The Bordeaux Blog
“where’d you come from, where’d you go, where’d you come from, from Bordeaux”
Part One
When the draw was made for the Champions League most fans are looking for an easy route to the knockout stages, where the real competition begins. However for a small number of Chelsea fans the draw more about where rather than who for the Champions League encompasses teams from all of the famous European cities like Paris, Rome and Barcelona as well as those with names that are barely pronounceable and difficult for even the most committed Europhile to find on the map.
The draw is watched intently by travel agents and local bar owners alike with a focus on the most profitable draw as fans look for the chance to travel across Europe it is known that flights to cities that one day cost £50 more than treble in price for the days around a game upon the news that an English team will be playing in that city.
Prior to the announcement I was already keen to make 2008/2009 the first season I went to a European away game and with Cluj to far away and Rome games getting a reputation for being more like a game of SimRiot (patent pending) rather than a football match.
Therefore Bordeaux was the logical choice accessible by Car, Train or Plane the others in the group were just as keen. Although I had never met any of the people I intended to travel with let alone heard of Tony and his gastric talents.
The Night Before
My journey started at 18:07 on Monday evening after work a whole 48 hours before the match on the train from Nottingham to London staying at a hostel in Kings Cross as I had to wake up at 04:30 to ensure I did not miss my Euro star which left at 06:30.
Once there I almost immediately got an insight (but not a taste) of London’s seedy underbelly as I left the hostel to get some beer in. Without realising and whilst minding my own business, all of sudden I was being propositioned by a prostitute!
This woman was not a day under 40 and looked like she had been round the block a few times with straggly blonde hair and with less teeth than Craig Burley. She proceeded to feed me a story about how she needed the money to put the electricity back on in her house for her kids and she was actually very convincing, but I politely declined.
Back in the hostel I settled into the lounge watching ‘Friends’ with some German, Australian and Englishmen. After a few beers and a random conversation with an Irish man who moves between hostels and shared his left wing and antagonistic views that were beyond belief.
Anyways I went to bed (minus the Irishman) in my shared dorm but could not get to sleep because I was too terrified that I would miss my train. I finally gave up at 04:30 and got up and had breakfast and got ready for the day ahead.
The Journey to Bordeaux
I made the 2 minute walk to the station weary eyed with the snoring of the German bloke in my dorm ringing in my ears and I checked in at 05.25 the day before the match, at this time something quite weird happened.
I was approached by a London policeman and well this always makes me nervous when I am in my Chelsea colours, however he was just checking that I knew where I was going and wishing me a safe trip and a good result, I suppose policemen are always happy when football fans are leaving the country rather than heading to a venue in the capital.
I boarded the train and met Ben Clynshaw for the first time face to face although I had spoken to him numerous times online and was aware of his popularity with Lebanese women and Florent Malouda.
As we settled down shattered it was only 25 minutes until we young bucks of 22 and 23 years were joined by the older members of the group Ray Westbury and Tony (who I am sure has no surname) weighing in a few stone and years heavier at 51 (same age as my dad) and 47 respectively.
A few coffees and friendly banter later we arrived into Paris and took the metro for 20 minutes and experienced our first taste of France and I translated the meanings of the station names for Ben such as Chateau l’eau = Water Castle, this certainly was the trip highlight so far.
Unfortunately the French tunnel fire a few months ago which was apparently caused by man eating flame breathing moths meant that we missed our connecting TGV to Bordeaux but after Ray used his linguistic skills) to change our tickets (he is fluent in French and Cockney) and we were upgraded to first class so we could all sit together, and now the Chelsea lads were travelling in style.
Once settled in and the rest of the group had recovered from the stench emanating from the fallout of my shoeless feet, we started playing Chelsea monopoly provided by Ray to pass the time during the journey.
What I quickly learnt however was that Ben, Ray and Tony have never really understood the rules of Monopoly and were operating fiscal policies that would make those responsible for the stumbling global economies appear competent and trustworthy.
However I was unable to compete with the rampant cheating that was taking place between the other three competitors and by the time the train pulled into Bordeaux Saint Jean I was in by far the poorest position, having just lost my purple set including Gianfranco Zola.
Otherwise the journey down was uneventful and blissful with our own buffet of pork pies, pastries, bitter, lager and Pringles we had all we could need and even the local gendarmes seemed friendly and despite a few nervous glances at our flag I don’t think we scared them too much and were only mystified by how 4 ragamuffins could blag their way into first class.
The main highlight of the journey down and indeed the whole trip was the banter and putdowns lines such as below were common.
Tony: “I just spoke to my wife, she doesn’t sound very happy”
Kris: “Why did you tell her you’re coming back?”
The only other comment on the journey from London to Bordeaux was just how hassle free and easy it was, the metro was quick and efficient and the French countryside was beautiful and it was already turning into a good trip.
Part Two
Bordeaux Night One
When we arrived in Bordeaux we were disappointed to see the vicinity of the station was a massive building site and kind of ruined the rustic feel that had been prevalent on the journey down, however after a little confusion we were able to successfully navigate our way the 700 yards or so to our one hotel room on the main street between the city centre and the railway station.
Now the sleeping arrangements for the trip were a little cosy to say the least, Ray and Tony had a double bed to share, Ben had the sofa bed and I commandeered the fold out single bed. After arrival I grabbed a shower and 30 minutes of sleep whilst the others sauntered into town to check out what was going on.
This was when the first encounter with the now infamous Rock Cafe El Bogedon occurred just off the main square down from our hotel on the Rue de Marne it boasted its happy hours, competitive priced drinks and excellent atmosphere.
Meanwhile I decided to soak up the French atmosphere and sample the French culinary delight that is Le Big Mac as I got very lost with the conflicting directions that the lads have given me which I am fairly sure they did it on purpose to test my French and get a head start on the nights drinking, making me walk for miles only to get a call half an hour later telling me they were in the Rock Cafe right back where I started.
It was on this walk I first noticed the friendliness of the French people with the street facing shops, already people started to notice my scarf and were saying hello and shaking my hand, I spoke to them in my broken French ‘allez les bleus’ ‘Chelsea 2 Bordeaux 0’ and other bits of banter from my AS level French, a man on a scooter pulled up just to chat to me and ask how many Chelsea fans would be arriving tomorrow, and wishing me if not the blues well.
Having found Ray, Ben and Tony in the Rock Cafe we had a cheeky beer paid for by Tony and the place was fairly quiet, we made our way to another bar/restaurant and ordered food including gorgeous looking burgers and steak with sport on the telly and Leffe (apart from Tony) in the glass , times were good.
We then made our way into town and a pub called the Frog and Rosbif which had been advertising on CFCNET and had promised to make the Chelsea fans welcome. After what seemed a mammoth walk through the main shopping street and then right along the tram lines we arrived.
On arrival we noticed that all the bar staff were wearing shirts with the Chelsea badge and ‘come on Chelsea’ written on them and we were greeted by an English barman and Real Ale (Bitter) on tap at the bar much to the dismay to lager drinker Tony who baulked at any attempts to introduce him to new beers including the sublime Ginger Beer (alcoholic version) that myself and Ray discovered.
The Frog and Rosbif is also a sports bar and we arrived just as the Valencia and Manchester United players were emerging from the tunnel so with a Jug of Ginger beer and whatever Tony was drinking we settled down to watch the match.
There were quite a few Chelsea fans already in the bar the night before and you could tell the place would be rocking before the game the next night, there were even a few Chelsea chants going around at this point and banter between different groups of fans. There were also some familiar faces for Ray who found we were staying in the same hotel as some people he drinks with from time to time.
By this point Ben’s long day and lack of sleep had taken its toll and he fell asleep right there in the bar although considering the standard of football it was hardly surprising. I took this opportunity to write my thoughts on Ben on his head, or rather carve as the pen was rubbish, but despite my manhandling he slept like a baby.
After another expensive round of drinks (the only downside to the establishment) and a stolen half pint each for Ray and I from Ben, we woke up the ugly duckling and made our way back into town searching for the next bar to be fortunate to host us. Without finding a suitable bar (we weren’t searching too hard) we made our way back to El Bogedon and it was now alot busier with lower lighting as the time approached midnight.
We all found a table and sampled more and more of the local beer (brewed in Belgium I believe) and were making friends with the locals and Ben bought some weird red shots enough for 2 each but the older gentleman (the first time they have been described as gentleman) declined leaving 4 each for the young pups.
The atmosphere was excellent and the lights were now dimmed and dance music was being pumped in the bar, I had a chat with a bouncer and a chat about the game making a bet on who would score and ensuring that he would be there when I came to collect the next day when Chelsea had obviously won.
This was where we met the lovely Betty a barmaid at El Bogedon she immediately caught Bens eye and well whatever you want to say about Ben he is persistent. On this occasion it appeared that he was unsuccessful with his pursuit and it may explain his motivations later in the evening.
After numerous drinks we left the bar at 2am closing time and mingled outside in the crisp winter air, we walked down the rue de Marne and back towards are hotel for a time and I chatted in French to a local shop keeper who I had seen earlier about the game before the young ones steamed or rather staggered ahead in search of a nightclub whilst the older less mature members of our group retreated to the hotel and their double bed.
This is where it all got confusing and myself and Ben got lost, we could not work out where the Nightclubs were and wandered around the streets for an age, we couldn’t even ask for directions as the place was deserted, so we spent 30mins chatting the usual drunken nonsense about life the universe and everything on a platform overlooking the empty railway station.
Confused and now tired, we had only had 1 hours sleep between us in the last 24 hours, we made our way home up the Rue de Marne and liberated a lonely road sign from the side of the road, as we approached the hotel we ended up in the shop with the ominous and inviting sign outside ‘XXXX Peep Show XXXXX’
We went into what I will loosely term the shop, filled with adult DVD’s and magazines and to the booth where we were shown pictures of a girl who apparently for 16 Euros each we could see naked, and for 32 Euros each lets just say she would entertain herself.
I was not particularly keen although Ben was counting his money, my objection however was not necessarily a moral one I declined for one because 64 Euros was robbery see a girl do what you can get in Essex for the price of a cocktail. Dejected from my refusal to join him Ben and I departed after being shown pictures of the girl ‘on shift’ the next night without enjoying the facilities and set off down the road in search of food.
At 4am there was a bakery that you could compare to Greggs or the Bakers Oven in the United Kingdom (other bakeries are available), and we both chomped down are food and made our way stumbling to the hotel room waking up twiddle dum and tweedle dee in the process.
I believe Ray had to get up and turn off the TV after we fell asleep, and was complaining of the booming voices that continued for about 45 minutes.
The night was interspersed with some rather unpleasant sounds and smells emanating from the ‘bedroom’ but a true gentleman never tells so I have been unable to gleam the whole story from Ray but he did say something about dropping his guts and that Tony tried to throw him out of the window after Ray mistook him for Shirley as he drifted off to sleep.
Part 3 - Match and Stadium
The day of the match did not start until 2pm in the afternoon, although we were awakened at 9am by Ray and Tony we shunned the opportunity and went back to sleep as they went for a walk around Bordeaux.
By the time we woke up after sleeping off the worst part of our hangovers we slumbered towards town and encountered Ray and Tony on their way back after a hike all over the city, we were much more laid back and revelling in the pre-match atmosphere that even in town was starting to build people of all ages from kids to old codgers were noticing the Chelsea colours and making friendly comments.
We got to the main square and had lunch in a small cafe across the road from the players hotel which was thronged by people (mostly French) waiting for the players to get on the team bus and head to the ground. After finishing our meals the simple but effect Croque Monsieur we took in some culture and an antiques market, which seemed like a good idea at the time but used the time to plan world domination for the blog and all 27 of Ben’s current business interests.
We had now been in a full circle around the city and met Tony and Ray in the main square by EL Bogedon and walked the seemingly endless 3km to the ground through small little French side roads and houses that looked like they were falling down but still had a certain charm about them.
After the mammoth hike we reached a T-Junction and with the stadium on our right and what looked like the entire French police force in that direction we turned right in search of a few pre match drinks as thus far today had been alcohol free as we recovered from last night’s exertions.
Only about 300 yards down the road we found a pub and despite there being a few Bordeaux fans outside went in and got a drink, fortunately as with the whole trip we had no problems and some fans came up to us and starting chatting to us in broken French (us) and broken English (them) and somehow we muddled through.
The pub was excellent however my only complaint was the fact that the beer was served in 330ml glasses which meant that it went down quicker and meant more trips to the bar a real pain in the arse in a pub/restaurant that was heaving.
The place itself was quite nice, it was really a restaurant but didn’t seem to mind the extra cash that those not eating were bringing in and the walls were adorned with football scarves from previous teams to visit so it was clear that although a restaurant football was the main language in this place, even if the food being served to those behind us was excellent.
It was here that Ben got a phone call from his Lebanese mistress Amanda as we moved outside to a table she called and was making sure her fella wasn’t getting into too much trouble or getting his head turned by the impeccably dressed and seeming infinite number of gorgeous French girls that seemed to be everywhere.
The phone was passed round and we all sent our regards although I must admit we kept it brief as it cant be cheap to call a UK mobile in France from Lebanon but ah well.
As game time approached we left the bar and turned right towards the ground and past the seemingly endless rows of police fans it seems that the reputation of a minority of Chelsea fans precedes us and the local gendarmes were out in force. The main street was wide and filled with street vendors and the French equivalent to the burger van.
Ray and Tony grew tired of waiting as me and Ben queued for a steak baguette and chips patiently behind a group of hungry policeman, although I am pleased to say there was no animosity or atmosphere when they saw my Chelsea shirt the policeman were jovial and polite continuing the warm welcome and feeling.
The Stadium and the Match
As we arrived at the stadium the atmosphere changed the away end was accessible down a small side road and this was guarded by around 40-60 policeman who were fairly organised with channels created for fans to pass once their ticket had been checked.
This was the first level of security and after 30 yards we were channelled into a fenced channel heading towards the stadium. This area had another checkpoint were our tickets were again checked and we were patted down and searched for weapons and garlic before being allowed into the stadium.
The stadium itself is a bowl design with fancy curvature but in general a concrete monster holding around 25,000 capacity that unbelievably staged a World Cup game in 1998 and was adequate but a far cry from the health and safety obsessed UK stadia that I am familiar with.
Although the Chelsea fans were technically in a seated area this was in name only, the seats had no backs making it easy to climb the stands up and down, this was useful when me and Ben went looking for Ray and Tony who had got into the ground early.
Chelsea fans before kick off
The reason we had to look for them is that well the seating system had quickly disintegrated as there were no stewards inside the Chelsea end which was well cordoned off from the rest of the stadium and it had become a stand where you like situation and a terrace in everything but name.
As the ground filled up Ben and I went in search of Ray and Tony however we had no success and ended up in the far right of the Chelsea supporters, in the upper tier of the ground nearest the Bordeaux end. This section was packed and as the teams came out after looking in all 3 sections we decided to stay put confused to the whereabouts of Ray and Tony, and I was immediately struck by the atmosphere.
It was here that I noticed that many of the people I saw here were people I recognised from the Bridge or away games and were regulars, I know that this is hardly surprising considering that those who go regularly to away games would make most European games as well. It was just that you travel 1,000 miles and you still see the same people you would in London seemed quite odd and amazing at the same time, I don’t know what I was expecting maybe French speaking Chelsea fans, or something else.
The Bordeaux stadium may not have been the biggest or grandest I have been to but man for man you could argue it being one of the liveliest with the Bordeaux fans in fine voice as the teams came out.
As the teams shook hands and the other pre champions league formalities took place each person in the end furthest away from us held up a placard which collectively spelled out ‘allez!’ or in English simply GO!
It was shortly after this that I heard something I have not seen in England, and that is both ends of the ground singing a choreographed chant in which each end seemed to be singing to each other a different verse of the same chant which I must admit I found very impressive.
As the match kicked off the Chelsea fans were in full voice fighting to get heard above the fierce Bordeaux crowd.
The game started slowly and Chelsea were frankly quite poor, Bordeaux had most of the ball and we looked nervy and lacking in any attacking menace, as the game continued it became clear the home fans were not subjected to the same level of security as the English fans as a firecracker went off in the stand furthest from us which was by far the noisiest and most passionate area of the Bordeaux supporters share of the stadium.
The frustration of the Chelsea fans of the players on the pitch was masked by a good atmosphere from the away fans with the fans running through the full repertoire of chants including carefree, ten men and blue flag.
As half time arrived it was the Bordeaux fans who had the most to be pleased about as they had been by far the better team in the encounter so far dominating possession and chances against a lacklustre Chelsea side.
There were no staff inside the Chelsea end and therefore no refreshments to scramble for at the whistle however for 2,000 fans there was only one toilet and well it was in an appalling state before kick off let alone now at half time so we chose to stay clear and find Ray and Tony who as it turned out were near where we started looking with plenty of space.
We started chatting about the disappointing game and out came the camera capturing us all back together again and within what seemed like a flash as the teams came out unfortunately Chelsea fared no better and were looking like we would be lucky to hold out for a draw.
The game changed in a flash, a lucky deflection and on fire Nicholas Anelka was suddenly through on goal his pace taking him clear of the chasing defenders, as he raced goalwards the entire Chelsea end rippled with growing excitement and with some smart play to round the keeper ANELKA SCORES PANDEMONIUM ERUPTS 1-0 to CHELSEA.
The goal was totally against the run of play and the home fans were quiet and the small pocket of Chelsea fans could be seen going wild, as the celebrations continued the cameraman could be seen searching for a close up of the Chelsea fans at the front, focussing on a bloke with no shirt on in the subzero temperatures (directly in front of our group) going what can only be described as ‘mental’.
There was now a party atmosphere and I barely noticed the goal scorer being replaced almost immediately by want away striker Didier Drogba a move which was puzzling given the fact Anelka had just scored and that Drogba was not fully fit, however Scolari must have been expecting the physical presence of Drogba to unsettle Bordeaux in a substitution that was pre-planned prior to the goal.
The Chelsea now was literally bouncing to echoes of ‘bouncy bouncy, bouncy bouncy la la la la la’ and the full repertoire of songs and chants to numerous to mention in full (see some videos taken by others in Bordeaux)
For twenty magical minutes the travelling fans were rewarded for the 1,000 mile journey although the Chelsea football still did not match the Chelsea fans for passion and the fans grew increasingly apprehensive but boisterous as Bordeaux streamed forward in search of an equaliser.
The frustration was not eased by ‘supersub’ Didier Drogba displaying the aerial strength baby rabbit on acid trying to outjump a giraffe and the determination of Amy Winehouse in rehab. The striker seemed wholly unhappy with his lot in life, was not chasing the ball and fell like he was mortally wounded under even the faintest of challenges ‘requiring’ treatment seemingly every five minutes to magically revive as soon as the physio made it onto the field.
It was after one of these career threatening injuries that Chelsea’s complacency was punished, with a corner conceded Drogba jogged back towards the penalty area and neither he or any player defending the set piece picked up Alou Diarra who rose to the ball and headed home with the ball brushing the inside of the post and hitting the back of the net with just 7 minutes left on the clock suddenly it was the Bordeaux fans turn to erupt in delight.
The final minutes seemed like an eternity as Bordeaux streamed forward believing that Chelsea were there for the taking and that a shock result could be on the cards and the fans were nervous and the boisterous atmosphere was replaced with cries of frustration with each squandered pass and Bordeaux attack.
This was exacerbated as Frank Lampard was sent off after receiving a second yellow card, for a split second it appeared as thou the referee had pulled a ‘Graham Poll’ but with the loud protests of the Bordeaux players ringing in his ears Chelsea had four minutes plus added time to survive with ten men.
The final whistle was a welcome relief a 1-1 draw was not a disaster but for the second Champions League came in a row the chance to qualify was squandered and a home tie negotiated to ensure progress.
After the whistle the players came over to acknowledge the crowd with one exception, a certain Didier Drogba who whilst he had been non-existent in the game he continued his sulk by ignoring the fans and the other players and sulking off towards the tunnel much to the disgust of the massed travelling supporters and once the other players had finished and Terry had shown his shirt into the crowd the chants of ‘FUCK OFF DROGBA, FUCK OFF DROGBA’ rang out from the fans totally disgusted with his attitude and efforts during the match.
Now let me clarify that every player that puts on the Chelsea colours has my support when they run onto the pitch but for this support a certain amount of passion and mutual respect is expected, however in this game and the last six months. Every fan wants to see the real Didier on the pitch and I hope that in the coming months that the passion and commitment returns because if it does then the title race will move that little bit closer to Chelsea’s grasp.
We then had to play the waiting game as is standard for these games the away fans we were kept in after the game for half an hour and on our way out there were around 500 policemen lining the exit channelling fans out of the ground, however the efforts have to be applauded there were around 75 policemen guarding a fence! How the hell do you guard a fence? What was the purpose? I know that Chelsea fans have a reputation that precedes them, but what did they think we were going to do to this poor and apparently defenceless fence?
Anyways we filtered out and caught the bus back to the railway station and back to the hotel to put on non Chelsea clothing as the atmosphere had changed around town and we got ready for a night out and with the time now hitting 11pm time was of the essence.
Day 2- FINAL NIGHT OUT
We swiftly changed and whilst Ray declined knackered from our exploits so far, Ben, Tony and I headed out stopping off on the way for possibly the worst kebab I have ever had, it was absolutely disgusting, and hardly the quality cuisine that France is meant to boast. However I was in good spirits and this only improved once we arrived at our first destination EL BOGEDON!
When we arrived the place was absolutely crammed and the place was jumping with a care free abandon that just doesn’t exist in UK clubs, people were dancing all over the club forming conga lines and arches for people to dance through.
There was no respect for personal space and there would have been a few fights in a UK club but it was natural everyone danced up against and bumped into everyone else as the DJ played a mix of obscure French songs and English/American pop songs, including the song I adapted Cotton-Eye Bordeaux with the chorus:
“Where’d you come from where’d you go? Where’d you go, where’d you come from, From Bordeaux!”
It is here we had more red shots that Tony declined and several more beers , Tony and I watched as Ben spotted the object of him first night affections the off barmaid Betty. However she must have been drinking as the lad was having some success.
Tony left soon after and I let Ben work his magic in between Ben putting our name down for the Karaoke as no-one murders a modern classic better than a drunk Englishman, alas we were to be let down and the bar closed in raucous fashion to traditional French songs.
At closing time Ben and Betty disappeared to the Unisex toilets seemingly forever and then seemed to take forever when they did resurface deciding what was going on and promising to catch up later that night to consumate their toilet based love affair.
Eventually Ben and I walked back past the hotel and made our way to the nightclubs down past the railway station and into the industrial region by the railway tracks.
It was on this journey that I witnessed my first ever incidence of football violence, we were walking on the pavement in the shadow of the bridge overhead and were approaching another group of Chelsea fans when from behind them a young Frenchman shouted ‘Allez Bordeaux’
With the poor result most fans were in no mood for jovial chat with locals but one 6ft middle aged balding man took exception to this chant and turned to face the offending youth and swung for him but not fully connecting. He proceeded to grab him by the scruff of the neck before ramming him against the wall before his ‘mates’ (who swore they were trying to lose him) dragged him off and the youth scarpered.
Shocked by what we saw we kept walking towards the club as the other so called Chelsea fan headed off in the other direction. In my broken French feeling guilty for what we had just seen I apologised to the friends of the angry Frenchman and explained that we were not all idiots. After a series of mixed language conversations the Frenchman calmed down and we decided to have a drink and strengthen the entente cordiale.
We went in search of a club at 3pm and with Ben unable to contact his French girl due to a dying phone, we went into the first one and quickly left due to the empty sausage filled dancefloor diving into the next packed and more evenly balanced club.
A few drinks later we were kicked out of the club and slowly staggered homeward chatting the international language of football with a ten minute walk taking around 45 minutes, as we swapped names and promised to chat on facebook we bid farewell to our new friends, and Ben went in search of a phone box to contact ‘bordeaux betty’ but to no avail.
We stumbled into bed at 5am
Day 3- Travelling Home
Myself and Ben woke up tired and hung-over but managing to make it for breakfast somehow we checked out and wandered into town to waste time before our 3 o’clock train towards Paris and then home.
We went upmarket for lunch after a long and enjoyable walk through the narrow and seemingly timeless central Bordeaux streets at a posh Italian restaurant which was gorgeous and provided more than enough sustenance for the journey ahead.
We slowly retraced our steps back to the station in a sunny yet bitterly cold Bordeaux city centre arriving in plenty of time and taking the final Bordeaux photos.
This time we were stuck in with the riff raff of standard class and totally knackered from our so called ‘holiday’ that little of not happened on the journey apart from a very Parisian Macdonalds which required a token for using the toilet.
Passport control was easy although we did witness one couple who came back from a romantic city break in the middle of a domestic rather than loved up, so much for the city of love.
We arrived back bang on time to St Pancras and after saying our goodbyes went our separate ways and I finally arrived home at 11pm on Thursday ready for work the next day.
Ecstatic to be going home
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