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Back in December 2007, safe in the knowledge that Scotland were
left without a finals tournament yet again in 2008, and told by
Helen's mate Lisa that she had a week to play with in mid-June,
we took the plunge and booked a week's non-football holiday to see
the sights and drink the beer in Prague.
Fast-forward three months to the end of March, and the SFA in their
wisdom choose the Easter weekend (when many of us are staying elsewhere,
far far away from the internet...) right before the Croatia home
game to announce an end of season game away to the Czechs! Still,
there are worse places to have to keep going back to, so we booked
up for another week (well, Monday-Saturday).
With hotel loyalty points to burn, and our June stay booked in
more modest lodgings, we plumped for 3 nights in the Crowne Plaza
just behind the castle (in an old Strahov monastery building), with
the last two down in the thick of it at the palatial Marriott on
the edge of the Old Town.
After a minor delay at T5 (which only meant more wine!), the flight
flew by and Helen and I were soon ensconced in the hotel, surrounded
by the Czech national side who were also staying there. Having Jan
Koller wish us “Dobry Vecher” in his shorts and flip
flops was a bit surreal! We'd arranged to meet Rich, who'd arrived
earlier that day, in a wee bar called U Klicu at the foot of the
hill in Mala Strana, but still found time to stop for a cheeky one
at the famous U Cerneho Vola opposite the Loretta pilgrimage church.
Then it was down the steps and along to the rendezvous, where Rich
was halfway through his first Budvar. He'd spent the day wisely,
trekking out to Eden to pick up match tickets for the Czech v Lithuania
game the next night then taking in Dukla Prague (not the original
version!) host Fotbal Fulnek in the Czech 2nd Division. After a
leisurely evening, we left at kicking out time (not that it takes
much to kick out 5 people!) and headed over the road to U Maleho
Glena where we drank with host of drunk nubile Americans and a very
friendly French guy, before Helen and I retired for the night to
work out the night tram timetable (rather than struggle up the massive
hill) and Rich girded his loins for a night (and a bit of the morning)
on the tiles.
Rich's late night caught up with him and he missed the original
rendezvous, but soon caught up with us and the arriving Wullie Anderson,
who we'd also procured a Lithuania match brief for. After lunch
in the very posh Olympia, a “tank” pub just over from
the National Theatre, and a couple in the wee Radegast place over
the river, we headed out by tram to the pub next to Bohemians ground.
This place has definitely poshed up since we last darkened its door,
however the beer was cold and cheap (as were the crisps that Wullie
was wolfing down for sustenance, having eschewed “real food”
earlier on. A swift walk to the ground followed, pausing only for
a soggy pizza slice, leaving just enough time for a cheeky beer
in the cafe by the ground, with us taking our seats in the impressive
rebuilt Eden Stadium. The Czechs eventually ran out 2-0 winners
against a challenging Lithuania side with enough guile (and not
quite enough composure at the last) to give Cech a headache in the
home goal. The other Scots in the stadium (believed to be NOSTA
– we saw John Ward in the back of a cab as we were climbing
fences off the main road) seemed to disappear well before the end
of the game, wisely perhaps given how stowed the bus and tram stops
were, so we made our way back down towards Bohemians. Having passed
half-dozen or so bars in varying states of closure, we eventually
found a Herna (aka “Puggy”) bar – you do have
to be wary in these places, so when the waiter swiped the price
list after we ordered, we made sure we paid on the spot to avoid
being ripped off. After a comical discussion with a drunk elderly
local English teacher and a conversation in German with a Czech
in an England shirt, we made our way out to catch a tram with a
load of Bosnians (it was that kind of night). Wullie was dropping
on his feet after a lengthy journey (not to mention an even earlier
start to watch ice hockey's Stanley Cup on the telly), so with the
exception of clubber extraordinaire Rich, the rest of us made our
excuses and retired for the evening.
Wednesday saw Helen and I potter around up by the castle for a
while, taking in the Loretta Church and the Strahov Monastery (specifically,
the spectacularly expensive brewpub inside) before heading out by
tram to an area called Brevnov. Rich joined us in the pub at Brevnov
Monastery tram stop (U Klasterna) for some soup and a beer, then
we made an abortive attempt to find the pub in the monastery itself
which turned out to be closed for refurbishment. Ally and Susan
were in town by now, but declined to trek out to Brevnov as “it's
halfway back to the airport and we've just come from there!”,
so we agreed to meet in Holesovice later on. With the failure to
find the monastery pub open, the tram ride back into civilisation
seemed a little dry (and a little lacking in facilities), so a couple
of stops back into town saw us make a pit-stop at Peter's pivnice
for some 19Kc Staropramen and a look at the FC Dragoun Brevnov photos
on the bamboo wall.
Back in 1999 for the 3-2 qualifier defeat against the Czechs, Helen
and I rented an apartment in the Holesovice area along with Rich
and Welsh Steve – as a result, we've always had a soft spot
for the area ever since. And now, despite a list of decent pubs
to try in Holesovice courtesy of the Good Beer Guide, we only make
it as far as Na Melniku, a tank pub just up the hill from the main
drag. It turns out that this is a place Helen and I have been to
before (during our legendary 5-day pub crawl in 2003), and we settle
down in the back room for some beer and goulash and the rendezvous
with Ally and Sue. The England v USA friendly was being shown on
the telly, and the beer was exceptional, so we stayed put for the
rest of the evening whilst Rich broke out his masterplan and plotted
a route to that evening's nightclubs for once the rest of us had
turned in.
We'd agreed to meet up for lunch in the famous Pivovarsky Dum the
next day before heading out to the suburbs again, however in the
meantime Helen and I had to move digs from the fantastic Crowne
Plaza by the castle to the flagship Marriott in the Old Town. The
Marriott was a freebie courtesy of some loyalty points left over
from paying for the Georgia hotel, however we instantly regretted
moving due to the snobby attitude of the staff (nobody wanted to
check us in at first – they obviously thought our kilts were
lowering the tone!) and of the other residents (who were mostly
conference attendees, i.e. staying there on work expenses and not
paying their own way either). Nonetheless, we were eventually checked
in and on our way to the brewpub, surprised to see Rich had actually
beaten us there!
After some filling food and a tasting pallet of the 8 beers, we
headed up to IP Pavlova and onto Tram 11 out to Sporilov (after
a close shave where a local had to point us in the right direction!).
At the end of the tram line, in what looks like an old ticket office/service
building, is an unusual pub called Prvni Pivni Tramway (“First
Beer Tramway”), half of which is done up to look like the
interior of an old tramcar. Ally and Susan were impressed with the
heavy metal music and Jethro Tull tribute band posters, although
Rich was less enamoured, and I was happy with the beer (Primator
Weizenbier, in case you're interested), however after a couple of
drinks (and a good look at the décor of the Gents toilet,
with sketches of ladies' pubic styles complete with names) it was
time to head halfway back into town as far as Horka tram stop. As
we trekked up a massive hill, Ally's detailed street map came in
very handy and reassured us that it wasn't a wild goose chase, and
a short while later we found our way to U Klockonicka, a locals'
beer hall in the residential streets of Nusle. This place not only
provided us with the cheapest beer of the trip (10 degree Kacov
beer was 15Kc, or 17Kc for the 12 degree version – just be
warned, if you're ordering the kvasnicove (yeast beer) version,
be prepared to wait a wee while!), but also some excellent fried
cheese and chips. The next pub on the crawl, Na Paloucka, was a
15 minute walk around the corner, and turned out to be a wee bit
of a disappointment, although certainly busy enough. What we didn't
know at the time (but do now after our June visit) is that a brand
new brewpub called Basta had just set up shop one tram stop down
the hill!
By now we were getting texts from Bruce, who had arrived Thursday
afternoon avec famille. We opted to head back into the centre of
town, and plumped for U Medvidku (the Budvar/brewpub opposite the
big Tesco). Several texts later (stopped for food, gone tourist
sightseeing in the dark, don't wait for us etc), Bruce and his gang
were eventually lured to the pub shortly after Rich had headed home
for a clean shirt and some aftershave before he hit the tiles. The
central location of the pub made for a sociable evening, with Andy
Pollard and Gus passing through (they were staying upstairs), and
the long lost Hit Man of the NATA Inverness Branch, Brian, even
made an appearance sporting a Rolling Stones tattoo that would have
impressed the absent Rich. I confirmed Bruce's table reservation
in Pivovarsky Dum for the next day – he'd promised his parents
the nettle beer experience, but the rest of us had agreed to stay
closer to the ground – and we called it a night just after
midnight.
Back in Holesovice the next morning, Helen and I opted for pizza
before heading up the hill to meet Ally and Susan, who had set up
shop at a pavement cafe near the ground. After meeting up, we picked
an inviting sounding place from the Good Beer Guide called “Bastard”
right around the corner, texted everyone we were due to meet up
with, then headed off only to find it had changed into a cocktail
bar that didn't open until 4pm! Back to the drawing board, and a
small place in the book described as selling Klaster beer (which
Helen and I had tried out in Brevnov a couple of days previously)
jumped out at us – what a find! Knocking out Klaster 12-degree
beer at a very reasonable 18.5Kc, and not 10 minutes walk from Sparta's
ground, the back section of the pub was shady, painted green and
boasted windows that look like they're made from recycled beer bottles.
All of this, and the cutest wee barmaid in Prague to boot! Helen
and I had to duck out to pick up match tickets, so we left Ally
and Susan guarding the table and our beer ticket and headed out
into the 3pm sun. After passing Rich en route, and giving him directions
to the pub, we picked up our briefs from Alison and bumped into
Wolfie (from Vienna) at the box office, taking him along with us
back to the pub. Kenny, Ray and son made a brief appearance, still
swigging from the carry out that had sustained them up the hill,
and they took Ally and Susan to the Svijany pub a few doors along
for some food, just as Bruce, Sharon, Betty and Bob joined the fray
(followed shortly by Kev, Craig, Paul and Jamie Baker). By this
point, we were also in conversation with an elderly shirtless Irishman
and his Czech friend, and they were lending their own opinion to
the book's recommendations.
Come 5pm, it was time to pay up and head around to the ground for
the game, due to kick-off 30 minutes later. No queues to get in,
but the upstairs section was already filling up, so Helen spotted
enough seats across by the fence behind the goal for us all to sit
together, although Ally and Sue ended up getting waylaid and stayed
further down the front. The game itself never really ignited, with
the high temperatures causing problems for both teams, with the
Scottish contingent tired after a long season, and the Czechs all
keen to avoid over-exerting themselves ahead of the Euro 2008 opener
8 days later. Bruce and his father disappeared after around 30 minutes
to do a beer run and didn't resurface until 15 minutes into the
second half, around the same time the Czechs took a deserved lead
through ex-Rangers legend Libor Sionko. Three goals in the last
ten minutes, including a cracking turn and shot from substitute
debutant David Clarkson, meant the 3-1 scoreline flattered the game,
but there was no complaints about the Czechs deserving to win, and
the Scotland team seemed genuinely grateful for the support at the
final whistle.
After the customary delay in exiting the ground, during which I
unwisely decided to spend 40Kc on a “gristle dog” (the
best value sausage I've ever had – I was still tasting it
4 hours later! And so was everyone else sitting near me!), we headed
back towards the Svijany pub. The place was full, mostly with Czech
fans (so that's what the 30 minute delay was for – to allow
the locals to fill all the best pubs!), so it was back to the Klasterni
Pivnice. By chance, two tables had just been freed up, so everyone
else grabbed the big table, and Ally, Rich and myself took the “Dominoes
Table” and (allegedly) spent the next hour looking like grumpy
old men (we were actually discussing the merits of the barmaid,
whether she'd fit in my hand luggage, and whether Helen would let
me take her home – to serve us beer in our living room, nothing
adulterous!). Bruce and his dad were treated to a free whisky by
a friendly local, possibly the bar owner, and then everyone bar
Helen, Rich and me headed around the corner (along with Kev, Craig
and co) to Na Melniku for food and more beer, whilst we finished
up and paid our bill, ending up with more free whisky (and beer
for me).
Na Melniku was even busier than two days ago, and after more beer
and a bite to eat, we headed towards Wensclesas Square with Ally
and Susan (Bruce and family were turning in for the night and Rich
was heading for a club) and against our better judgement, and everyone
else's recommendations, we decided to try The Shamrock, which was
hosting a Scottish party arranged by Scotty, an ex pat living and
working in Prague. It's fair to say it wasn't really to my taste,
particularly the 70Kc Krusovice battery acid, so Helen and I headed
back after just the one, pausing only to say hello to the Prestwick
Tartan Army in the street outside.
Saturday involved a long lie, a late checkout (oh, how the Marriott
begrudged giving us that!) and a tube out to Dejvicka metro. Before
catching the airport bus (which we managed to tie in with Bruce,
Sharon, Betty and Bob), we grabbed a beer and some food in the surprisingly
trendy Pod Loubim bar just up the road.
So, all in all, a different week from previous Prague experiences,
with a lot more venturing out to the suburbs and off the beaten
track, but a lot of fun, and it's definitely re-ignited my love
of Prague. As I write this, we've already been back for the follow-up
week in June, and now it's simply a question of WHEN and not IF
we will return...
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So, after over ten months of waiting for a meaningful match, since
the final whistle blew on the Italy game and our hopes of an Alpine
summer, it was off to Macedonia to begin the road to South Africa.
Despite the lack of direct flight options, Skopje proved to be relatively
accessible, with many fans flying to neighbouring countries (Sofia
in Bulgaria, Thessalonki in Greece, Belgrade in Serbia and even
some intrepid travelers via Pristina in Kosovo) and catching buses
or trains. Helen and I had opted for a route with BA and Malev via
Budapest, as we needed the points to keep our frequent flyer status
ticking over.
Accommodation was a different matter, as Skopje was desperately
short of hotel rooms, particularly at the comfortable end of the
scale. Nonetheless, a more-expensive-than-we’d-have-liked
booking was whacked through for the riverside Holiday Inn and it
was job done (despite a late scare when they threatened to cancel
the booking the week before arrival due to an expired credit card!).
After a meager 90 minutes sleep it was up in the middle of the
night for the 45 minute drive to Heathrow’s Terminal 5. There
were no other visible Scots on the LHR-BUD leg, but once we’d
emerged from the lounge at Budapest’s Ferihegy Airport we
saw a few familiar faces, including that guy from the Pimms adverts,
in the bar next to our boarding gate.
Skopje Airport was a bit of a culture shock, where we could walk
from the luggage reclaim straight out into the open air to be mauled
by the taxi touts. We’d pre-booked a car via the hotel (as
a way of making sure they couldn’t deny all knowledge of us
once we arrived at the reception!), and he was waiting for us card
in hand, so after a brief stop at an ATM to get some local zobs
it was off into town. Over the next couple of days we heard some
real horror stories of baying mobs of taxi Mafiosi setting about
minibus drivers and such like, so all in all it sounds we got off
lucky (even if the hotel’s fixed charge of €25 was a
little steep).
Despite our more-expensive-than-we’d-have-liked room booking
being for a “balcony river view”, the hotel tried to
palm us off with a poky standard room – a quick trip back
down to reception ended up with us being assigned a suite with not
one but two balconies and a disturbingly close-up view of the Irish
pub! Brilliantly, in addition to being the team’s base, the
hotel was also hosting a European Statisticians Conference –
what were the odds on that? (Thanks to Mick Carr for that one!).
We met up with Rich over an early evening beer in the hotel bar
– he’d arrived the previous night following an eventful
train journey from Thessaloniki – before promenading along
the riverside towards some scran in the Pivnica Dab restaurant the
other side of Macedonia Square. We had a couple of beers in the
Soul Pub (when we eventually found the door!) and then turned in
for an early night (90 minutes sleep the night before…) whilst
Rich dusted down his list of banging nightspots and headed off to
paint the town tartan.
After almost eleven hours sleep, we were up nice and early and
decided to do a spot of exploring off the beaten track, despite
the oppressive heat (mid 30 degrees Celsius by mid-morning). To
facilitate this, I managed to track down a bus ticket kiosk and
get hold of some tickets. We’d ummed and ahhed over which
direction to head in, as there were a couple of stadia marked on
our map, but we instead plumped for the Skopsko brewery out in Avtokomanda
in the hope there may be a brewery tap out there.
After an abortive attempt to catch a bus in the entirely wrong
direction, we located the correct stop (right opposite our hotel
– Doh!) and bravely took a step into the unknown (all the
travel guidance had steered tourists away from the buses as they’re
allegedly too confusing – they hadn’t been banking on
my Cyrillic skills!). Halfway to the airport, Avtokomanda is a big
scheme on one side of the dual carriageway, and an industrial area
on the other (home to the brewery, a Coca Cola plant and other random
factory looking buildings). Off we headed, past a car pound and
the main road in front of the brewery, past a wee bar (Bufet Trpeza)
and a cosy looking restaurant surrounded by an incongruous hedgerow
(Doypran) and onwards under a railway bridge into what can only
be described as a lane in the middle of rolling countryside. Our
saunter around the brewery perimeter took the best part of an hour,
with a kiosk on the country lane next to an old car spares shop
offering the only prospect of a beer (unfortunately, the crates
at the wooden box table were already taken by a couple of ubiquitous
toothless old men), and the main road past the front of the brewery
was no better.
As our walk had proved fruitless (other than for exercise and sunburn
purposed), we headed back around to Bufet Trpeza and took up a seat
in the shaded back garden. By now, Rich had risen from his pit and
had texted to ask us where we were. Directions were duly provided,
with an instruction to head towards the big hotel and then walk
the 20 minutes from there. A beer or so later, a follow-up text
from Rich arrived – he’d followed our directions to
the corner of the main road (around 5 minutes from where we were),
but having looked down the dusty track we’d directed him down,
he refused to believe there was a bar there. Thankfully he was soon
persuaded otherwise and was soon at the table.
In the quest for food, we decided to give Doypran a few yards down
the road a go – an inspired choice! Top notch Macedonian beer
and cuisine was to follow, along with shots courtesy of a neighbouring
table and free desserts from the waiters in exchange for a NATA
pennant. Bruce & Sharon also joined us here after the meal,
sensibly opting to arrive at the door by taxi, before we headed
back for Trpeza for a quick one before heading back into town. Bruce
took some persuading that the bus offered the best route, but given
we were now too many for a taxi, and that the bus cost buttons,
he was soon placated.
Once back in town, we stumbled across an outdoor bar with a spare
table – this turned out to be some kind of Macedonian Hen
Night out the back of the Hotel Jadran, but Bruce and Sharon were
able to get some food and all was well, including a spot of impromptu
dancing and a conversation with several other Scots who’d
wandered into the orbit of the party, including Steve from Oxford.
At some point later on, Ally and Susan then Helen and I went to
our respective hotels and Rich took Bruce and Sharon on to another
bar before heading out to do his club thang.
Friday was a very early start for the two of us, as we had booked
onto the bus tour organized by the venerable Reeky Sporran, taking
in Matka Lake and a meal. The bus resembled the aftermath of a zombie
film, but somehow almost all of those booked made it for the 9am
start. En route, Alexander (one of the guides, named after the great
Macedonian hero) offered us a choice of a stroll up to the lake
or a more energetic 45-minute walk uphill for a great view of the
lake from above – he assured us that this wasn’t beyond
any of us (despite the 40-degree heat and the raging dehydration
of the hungover majority), so off we set up the hill. Whilst we
were still on the floor of the valley, we had to negotiate a canoe
course via a bridge and a ridiculously narrow concrete ridge.
After a good half-an-hour of uphill slogging, I was bitterly regretting
my decision to stick with my kilt, but at least my feet were coping
relatively well. My grey Tartan Skopje t-shirt, on the other hand,
was betraying just how much fluid I was losing! With most of the
party near collapse, but thankfully near what looked like the top
of a hill, we asked Alexander how far we had come – “oh,
about halfway” was completely serious response! Thankfully,
most of the climbing had been done, although as we rounded one summit
we were now exposed to the sun beating down on us. After another
30 minutes or so, we made it to the monastery only to find it closed
(the sole monk who runs it had popped into town!), so after a wee
rest and the use of the “scenic” toilets (i.e. no door
and looking right across the gorge), we headed what felt like straight
down on a gravel path to the lakeside. After a ring of a bell, boats
were sent across from the Matka restaurant, and once we were all
across, a quick beer stop followed before catching boats down the
lake to the cave. The cave provided some welcome respite from the
heat, but it was a wee bit cramped for the 30 or so of us who’d
squeezed in, and then it was back to the restaurant for a slap-up
Macedonian meal.
After a good couple of hours of eating and drinking, and some Macedonian
bagpiping, it was time to head back down towards the bus (taking
the low road, thankfully) and back into town, accompanied by the
aroma of Tom’s rather ripe wind.
After a quick shower it was out to catch up with the rest of the
NATA contingent, who were drinking over the river in the old Bazaar
area. What should have been a 10 minute walk ended up taking an
hour due to meeting everyone drinking along the riverside, however
the rest of them had managed to find a nice wee air conditioned
pub called Graffiti to take a couple of beers and catch up on what
had been occurring, specifically Café Versace that we’d
missed out on by being tardy. James and Lynne headed back to their
nearby hotel and the rest of us eventually struck out for food,
ending up eating outside a Mexican restaurant called Amigos on the
main drag Marsal Tito.
My big plan for matchday was to avoid drinking too much of anything
but water before the game, as I had an inkling that dehydration
would be a massive problem. Helen and I were out around 11.30am,
stopping for a croissant from the wee French bakery in the shopping
centre, and then made our way along the riverfront, meeting Ally
and Susan chatting to Kenny, Ray and son. Ally and Susan tagged
along with us, as well as Rich, and we slowly made our way towards
the City Park containing the ground – Rich had been out there
drinking earlier in the week and was confident we’d be able
to grab a beer out there.
All the way along, the talk was that the local police were going
to strictly enforce the segregation we’d been warned about,
but most were still confident about getting in okay. Outside the
stadium was a row of outside bars, most of which were rammed, but
we still found time to stop and chat with Craig and Michelle and
Fraz Magee. Striking on for a bar/restaurant called Marakana that
Rich had recommended, we noticed a supermarket built into the stadium
itself, and dodging the police lines, we were able to purchase yet
more water as well as some Capri Sun style fruit juice pouches.
A quick beer and some local starters in the Marakana followed, along
with Bruce, Sharon, James and Lynne all meeting up there as well,
although NATA proved to be their sole customers from the time we
arrived until we left 45 minutes before kick off.
Back in front of the stadium, there was complete confusion about
how to get in, with lots of unhappy Scots trying and failing to
get into the home end. Eventually we twigged what we had to do and
made our way down and behind the foul smelling ticket kiosks. As
expected, our water was confiscated, along with all of our coins
and sundry other items (torch, suntan lotion, badges), but we were
allowed to take the drink pouches in. A further four bag checks
followed down the long lane we were funneled down before we were
finally in with just enough time to spare to grab some of the remaining
shaded seats. By all accounts we had been exceptionally lucky, with
the gates being slammed shut soon after we were in, causing no end
of bother to a number of pals who had official tickets and were
caught in a lengthy delay getting in.
By the time kick-off came around, there were loads of empty seats,
both in the corners of the main stand and in the unshaded section
of the Scotland end. Macedonia took an early, and decisive, lead
around the 10th minute when a controversial free kick rebounded
to an unmarked striker with the Scotland defence far too slow to
react. Crowd-wise, there was a bit of a surge after 20 minutes or
so, evidently due to the gates being reopened, and reports from
the back stating it was chaos outside. Five minutes or so later,
the banging on the fences started, which we later found out was
because they had indeed locked the gates again, but the police had
disingenuously told all the Scots holding home end tickets that
they would be accommodated in the Scotland end after all.
Halftime, and Scotland were one-nil down with little visible hope
of a comeback. The horror stories were true and there was indeed
no water or refreshments of any description available to Scotland
supporters, however with a little encouragement from the excellent
UK embassy staff located at the trackside, the fire brigade provided
a hose poked through the terracing fence, or a “legionnaires’
disease dispenser” as the more cynical amongst us speculated.
Eventually the stewards started handing out 1.5 litre bottles of
fizzy lemon flavoured water, which seemed a bit daft as we were
all prepared to pay for it, but nonetheless a very appreciated gesture
(and one which probably kept the numbers requiring ambulance treatment
for dehydration and heatstroke to single figures). Meanwhile, on
the pitch, the second half proved slightly more promising with a
few chances, including a very good Shaun Maloney effort punched
away by the keeper, but no luck with the bounce of the ball left
no real chance to get back into it properly. Many of the fans were
exasperated with the ineffectiveness of Scotland’s midfield,
with Brown and Fletcher in particular appearing to be uneasy with
the furnace-like conditions; my own view was that the management
messed up in not having the team out in Skopje and training in the
heat of the day for a few days, enabling a judgment to be passed
on who was best equipped for the heat, instead of arriving less
than 24 hours before kick-off, staying in a noisy city centre hotel
and only training in the relative cool of the early evening.
The majority of the second half entertainment was provided by a
riot in the home terrace, as police were sent in to clear political
protest banners in a brutal fashion. As a result, it seemed that
the home fans at the far end of the ground were actually kept in,
with the Scots let out promptly. We all headed back through the
park, bumping into Inverness Brian who was heading straight for
a Passport Travel bus, and decided to head for Rich’s hotel
– the Hotel Square, overlooking Macedonia Square. Lacking
an actual bar, the hotel had an excellent sun terrace with a television
and a beer fridge, which we tore into with some enthusiasm whilst
watching the sunset over Skopje and hearing the skirl of pipes drifting
up to us seven stories above the city centre. Whilst there, I bumped
into Robert from Vienna enquiring about a room at the reception
desk, so he joined us for a few beers, and then tagged along when
we headed downstairs to the Pivnica Dab for a meal for the ten of
us, making up what we the third Tartan Army table, as Graham, Dasha
and friends were already in situ.
After finishing the meal, we walked Robert around to meet up with
Gav (he’d become separated from both Gav and his phone, but
had luckily managed to blag his way in with a Macedonian main stand
ticket and his Austrian passport), at which point Ally and Susan,
then James and Lynne turned in for the night and Rich headed off
to go clubbing. Bruce, Sharon, Helen and I instead decided to give
the comically named Little Britain a go, based on Rich’s recommendation
from a previous night – despite looking from the outside like
a tacky Oxford Street souvenir shop, it turned out to be quite a
find. The landlord and his wife, Josh and Lilly, were exceptionally
friendly and down-to-earth, and happy that some Scots had sought
the place out; whilst we were in there chatting, Neil and Susan
Harper popped in as well, and after a few beers and a loose arrangement
to go back the following night, it was off to bed via the riverfront,
which still had a few Scottish stragglers in amongst the largely
deserted bars.
We were up later than usual for this trip – around midday
– but it coincided with Ally and Susan walking past our hotel
texting us to see what we were up to, so we all met in reception,
just in time to see the WESTA contingent trying to organise themselves
onto a bus back to Sofia. We headed out across the river with Ally
and Susan, past a big book market (apparently, the more “interesting”
stuff was being sold from the Stone Bridge) and up to the Bazaar
area. We managed to find Kapan An, a large old trading courtyard
now famous for a couple of good restaurants, by accident but carried
on uphill to the Kale Fortress, from which we had an excellent view
of the river and the stadium. James and Lynne met us up there, and
we carried on round for a beer in the shade outside Restoran Kale,
served by the world’s grumpiest waiter. Craig and Michelle
appeared over the crest of the hill and joined us for one beer before
we set back off down to the hill and back through the bazaar to
Beerhouse An, overlooked by Mo, Tom Small, Davie and company eating
in Sofra, a restaurant on the upper balcony. The most amazing meal
of Macedonia food (and wine for Ally and Susan), finished off with
free shots of Rakija, followed – the general consensus is
that Macedonia is one of the best places most of us had ever been
for food in our lives!
With our food slowly digesting, we waddled around the corner to
the wee street of bars containing Versace and Graffiti – this
time we plumped for a wee kebab and tea house (don’t worry
– they had beer in the fridge!) which had an air-conditioning
unit pumping out cold air halfway up the one-way staircase (walk
forward going up, then reverse when coming back down!). Back into
town and a brief stop at Super 10, an outside café in the
row behind the riverfront before a walk up Marsal Tito Avenue to
the old station (where we bumped into Mirza and his Macedonian friend
Nadia), then looped back around to Little Britain. Neil and Susan
were already there, sitting outside with Josh, Lilly and a Scottish
expat called Gary. An interesting chat followed, particularly about
the local culture and the riverfront bars, and we headed back to
the hotel around midnight ahead of the flight home the following
lunchtime, and the upcoming trip to Reykjavik.
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When the draw was made, Iceland and Norway were met with quite
a few groans – Norway as it’s the third time since 2003,
and it’s very expensive, and Iceland as it’s very, very
expensive and trickier to get to. To have it hot on the heels of
most people’s most anticipated trip (Macedonia) was another
low blow. Just to compound matters, the fixtures themselves were
confirmed on the day of my work Christmas do in 2007, so I had to
rush through a booking whilst at work, hence the reason I managed
to book the flight in Helen’s maiden name…
We opted to fly Tuesday-Thursday with Icelandair from Heathrow,
i.e. the shortest amount of time possible without traveling on matchday
itself, and stay out near the ground (mindful of the excellent wee
sports bar we’d found after the 2002 game). After some to-ing
and fro-ing over the hotel, we ended up booking the Hilton, and
combined with a cheeky request of Bruce and his hire car (i.e. pick
us up from the airport, take us to the Blue Lagoon, and we’ll
give you the bus fare instead), we were all set.
Waking up with a hangover (I’d drank my way home from Skopje
via Budapest, even taking a carry-out in the car around the M25
and then having another whilst watching Murray in the final of the
US Open), we made our way back to Heathrow early doors, as we needed
to make sure Icelandair were happy with Helen’s marriage certificate
as proof of her change of name. All was good, and we even managed
to get Rich into the seat beside us once we’d met up with
him.
The flight out was fine, if a little cramped – thankfully
Rich offered to swap out of his aisle seat for me as the middle
one really was a bit too snug for my fuller figure! – and
Keflavik Airport was brighter and airier than I remembered. Bruce
and Sharon were waiting in the car park, so as soon as we’d
withdrawn some cash we were out and on the road towards the Blue
Lagoon.
We spent over 3 hours in the Blue Lagoon, and I had my first experience
of a sauna and a steam room, but as before, never really got on
with the beer that Rich and Helen were drinking. There were loads
of other Scots there at first, including most of the WESTA/Sporran
Legion contingent, but most people had drifted away by the time
we’d finished and headed back into town via an Icelandic burger
bar on the outskirts of Harfnarfjordur before being dropped at the
hotel doors. Helen and I were both nicely tired by the flight and
the chilling out at the Lagoon, but nonetheless we dragged ourselves
onto the complimentary shuttle bus service into the town centre.
No sooner had we got off the bus than we’d bumped into Inverness
Brian and Scott, and sheltered from the rain for a while before
deciding to head off to find a beer. Tam’s TA party looked
bouncing, but we were after something a little quieter – unfortunately
everything else had either changed since the last time, was a restaurant,
or had closed! After splitting up from Brian and Scott, we did find
what was renowned as the cheapest pub in Reykjavik, but only stayed
for one beer before beginning the long walk home to the hotel.
After a sound sleep, it was back on the hotel shuttle for the trip
downtown and breakfast at the famous hotdog stand before wandering
about. Most of the downtown bars were still shut at around 1pm,
but strolling up Laugavegur (and pausing to buy Helen some funky
green tartan tights that she’ll probably never wear) we popped
into an old haunt from 2002 – Unkle Tom’s Kabin –
only to find that several of the Loony Alba veterans from that trip
had formed the very same idea and were already in residence. Some
good banter followed, including some with a toddler banging on the
outside window, much to our, and her mother’s, amusement,
before they headed off for fish and chips and we continued down
the street to a rock bar, complete with whacky garden mural and
a local at the bar with a guitar that Rich jammed with for a short
time. In addition to Rich, Ally, Susan, James and Lynne were all
now in attendance and James regaled us with stories of a wee jakey
bar further down the street towards the ground he’d been in
earlier and was pleasantly surprised by the prices.
We duly headed off down the road, steadily whiling away the hours
to kick off, and popped into said jakey bar – we weren’t
disappointed, it was indeed cheap, and it was also filled with older
local jakies, along with a Liverpool supporting barman called Eh-oh
(at least that’s what it sounded like), to whom Helen continued
her run of getting nationalities mixed up: “Liverpool? Of
course, John Arne-Riise’s a local hero!” (no, he’s
Norwegian, just like Andiry Shevchenko is Ukrainian and not Czech!).
Eh-oh ended up walking towards the ground with us, at least until
I spotted a beer sign up a hill near the stadium and set off with
Rich and Helen for another beer whilst the others took the sensible
approach of continuing towards the ground. Unfortunately, said beer
sign was attached to a hotel canteen, but we duly queued up and
supped our beers at the deserted formica tables before restarting
our walk to the ground.
Despite the hordes of people all heading for the stadium, the Scotland
entrance was relatively quiet, and we had pick of the seats when
we got in (we just headed for where Ally, Susan, James and Lynne
had already claimed). On the other hand, Bruce and Sharon were late
getting back from their geological gallivanting and had to settle
for seats in the front row. Across the pitch, the Icelandic “ultras”
were doing a good job of keeping the atmosphere going on their side,
even if some of their chants and songs were actually derived from
our own!
Match-wise, Scotland were far better than they had been against
Macedonia, with Kirk Broadfoot confounding his critics (of which
there were many in the stands!) by scoring the first, with the second
coming after an hour off a rebound from a needlessly conceded penalty.
We then conceded our own needless penalty via a McManus handball,
which Gudjohnson duly scored to leave Scotland hanging on desperately
for the three points.
We were some of the last fans to leave the stadium, posing for
various photos including some with the Kiel boys (we’d met
Patrick in Kiel at a Fortuna game, en route to the Austria friendly
a couple of years previous), and then headed up the hill to Goodfellas,
a sports bar the Tartan Army had patronised en masse after the 2002
win. Despite the obvious charms of a newer bigger pub, we kept on
for what we knew and were rewarded with a local treating the entire
bar to a round of Scotch (at considerable expense!) and a singer
being rustled up to entertain us, only for Rich to borrow his guitar
and spend the best part of an hour jamming. The other entertainment
was provided by the mass of 17-20 year olds queuing up outside to
get into a student disco at a neighbouring nightclub; despite the
event being dry, the young lads and lassies had obviously started
the evening at home, and some were even crawling around the car
park!
Helen and I left around midnight, popping into the local 24-hour
supermarket on the way back round the corner to our hotel, before
getting some shut-eye ahead of the afternoon flight home. We had
discussed the possibility of going to the airport via the Blue Lagoon
again, but having remembered the chaotic check-in scenes six years
previously, we felt an early arrival at the airport was a far more
sensible option this time around!
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