My Greece trip last year my first experience of international football which whetted my appetite for a second taste. It came last month in a trip to Spain for the Pinitar cup. The South East coast of Spain, an area insanely popular with the British for beach holidays, summer sun and sangria, and retirement homes. The sort of holiday mentality that symbolise to me, the worst possible type of holiday. I prefer an ice cream on a deserted drizzly beach in January, but that’s just me. The idea of a beach holiday in the sun appals me, just not my cup of tea. Yet here women’s football has found a pleasant stadium to play a mini-tournament to play similarly ranked teams against each other in a friendly tournament. The tempatation of a tournment between my three favourite international teams, Wales, Scotland and Iceland, was just too tempting. Surely Spain in February won’t be too hot and I was just curious to get some idea of what all the fuss was about.
Again I was on a tight, but not as tight a budget as the Greece trip was and Spain being effectively in the same time zone, presented the possibility of an easier trip then Greece. I decided to do it all on Public Transport and ended up not messing up my sleep at all, which meant I didn’t waste a day recovering from sleep deprivation. It did mean I missed the first match of the competition, Wales against the Philipines as I found myself after finishing work for the day on the 5.30pm train to Manchester. Wales won 1-0 anyway and I arrived in Manchester at 9.30pm, nicely timed for a brief curious stroll around the city centre of a city I had called home for seven years and took an early night.
As I stated last time marrying flights with travel times is tough restricted to public transport. This trip was sandwiched by two nights in Manchester budget hotels, sub-£50 a night as it was mid-week, although I would have been unhappy paying more than that for these tired, poorly maintained shells of fine old Manchester buildings. Despite having lived in Manchester for seven years, and even living 3 minutes walk from a railway station on the Airport line, I had never been to Manchester Airport. I’d heard bad things about it which was worrying. Fortunatly in February and catching a mid-morning flight meant it wasn’t too busy and pleasant enough. However I can imagine it being horrible when busy. Somehow Manchester has an airport designed by people with no idea how people flow through an airport. You seem forever in narrow corridors making 90 degree turns into people going a completely different direction. I’m so glad no-one enforced the signs suggesting “no luggage” “on the numerous escalators you are compelled to use as there is no signage to suggest what the alternative route is and the signage is often mis-leading. They also hurry you through the ‘undressing’ at security and just accept a high number of people setting off the archways. Very Manchester and very British really and all kind of works if you’re not too much of a stickler for trying to do things properly.Yet civilisation awaited!
No hickups with the flight, it was RyanAir again. Alicante airport was so much more impressive than drizzly Manchester, clean well-mantained and with accurate signage and I don’t think I had to use an escalator at all! Next the bus into Alicante. The South of Spain with it’s rows of palm trees and strip malls, looks and feels so much like Latin America. In contrast to my first trip to the North of Spain which was so much more European in style. Then a late check in to the hotel. I hadn’t planned on my ‘phones data not working in Spain [A Wales told told me you just need to switch it off and back on again], so it took me a while to find my hotel. Even so it was only late afternoon and I had time to explore the quiet almost deserted streets of the city, I was back on Mediterrean time. So after an explore I had a meal in a deserted restaurant before people came out for the evening and then found a bustling freindly pub for a few beers before bed.
Once people realised that my Spanish sadly doesn’t extend much beyond being able to get a meal and order a drink I found a few English speakers. One guy I think wanted to argue with me about the craziness of Brexit and I perhaps dissapointed him by wholeheartedly agreeing with him and told him that we, the British, still don’t know what Brexit was all about after 8 years of the ruddy thing. The other curious thing was this pub solely played English language music on its jukebox. I asked and was told that the Spanish listen to mainly to two times of music, European music and Latin music, in an almost 50-50 split. They don’t miss terribly well together, so such a separation makes sense. It also gave me the impression of Spain as a country with two foci, one as an old European country, the other in awe of the culture the Spanish created in Latin America in their own language. My room was very hot on my return. I again hadn’t checked the AC, they had set it to a crazy 26 Centigrade, so popped it down to a more comfortable 18 and went to sleep.
Still no footbal today, so instead of racing to Pinatar, I had a day to be a proper tourist in Alicante. Alicante is a beautiful city, easy to walk around, pretty and full of interest. I decided to do the tourist thing and walk up to Castell Santa Barbara. An interesting castle, built on an older castle, which was built on an older castle originally built by the Muslims. The main draw of the trip up is the views, of the mountains, the plains and the curious strips of high-rise hotels hugging the sands of Benidorm. The closest I supsect I’ll ever be to Benidorm. Also some beautiful churches, this was a long time ago, the Christian frontier, so they built them to impress and impress they do. I can’t stress enough how February is probably the perfect time to visit, just pleasantly warm all day and people sat outside the cafes and patiserries which I partook perhaps a little too much of.
Anyway I had to catch the last bus of the day to San Pedro del Pinatar at 5.30pm. A two hour ride of endless roundabouts as the bus kept turning off the main road, to nip into the bus stations of the various towns and cities on the way to pick up or drop off, seemingly one person in each. What I didn’t realise and hadn’t checked was that this meant that in Pinitar the bus station is conveniently located near the main coast road is was not near the beach where my hotel was on the other side of the town. And I still had no data on my ‘phone. Two German ladies were looking similarly lost at the bus station but I think they were a little cautious of a lone male, so I swiftly made my own way in what looked like the right direction and was very pleased with myself to arrive at my hotel 45 minutes later. I still had time for a leisurely meal and a stroll along the beach before bed.
I had done so well with not missing sleep, that I got up without the alarm, a rarity for me. I made my way down for breakfast to discover the breakfast room full of Scottish football supporters. The Welsh supporters were in another hotel. I still had many hours before the first football match , so time to see the town centre and stock up on provisions in a supermarket, trying to pick nice biscuits from unknown brands mainly. A very pleasant town centre of a medium sized town. Browsing the shops I realised how having a little Spanish makes things that bit easier. In the main square was a large pagoda full of children being helped make masks and doing face painting. I had also noticed a similar large tent by the marina.
Anyway, I was in a very relaxed holiday mode and had been a little blase about Google saying it being an hours walk to the stadium. So I was still a few minutes away from the stadium to hear ‘Flower of Scotland’ being blasted out from the stands from the outside.
Game 1 [of round 2 of the Pinitar Cup] was Scotland against the Philipines. I was surprised that there were several hundred fans in the ground for both teams. The Philipines had brought a large contingent across the continents and endless renditions ‘Pilipinas’ and a enthusiastic bunch of players that kept Scotland on their toes and had to work hard for their goals. This was my first international football match as a ‘neutral’, except Scotland are a kind of second team for me. I’ve lived in Scotland and have many Scottish friends, they have loaned me their support when watching Wales on the telly, and I’ve been happy to return the favour over the years. So despite my fellow Welshies being Welsh and supporting the underdogs in the ‘Wales’ section I was rooting for Scotland!
I had finally met up with my fellow Wales supporters and we almost all went to a local restaurant to get to know each other a bit, have a meal and do a bit of pre-match drinking, before my Game 2, Wales against Iceland. It was a bit cold in the stadium as Pinatar stadium is exposed to the wind. I’d brough some string this time so hung my Draig Goch up and there were maybe 40 of us belting out Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau this time. Sometimes we like to think of Wales as a small country, because it is with just over 3 million people and sometimes we like to think we punch above our weight in cultural output and sporting process, especially with the mens football team qualifying for the World Cup last year. However, we are dwarfed by Iceland, a nation a tenth of the size with around 300 thousand people (the population of Cardiff), their own language, great culture, they are amazing. I love Iceland, I’ve been there on holiday and would love to go again. They are my third favourite country for a reason. It was such a great game to watch and the only time I’ve not supported Iceland in anything! I took a friend to his first football match at home last weekend and was telling him how sometimes a 0-0 result can be an excellent game of football and this was one of them. A good result for Wales too, as Iceland are ranked above us in the world rankings.
Pinatar stadium is an odd place. At one end is a leisure centre with a nighclub. I remember watching the Pinitar Cup games last year with the flashing disco lights going in the corner of the stadium. It was there I ended up after the game. I really struggle to hear what people are saying in noisy places and after a few beers I just wanted to dance. So happy with the football I boogied the night away until gone 4 o’clock in the morning.
So, maybe I’m not as young as I used to be and maybe getting involved with rounds was a bad idea. For some reason, I missed breakfast and was a little worse for wear the next morning. When I did muster the energy to make it out I had no real plans about from finding a greasy meal somewhere. What I was not expecting was Carnival. That pagoda and bustling town centre with the face-painting was the town getting ready. This wasn’t the damp, twee excuse for Carnival we have in Wales. This was a full-on carnival as visually impressive as the films most of us have seen of Carnivals in a big cities of Latin America, an extravaganza of colourful costumes a street wide and occasionally as high as the lamposts. With seemingly endless Sound Systems each followed by troops of dancers coupled with enormous variety and creativity in the costumes: There were troops of Goths, Oompah Loompers, Witches, giant Swans , huge Spiders and endless feathery costumes dancing. I felt so priviledged to be there to witness it.
A fantastic experience, not just the noise, the colour, the sense of people celebrating life. It was the very pretty young women dancers, wearing very little apart from a few sparkly straps and a huge headress, shaking their bodies about, cathing your eye, which for a heterosexual male, was shall we say a pleasurably arousing expereince. But behind them they were were followed by middle-aged women showing those young things that they still had it too, often dancing with even more energy and then in the middle, the little ones just about doing the dances right, being shown the ropes for in a few years time when they would be the ones nearer the front. This realisation that these people do Carnival year in year out until they can’t do it anymore. You have three generations dancing togerther for hours on end. Then there are the men, not so many, but a few bearded queens giving it their all too.You get this sense of community and connectedness washing over you.
It just felt so Spanish, out there all day in the daylight. Whereas peak Welshness kind of happens in the dark of the evening huddled under cover somewhere when we burst into song and you realise you surrounded by a hundred people all joining in with Calon Lan, with a few doing the harmonies. For Spain it seems to be dance. These cultural events where everyone comes together to express our joy of being a community are rare, so I felt very lucky indeed to be in a foreign land when they were expressing their passion for their community and culture. At the end it was so lovely to see the dancers making their way home, looking utterly shattered yet with huge beaming smiles on their faces.
Next day was my last non-football day in Pinatar. I just wanted to maintain this wonderful relaxed feeling. I went for a stroll to explore the interesting salt dune system that keeps the waves out of Pinitar. It was fascinating to watch flamingoes in the wild and more life then we get in the colder Northern temperate parts of Europe. A pleasant stroll punctuated by simply sitting on the sands, not being too hot or too cold, reading my book watching the sea and being relaxed away from the hustle of bustle of everyday life. At such moments I could just about understand the appeal of British people coming here to retire, it was so peaceful. I even met some of them n a cafe, a Welsh couple, an English couple and some Germans. I do kind of get the appeal but I’d miss Welsh culture too much. I’m so lucky to live in Wales and know that this peace is just a short walk away up in the hills. Sure it’s a bit cold damp and windy at times, but I think I just like it more.
Anyway I found myself close to the stadium and so instead of a further hour of walking back into town, I would expereince being a proper genuine neutral. For Game 3 was the final of the Pinatar under 19 year olds competition. Hungary U-19 against Sweden U-19s. The thing is it’s so hard to be a neutral at football game. My friend last week was using We to describe Aberystwyth within 5 minutes of watching his 1st game. So after the anthems the Welsh section of the ground had a quick discussion, and we went for Hungary, sorry Sweden [we outnumbered supporters of the two teams in any case)! Technically, maybe I should have supported Sweden because I’ve been there and not to Hungary, but then I did live with a Hungarian for a while. Anyway Hungary it was.
I don’t take much interest youth games, I went to won after Covid because a work colleague was playing for the team. Because whilst technically these players were excellent, considering they were 18 and 19 year olds, they just lack that match awareness, that lack of development of awareness of space. I’m being aware in comparing these teams to full international sides, but this is why I don’t watch youth football. Nonetheless it was a fascinating encounter. Sweden took the lead, later Hungary equalised, then Penalties. I still think penalties are a horrible way to end a football match, but soon enough the Hungarian girls were going absolutely wild with delight on winning the trophy.
The final match day with breakfast with the Scots was a very warm hearted affair. One lady was in her 90s and had been to every Scotland game for decades. Then meeting up with some Wales fans for a coffee and a last look at Pinitar before heading home. It was raining, which just felt entirely fitting for a Wales Scotland game, meeting up in the bar for drinks, the pre-match rituals and soon enough we were all in the stadium again, bolstered by a few extra Welsh and Scots locals we’d bumped into along the way we’d persuaded to come along. Game 4 was another tight encounter. Scotland scored in the first ten minutes, but we kept going, bagging an equaliser and another draw. Some may say that going to Spain to see two draws isn’t that great, but it was. The best moments of these internationsls when you have a section of 30 or so people is a sense of bonding with the players. Some players come over to sign shirts,flags and hats, take a few selfies and a chat with the fans. It’s such a warm feeling, which you don’t get in the mens game.We went for pizza before returning once last time to the stadium for the last game between Iceland and the Phillipines.
So Wales at this point were on 5 points, Iceland on 4, Scotland on 3 and the Philipines on 0. If the Philipines won the game Wales would win the tournament (Iceland had a better goal difference if they were to draw). the other Wales fans were rooting for the Philipines. The Philipines had charmed everyone, were the lowest ranked team of the four and were thre only ones qualified and going to the World Cup this year (partly because Australia and New Zealand hosting make Asian qualifying a little easier). But this was Iceland, my ‘third’ team, they had I think 8 supporters in the stadium. I had a moments intenselty awkward dilemma, then made my decision and left the Wales section to say hello and sit with the Icelandic fans. It was a warm fuzzy decision and I think reflected Wales well in that one person went across to support the Icelanders. Komdu Island!
It was unfortunatly a rather one sided encounter. I think Iceland had worked out that the best way to deal with the Philipines was go on the attack and not worry too much about defending and just used their experience. It worked, Iceland were the victors 5-0, and deserved winners of the tournament. Football isn’t known to be a friendly sport where opposing supportes chat and support each other. That was how this tournament felt for me, or maybe it was just I like all four of the teams. I did feel guilty about not supporting the Phillipines in any of their games, but I shall certainly be rooting for them come the World Cup!
Then it was just the journey back home. Sharing a taxi back to Alicante. Worrying about making my flight waiting for the airport bus, and seeing a RyanAir costumed lady who would be one of my flight attendants on the bus soperhaps I needn’t have worried. Fortunatly the airport was quiet and no queues. I finally had a middle seat on a flight. They are horrible, if those next to you use the armrest you have nowhere to put your arms, if it was longer than the two and a half hour flight I might have struggled.
I’m glad I was going through Manchester, so I got to see the Leipzig against Man City in the Champions League game in Manchester on the telly in one of my old Manchester haunts [another draw 1-1). Manchester has got a bit more trendy since I was living there, I didn’t get my pint of Hyde’s Mild, which I’ve missed! Then a pleasnt morning having another look around town before the trains home. Including an hour and a forty minutes this time in Shrewsbury between trains, but this was fine as I found a few good Country records in a record shop and was home not too late this time!
Squimple 