Although I enjoyed
the jaunt, for me it wasn't as good a trip as Palermo. Possibly it was the
weather (not that cold, but a lot cooler than Sicily had been), but I think it's
just that Palermo was a much more interesting place. And of course there wasn't
any sea to plodge in in Frankfurt.
Anyway, here's an account of my trip.
Unlike most of the
Yorkshire Mags who'd flown out from Manchester ridiculously early on the
Wednesday morning, my flight was a very civilised 11.50. I was surprised that
there were only about a dozen other Toon fans on the plane (including some of
our Paul's group), but then again it was only a fifty four seater. I'd arranged
to meet up with Paul K at Frankfurt airport. He was flying out via Zurich and
was due to land an hour before me; I'd said I'd pick him up from the bar in
Terminal 1. However, while I was on the shuttle train from Terminal 2 to
Terminal 1 I received a text from Paul saying that he'd missed his connection
and would be about an hour behind me. So it looked like he'd have to pick me up
from the bar instead. But then I got to Terminal 1 and found it was absolutely
f***ing massive. There was bound to be a load of bars and I could see it being
unlikely we'd manage to end up at the same one. So instead I headed for the
airport station, which was much smaller than the terminal; and not far inside
the entrance was an inviting bar. I got a pint in wondering how long I would
have to wait for Paul, but within minutes I got another text from him saying he
landed. I replied with instructions to head for the station, where he'd find me
in the bar with the big green sign above the door. I can't be bothered to
describe the fun and games we had over the next half an hour, but I think I can
safely say that Paul didn't find the bar as easily as I thought he would. In
fact, he never found it at all (despite walking past it at one point!). And I
hate to think what my phone bill will be (more of that later).
Getting to the hotel
was easy enough - the train from the airport dropped us off about 300 yards from
the door. When we checked in the bloke on reception said "Oh yes, you got the
very cheap rate so you must pay now". Not a problem mate! He then said something
about it being their mistake. I didn't quite take in what he said, but to be
honest I didn't care. I just knew that it was an absolute bargain - 50 euros a
night for a twin en-suite including breakfast. That's half what the other
Yorkshire Mags were paying.
By now time was getting on (about half 4), so we just
dumped the bags and set out in search of drink.
There was an Irish bar that gets good reviews just around the corner, so I
though we'd at least check out where it was. When we got there and Paul saw the
menu his tongue was literally hanging out (he was desperately in need of food),
so we decided we may as well go in. Naturally there were a few Toon fans in
already even though it was well out of the way. And naturally there was an
Aussie barman (wearing a blue star tee shirt!).
A couple of pints
later we headed off to the other side of the river to Sachsenhausen, which I'd
read was a good drinking area. Well I knew there were a few bars there, but I
couldn't believe how many! There must have been best part of a hundred in a tiny
area. We got settled into a canny little place. To begin with we were the only
people in (virtually all the bars only open at 5, so it was still early), but
before long loads more Toon fans piled in. We got in touch with the other
Yorkshire Mags and they said they were on their way from the hotel to
Sachsenhausen, so I told them where the bar was. Half an hour later there was no
sign of them. Texts and phone calls ensued, but we were no closer to meeting up.
More texts and phone calls. Eventually Aaaarrrrooonna said he'd meet us at the
end of one of the bridges (the one starting with 'I') and take us to the bar the
rest of the lads were in. So off we trooped. We gets to the end of the bridge
and guess what? No Aaaarrrrrooonnaa. Another phone call. "Where the hell are
you?" "I'm at the end of the bridge." "You can't be, we're at the end of the
bridge and we can't see you". "I am. Can you see a big red sign?" No big red
sign anywhere. This went on for best part 10 minutes and I was beginning to lose
it. I thought "F**k it, I'm gannin back to that bar", but then Aaaarrrrooonna
says "Hold on, I'm on WK Strasse". I gets my map out and finds Walter Korb
Strasse. He was at the end of the wrong #*&@%#@ bridge! "Don't move, stay
exactly where you are and we'll come and find you". So me and Paul jogged along
the river and sure enough there was Aaaarrrrooonna at the end of the next
bridge. He then took us to the Sports Bar (lots of big screens showing the
Bolton-Chelsea game amongst other things, lots of chrome fixtures, you know the
sort of place). Lots of beer was consumed, and then people started drifting off.
Paul B and the Toon-based lads had set off to the airport just after midnight
and were knackered, so it was understandable that they were tiring. Next to go
were Aaaarrrrooonna and Paul Mck (too many Pauls!) who went off to get something
to eat. Paul K went at the same time; he was also flagging due to an early start
and a few beers in Zurich airport.
Brendan and me were
the last to leave. I'm not sure what time it was - we tried to work it out next
day but failed miserably. So I don't know how long it was after Paul K had set
off back to our hotel. But however long it was, I couldn't believe it when I got
back to the hotel and found he wasn't there. I'd thought he had a good idea of
where the hotel was relative to the bar, and it was only a 10 minute walk, so I
didn't think he'd have problem getting back. I sent him a text saying "Were are
you? Should I send out a search party?", and went to bed and fell straight
asleep. Paul did make it back eventually. He didn't have a clue where he ended
up (possibly not far from the hotel, more likely the opposite direction
completely), but he'd eventually called in a bar for a drink and then caught a
taxi. What he would have done if he hadn't know the name of the hotel as
anyone's guess!
Next morning we set off for a look round Frankfurt, to
kill some time as much as anything. There isn't a lot to see as it happens. We
wandered through the Christmas Market once or twice (it was virtually impossible
not to) and also took in the red light area by the station. I'd put a quote from
a travel guide site on the Frankfurt travel page warning "Doormen will
practically pull you inside to view porno movies, sex shows, sex shops, and
discos teeming with prostitutes." I didn't expect it to happen at 11 o'clock
in the morning though! Yet that's what happened to Paul and me. This woman
grabbed hold of my arm and tried to drag me into one of the many dodgy
establishments. "Just look, just look" she kept saying. I eventually managed to
break free, but then she got hold of Paul and started on him. It took him a lot
longer to get away. I'm still not sure whether that's because she held on harder
or because he resisted less!
It was about half 12 when we arrived back at the hotel
to sort ourselves out for the game and pre-match beers. We hadn't made any plans
with the rest of the rest of the lads, but we thought we may as well head to
Sachsenhausen for starters. We got there to find the place pretty dead (only 4
bars open out of a hundred, so not surprising really). We settled into one that
was open. After half an hour I sent a text to the lads saying where we we were.
Virtually before I sent it they walked in the door - they'd been heading for the
same bar themselves. A couple more beers, not to mention complimentary schnapps,
later and people were getting in the mood. There was then a bizarre interlude
revolving round four Stone Island / Burberry lads. I can't be bothered to tell
the story in full - you'll have to ask someone who was there. But they came into
the bar we were in, they were loud and very funny and totally dominated the
place for half an hour. But you could tell they were a walking time-bomb, and so
it turned out. Shortly after they left they were apparently chased thought the
Sports Bar by a group of Turks. Then one of them turned up on his own later on
in the Sports Bar with a big lump and cut on his head. What happened to the rest
of them I've no idea.
We
moved on to the Sports Bar ourselves. Lots of familiar faces came in at various
points, including Pigeon on a flying visit from Barcelona. Some of us moved off
after a while to a quieter and more traditional place a couple of hundred yards
away. We had good crack in there with some locals, including a bloke who
suspiciously insisted on buying AAArrrroooonnnaa a drink. As usually happens on
these trips, time started accelerating and before we knew it it was time to get
the train to the ground. A local copper had earlier recommended that we set off
around 6. We'd stood there nodding our heads even though we had no intention of
going anything like so early. It was probably around half 7 when we set off,
although my memory's starting to get hazy here. We had to leave in reasonable
time though because we knew it was a hike from the station at the other end. And
it was! Still, I was in the ground well before kick-off. My ticket was for the
lower tier. I fancied being upstairs though, and managed to sneak into the upper
tier. Once in there I was surprised to find that there was minimal segregation
between our fans and theirs. Downstairs there was a fence, a no-go area and a
row of stewards/police, but upstairs there was just a few rows of empty seats.
That was quite handy for me because I'd been wanting to swap my free scarf from
the Portsmouth game for one of theirs, and I was able to negotiate a swap within
seconds. As time went on the two sets of fans became intermingled which was a
very strange experience in this era. Even more surprising was when I went to the
toilet at half time and found that we were sharing the same 'facilities'. Still
everyone seemed quite ok about it. Sad to say though there was a very minor
skirmish down at the front of the section during the second half. I expected it
to really escalate, but fortunately it didn't. In fact, once it was sorted out
the police and stewards disappeared again.
A bonus and a big surprise at the end of the game was
that we were let straight out (very unusual in Europe). I made my way
back to the station wondering how long I would have to wait for a train
considering how many people seemed to be ahead of me. About 5 minutes was the
answer! Once back in the city I decided that I wasn't in any real shape to go
back on the beer again - I'd had a couple more than was sensible before the
game, plus I had a relatively early flight to catch. So I made do with a pint in
the local Irish bar, then turned in. Once again there was no sign of Paul when I
got back to the hotel, but it was still pretty early so I wasn't surprised. I
heard him coming into the room a couple of hours later. "Where did you get to
then?" "I ended up at the zoo"! Next morning I got the full story from him. When
he left the ground he 'followed the crowd'. That particular crowd were going the
opposite direction to the station though. Eventually he asked someone where the
station and was told that he was miles away, but that he could get a tram from
not far away form where he was. That took him back to the centre, and from there
he wandered back to the hotel following our route from much earlier in the day,
calling in for a few pints along the way. But then he overshot the hotel!
Probably not by much though, because the zoo is only a few hundred yards away.
Paul's flight was a few hours after mine, so I left
him having breakfast (managing to lock him out the room in the process!) and set
off to the airport. I needn't have hurried - the flight was an hour late. Fog
was given as the explanation. Funny how ours was the only flight affected!
Still, there was a couple of Toon fans that weren't complaining - they slept in
and would have missed it if it had left on time.
Photos