only just now watched the penalties on YouTube 2 days after the event, don't know what all the fuss was about... ;-)

One Week in Moscow: It’s Not What I Thought It Was.

One Week in Moscow: It’s Not What I Thought It Was.

We arrived in Moscow in a heat wave, the mercury pushing 35 degrees, the deceptively pale sunshine and sparse clouds trapping a ferocious heat, this is what greeted us as we arrived at the Moscow train terminus.  For 30 minutes or so my cell phone would not allow me to connect to Uber for some reason to book a car and with the heat and a thin trickle of sweat running down my back, caused my patience to reach its limit and we headed to the underground with all our bags and stuff. I had switched into mission mode and nothing was now going to stop me making to our recently booked apartment, not the heat, the language barrier, not the metro system, not my dodgy knee, not my......, at this point Fiona distracted me with some menial task and Yates wanted me to look up some FIFA stuff, and now I have lost my flow.... Suffice to say, it was a bit of an effort making it from the station to our apartment, and it was hot...

Our 6th Floor apartment was basic but functional with plenty of space for our small party of 5, soon to be 6, to spread out over its 7 rooms. I get the impression that the host has not rented the place out much and certainly not for up to 8 people, as there is not enough cutlery or plates for everyone, but we are a resourceful bunch and it really is not a problem. The great thing about our the place however is the great location once again, just 5

minutes from the 'Univeristet' Metro station and only 2 stops from the Luhzniki Stadium, a functioning lift, a regulation 24 hour mini-supermarket that seem to be built into the ground floor of every apartment complex, a large booze store next door, probably 10 eateries and even a 20-tap Craft Beer bar with a big screen TV within 10 minutes walking distance,..... SCORE..!! The downside to the apartment was that it did not have a TV, and was half-an-hour away from where Yates’s Moms crew were based, having booked somewhere to be close to where our original apartment was going to be, (I’m still sending out bad Karma vibes to a  certain Russian mongrel..!!).

Fiona & I were knackered after the long day of travel and left Yates, David & Emily to backtrack to their Mom’s place that first night, while we investigated what the local area had to offer. Just behind the Metro station we discovered a very American style Wings place called Buffalo’s stuffed to the gills with a Projector and big-screen TV’s and for me it was love-at-first-bite, so much so that we ate there for the first 4 nights in a row in Moscow, way to sample the local culture eh..? For the last of the Group Stage games it was just too convenient to be able to hit the Craft

Beer bar, called “Kraft Brothers” to watch the early game with a few pints, and then swap over to Buffalo’s for a table and good comfort food to watch the second game, followed by a short walk back to the apartment for some sleep. I can, however, attest to the fact that you can have too much of a good thing or at least my digestive system can but I am looking forward to going there again at least once more to enjoy their excellent food.

We had a day of sightseeing in and around Red Square in 36-degree heat which was as much an endurance test as it was fun, and if Yates’s Mom can do it with a smile on her face and spring in her step whilst in her mid-seventies then there is no reason I shouldn’t.  But bloody hell it was hot through, but even an hour or so in a queue to get into St.Basil’s Cathedral and eating lunch in the hottest cafe this side of Hades, was not enough to spoil what was still a great day out. Red Square looked smaller to

what I imagined and in comparison to what I have seen on TV, it looks nowhere near as imposing without the missile launchers and the platoons of goose-stepping soldiers.  I guess being ringed by high-end fashion stores and up-market restaurants & hotels, having a FIFA fan zone covering half of it with kids playing games and having a great time, and thousands of other tourists milling around made it seem less intimidating. The buildings around the centre of the city looked either very beautiful in a classical European architectural style or super modern and slick, Moscow was certainly not turning living up to its cold war billing.

We took in the first of our 3 World Cup matches in Moscow with a trip to the Luhzniki Stadium to watch our Russian Hosts play Spain in a ‘Round of 16’ match, and what a game that turned out to be. The very un-fancied Russians would surely be handed a footballing masterclass from the 2010 World Cup winners, but someone wasn’t reading the script, and through some stout defense on the part of the Russians and some lackluster play on the part of the Spanish, we found ourselves going into extra time and eventually at penalties. The Russian goalkeeper performed some personal heroics and before we knew it the Spanish were vanquished and the stadium erupted as the home crowd celebrated an unbelievable win. Well done Russia. 

Our second match in Moscow was our opportunity to watch England play Colombia at the Spartak Stadium, on the outskirts of the North Western part of the city. Fiona & I broke away from the rest of our group and headed out on our own for an afternoon walking through the Sevemoy Tushino park alongside the Moscow canal a few stops further out the where the match was being played. We had a lovely walk by the water and even had a tour of a Russian Submarine at a small museum in the park, then heading to a restaurant to have dinner before heading towards the Stadium

for the 9pm kick-off.  The rest of the game will be remembered as the time England finally won a World Cup game on penalties and was a deeply emotional night for me and probably millions of other England fans that have had to endure the humiliation of losing on penalties for the past 20-30 years. Suffice to say that this was one of the greatest World Cup moments for me, and maybe I’ll write a separate post to cover it.

The next day was lost to the seas of time. Not having gotten back to the apartment until 2am, and still been buzzing with the excitement of the game, I probably didn’t get to sleep until 4am, and therefore Fiona & I slept in late, and even when we did get up to search out some food, most of us just went back to napping for the rest of the day. With no football for 2 days, catching up on our sleep and rest seemed like a good idea. Yates was off to the airport for the umpteenth time to make sure his Mom, Shelly & Dick got away safely on their flight back to the USA. We had said our goodbyes to them at the end of the game last night, and it was awesome having them spend some time with us in our mad, loud, crazy, frantic, tiring but ultimately unique, World Cup experience, something that both they and us will never forget.

Yesterday, however, feeling rejuvenated and still on-top-of-the-world, we decided to get a hard day's worth of sight-seeing done in the absence of any games to see. David & Tony had left by now, and it was just myself, Fiona, Yates, and Emily left and we decided as it looked like being a nice enough day to take in a boat cruise along the Moscow river. It was stunning, and I

am becoming a great believer that taking a slow trip down a long river is one of the best ways to see parts of a city, assuming it has a river of course. We managed to catch a few sights we had not seen before from the luxury of the top deck of a cruise boat, no walking, no metro’s, no crowds just us and a few others tourists letting the

sights float by. After lunch we went to the Federation Tower, a very modern skyscraper in the heart of the new Moscow business district, to visit the ‘Panorama 360’ observation deck to see what the city looked like from the 89th floor. I can report that Moscow looks as surprising from above as it does from street level, with wide swathes of green space and long wooded areas spreading out in all directions from the city centre, making it one of the prettiest cities I have seen for a long time. We stayed up in the rarified atmosphere for an hour or so, enjoying both the view and free ice cream before heading back to the apartment for the now ritualised pre-dinner

napping. As it was Emily’s last night with us we let her choose what she wanted to eat and we ended up in a very nice high-end Italian restaurant about 15 minutes away. Whilst the service was erratic, the food was great and we all ultimately left feeling full and happy for our short walk home.

Moscow has been surprising for me, much like the rest of Russia that we have seen. It is as cultured and as beautiful a city as any of the European capitals, and as vibrant and modern as the USA or anywhere else I

could think of, maybe even more so. It appears that the world has become a very small place in the past 20 years and the homogeneous

shopping centres and the global retail and food chains have invaded, winning the consumerist war in every place it touches. That has allowed Moscow to move away from its austere Soviet past to become just another cosmopolitan world city, which is, on one hand, good, and on the other, not so good. Anyway, I’m off to get some chicken wings and watch some more football...