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Call it fate, or call it France’s inability to beat a Swedish side already eliminated, but this lone traveller was heading back to where it all, not ‘began’, but ‘happened’ for want of a better word; eventually I’d be in the city of Kiev, a city my ancestors once called home. 

Call it fate, or call it France’s inability to beat a Swedish side already eliminated, but this lone traveller was heading back to where it all, not ‘began’, but ‘happened’ for want of a better word; eventually I’d be in the city of Kiev, a city my ancestors once called home. 

My journey began on a crisp Friday morning in southern Oxfordshire, moving onto Paddington, then onto Stansted, for my flight to Istanbul.  Due to their poor choice of outlets and samey duty-free shops, of which there were just the two, five hours in Istanbul airport is an evening low down on most people’s to-do-list but eventually Germany v Greece got me through what was a poor start to the trip.

During the game I befriended another lone traveller as we waited for our connection to Donetsk airport, a Spanish chap by the name of something I can’t pronounce or spell.  It had a “th” in it.  When asked where he was staying, he confirmed that he hadn’t yet booked something despite our plane landing at 2am. 

Now, Donetsk, as I’m sure you’re aware of isn’t a tourist trap – it’s a tough mining city not far from the Russian border, and thus hotels are sparse at best, non-existent at worst.  The options were basically £150/night for a hotel when there wasn’t a game on, double when there was, university accommodation miles out of town for £50 a night, and the euro 2012 campsite for £20 a night.  Therefore, I found the “th” man’s haphazard attitude towards securing safe accommodation a concern so recommended the campsite and moved on – it was too early to associating myself with loose cannons.

As I only needed to get my head down for 6hrs or so, I picked the campsite and arrived around 3am – walking into the loudest outside nightclub I’ve ever been to.  Sleep would be difficult, but not impossible I thought, and I’d read that the music finishes at 5am – an exaggeration I hoped.

Having my tent unzipped by a pissed German was an unexpected lowlight, and things only got worse when he requested he sleep on my spare bed.  He took my “why don’t you go to your own tent” as a “no”, but the nature of my door always being open left me on edge.

I was wrong about the sleep, it was impossible, and I was wrong in my hope about the music finishing earlier than 5am; it finished at 8am by which time the tent was like a greenhouse due to the 25 degree temperature outside.  A bad start.

Grumpy and tired, I got on the bus and headed into the city centre as I had only 8hrs to shift some France v Spain tickets (should have been England v Spain) and get my sleeper train to Kiev for England v Italy.  Tickets shifted, I boarded the sleeper train to find my first class 2-bearth cabin (£60) – second class being a 4-bearth cabin (£40) and third class being beds in a carriage (£10).

I thought my luck had changed when I opened the door of the cabin to find a pretty young blonde as my companion, before eventually realising I’d opened the wrong door.  In hindsight I should have used the drunk German’s line of “can I stay in that bed”, but instead I apologised and went next door to find my own cabin, empty.  This was a fine second best and I enjoyed a peaceful night’s sleep, making use of the electricity sockets and air-conditioning.  Sadly the TV didn’t work so I couldn’t watch Spain v France, but compared to the campsite-hell-hole it was heaven.

The 14hr sleeper train arrived on time to the minute (take note British Rail) and I arrived in Kiev.  My hotel was located in an area on the rough side – the dead kitten by the pavement always a fine indication of that, but it wasn’t far from the centre and it was affordable.

Quickly learning the taxi-rule of getting the hotel to book it in Ukrainian and agree a price, rather than get whacked as a tourist, off I went into the centre.  Kiev city centre reminded me of Madrid (and most other European capitals), and it really had that international feel about it.  It even had a Marks & Spencer, although regrettably I didn’t pop in to test out a sandwich.  Their knickers, on the other hand, smelt just as they do here (just a little joke, they smelt better).

Before the England game I joined the other English in the fanpark, where everyone mixed and conversation was easy.  Two England fans dressed as goalkeeper Joe Hart with England-wigs were having their photo taken with Ukrainian children and the atmosphere around the park was friendly to all nationalities; where was the British press to report the good news story?

Sadly, the press weren’t far away when one of the Harts was later spotted dropping his ‘lowers’ during one of Italy’s penalties.

Glossing over the England game as we all saw what happened, I spent the next day in Kiev absorbing the sites.  Ukraine is a poorer country than some in Europe, but there is an honesty about the way they live.  On the first bus I got on, money was passed from the back to me at the front (what a welcome I thought!), meant of course for the driver.  Anyone could have got away with not paying, but no-one did, that I saw.  How would we fare in the UK with such a policy? 

When the last time someone stopped you for directions that you didn’t know, did you tell them you didn’t know or did you use your mobile to contact a friend and find out for them – this happened to me and other England fans during our stay.  On another occasion I got lost and needed a taxi, so went into a local bar.  They ordered a taxi for me, and I bought a drink without ever feeling pressured to do so.  I then used their WIFI to book my hotel for that night (every bar/hotel I visited had free WIFI, again we could learn a lot), but the hotel website was down, so the barstaff phoned the hotel, explained the situation in Ukrainian and passed over the phone for me to say my personal details for the reservation.  I’d like to see how far a Ukrainian would get in Oxford under identical circumstances – I fear not as well!

Of course there were situations where the taxi drivers try to sting you, but where doesn’t that happen?  Sure the hotel prices went up, but are we pretending that London and the UK aren’t doing exactly the same when the Olympics roadshow rocks up in a month’s time? Are there any transport workers in London who aren’t currently, or were at one stage, threatening a strike when the world comes to visit?  How welcoming is that?!  The Heathrow Express is £24 for a 15 minute journey – we can’t criticise anyone!

My conclusion is this: it’s easy to turn your nose up at a poorer country, a country that you’ve never been to.  The metro cost 16p to use, the buses 12p, both always ran on time, there accommodation was there if you looked hard enough and were willing to research, and the food and drink was great value, but by far and away the best thing was that the country opened itself to all that visited.   

One Ukrainian man explained how the Panorama programme made him sad and he explained to me “that’s not how we are, we want people to come and enjoy our country”.  I shall end my blog with a quote from one England fan from Manchester who told me “I’m glad the tournament was in Ukraine, I’ve had a brilliant time”.

Thanks to Jamie French for the article below which first appeared on his jimmyeff blog. You can email Jamie here.