Inner Ramblings of a Cereal Killer

I don't even know why I like them. I had absolutely no reason to either, it isn't as if my father was in the firm or being born in North London (FYI no where close on both accounts). Even further, (here is where I'll confess) I remember wanting Liverpool to win when Michael Owen put 2 pass David Seamen in the FA cup final (the first football game I remember ever watching), I remember liking Manchester United because they were good (still bloody are) and my cousin loving them and most recently I liked Chelsea because I thought Zola was amazing (he was) and wanted an 'underdog' to win. Shameful I know but in my defense I really wasn't 'into' football during those years.

Then it all changed when I watched the most innocuous of Arsenal games on replay one weekend years ago. It was against Bolton Wanderers. The team was on fire that day, it wasn't with shots from outside the box or dribbling tricks, it was with their passing. Through balls being played all over the pitch (I still think a well played reverse ball is one of the best things to see in football) to the point where I almost felt sorry for Bolton. Maybe it's because I loved Magic Johnson and the way he played the game of basketball. I thought this was the closest thing to 'Showtime' on the football pitch. It wasn't like Fabregas (Please Comeback), Henry (The King) or RVP (Traitor) dominated, I do remember one player that stood out me and that was Alexander Hleb of all players. 

He left the club Barcelona (foreshadowing of things to come) and his career fizzled since then but he had the ball on the string on that day. I distinctly remember a commentator suggesting maybe we didn't need Cesc anymore. Since then, I have been awake at ungodly hours (due to the time difference) to watch the rollercoaster that has been Arsenal's fortunes for the last 6 years. Getting into endless debates with my best friends about the team (geniunely being offended if anything bad is said about them), exclusively using them to play FIFA, hours of youtube footage of the 'glory' days, being the happiest person alive we beat the Spurs and being the most disappointed when we lose to anyone (I sat through the whole 2-8 game and am almost proud of it). In this time any fan of football will be quick to point out that we haven't won a trophy for 8 years. I think we are well and truly due so I arrived in London for a week where we have and chance to get closer to ending the drought with not one but two tournaments. It turns out I end up being there for the lowest point in the clubs recent history and somehow (incredibly irrationally) I still love The Arsenal probably more now than ever. 

The day had arrived. I was actually up at midnight in a nightclub but made it clear to the friends I was travelling with that I had to leave at 2am at the very latest. Kick off was only at 3pm but I didn't want to be the least bit tired. I don't know why it was so important to me to go. I think I had some crazy expectation that I was going to see Arsene Wegner in coffee shop on the way. He would leave his breifcase and I would return it to him and then we would hit it off about implementing aspects of basketball plays into the teams strategy. Which leads to me becoming an assistant coach with an apartment in Highbury square....As you can tell I have definitely thought about this too much (For those of you playing at home Arsene is a 63 year old French Mr Bean like man who happens to be the manager of Arsenal). 

I put on my Arsenal jersey which was made redundant by the selling of the player on the back (Why Song? why?) and made my way to the tube station. I get on the Picadilly line to get to Highbury & Islington a full 3 hours before kick off. I thought this was perfectly justifiable if not cutting it fine. I wanted to walk around the neighbourhood before the game and get a feel for 'Home'. I got off at the Highbury & Islington station and headed in the direction of the stadium. It was had to believe that I was even close to a 60,000 seat stadium. It just looked like a normal London neighbourhood. I was walking down the street which had a park on one side and a row of terrace houses on the other. There were a few joggers walking their dogs and parents playing with their kids (Okay, so maybe I was very early). I had always had an idea of the area around Arsenal being one that was predominantly working class but it was evident that it had been rather gentrified now. Best shown by at least 3 black luxury SUVs parked on the street. I continued along and saw a group of guys playing in what looked to be social 7 a-side league on an astroturf pitch, the kind that my friends and I would live on if there was one back home. With most of the players heavier than their first touch, what they lacked in skill, they definitely made up for in effort and banter. After about 5 minutes, I continued on my way and out of nowhere I could see the stadium as I entered one of the cross streets. It was kinda bizarre but kinda cool. There weren't any real major roads leading to it. It almost felt like your neighbourhood oval but a mammoth scale. I can only imagine Highbury giving more off more of that local vibe. 

I didn't go straight to the stadium though. I had seen red and white flags waving down the street. As I got closer I quickly discovered it was the actual Arsenal tube station. The streets around it were lined with food stalls and people selling merchandise and memorabilia. Having never owned a beanie and losing all feeling in my ears since getting to London, I picked one up from one of the stands along with a fatty roast pork roll and finally made my way to the stadium. I did a lap around the stadium before going to pick up my ticket. The walls are lined with player profiles of the legends of the club. The Thierry Henry one had a story of a fan whose last name was Airey. He had somehow manage to convince his wife to give all three of their children middle names starting with T. So now they are all named "......... T Airey". That's a level on fandom that I don't know I could ever reach. When I collected my ticket I ventured over to the statue of the great man himself and got a fellow Gooner to take a photo. I then entered the stadium. I somehow scored a seat with an unobstructed view from the Clock End.

The stadium was empty but I watched as it slowly filled up to a full house. Soon the stands were packed and The Clash London Calling was blasting through the PA system. By all means at this point it was the perfect day I had imagined. I really should have left there and then. What should have happened was a dominant midfield performance and a comfortable 3-0 win against a team literally out of their league. With goal from a Viera-esque Diaby and two exquisite finishes from Gervinho and allowing first team players to rest before the Champions League match. However "the best laid schemes of mice and men go often awry".

The air was fresh but the (mythical) London Sun was out and there was an electric buzz of anticipation around the stadium. It wasn't just me feeling it I swear. Wenger had fielded a near full strength team with the exception of a few. This was a testament as to how important the game was to the club. With a number of the bigger names in the competition already out of The FA cup it was a perfect chance to get that elusive trophy. The game started with us clearly on the front foot. My favourite chant of the day came along very early on "If you hate Tottenham Hotspurs clap your hands". That isn't a typo. We were currently playing an entirely different team and there it was still appropriate for to show hate for the noisy neighbours down the road. I hope that gives you an appreciation of just how bitter the rivalry is. I fully expect that I would hear the exact same at a Spurs game not featuring us, not that I would ever go to one. We won corner after corner which was actually quite a strange thing for us. One thing that was amusing was when Tomas Rosicky would take the corners in front of the section of traveling Blackburn fans. He would place the ball just over the line that the ball had to be placed on. This happened at least 5 times and each time you could visibly see the faces of the supporters go from pasty white to rosy red to bursting purple. You could also easily see the smile on Tomas' face get bigger and bigger each time. Definitely not something you see when your watching on the telly at home and I loved it. On the 6th occasion the referee blew his whistle and brought Tomas back in line not before moving up a few notches in my favourite Gunner player rankings. It quickly became evident that Blackburn were quite content to park the bus and we were happy to pass the ball around the outside of their box. The all to familiar situation had reared its head again where it seems like we are looking to score the 'Perfect' goal. I am fine with the passing but please someone have some confidence to have shot! This didn't happen for the whole first half. Gervinho did happen to get a 1 on 1 with keeper where he proved once again that he is not half the finisher that we all want him to be and we go into the change rooms at half time scoreless. I already I had a terrible feeling in my gut. 

It was much the same in the second half. The only chants worth remembering this time were cries of 'SHOOT!'. With no one looking like scoring you could feel the crowd getting more restless. Wenger then decided to bring on Carzola, Wilshire and Walcott. All at the same time much to the delight of the crowd. Finally there was a feeling of optimism in the stadium but that feeling soon turned to despair. Due to injuries we had to field Francis Coquelin at left back. Francis is by no means a bad player but he is by no means a left back either. Credit to Blackburn they saw this as well and persisted to attack on his sign on almost every opportunity they had and for the large majority of the game Francis was up to the task. Straight after the substitution Francis made a mistake and Blackburn were in. Szczesny saved the first attempt but couldn't stop Kazim-Richards' shot into the ground from bouncing in. It was strange to feel such a changing of emotions amongst crowd in such a short space of time. It was now a feeling of anger amongst the crowd. Well except for the section of traveling Rovers fans who were fittingly ecstatic. I'll have to admit I even cracked a smirk at their "We're winning away, we're winning away, how shit must you be? We're winning away" chant. Clever. 

 It was like the reality vs expectation scene from 500 days of Summer. 

Only the reality in this version was more depressing than Joseph Gordon-Levitt finding out that the love of his life is engaged. Sorry for the spoiler. Actually no I'm not. It's been out for ages you should have watched it already. Yes I realise I am comparing a guy with a broken heart to a game of football. If you don't watch sport you think I am stupid because how can you compare a love for a person to a club. If you do watch sport and have a team you support, you think I am insane because how can you compare a love for your club to a person. There was still time left to play to get at least an equalizer but apart from a Rosicky shot from outside the box that crashed into the bar, there was nothing to really shout about. In reality there was plenty of shouting about our inability to get pass the Blackburn Bus. In no way do I condone swearing when there a children around but the kid next to me swore first...honest. The final whistle sounded and I along with all the other Arsenal fans couldn't leave the place fast enough. What started as the perfect day had well and truly turned into a nightmare. 

Amongst the crowd leaving the stadium, you could hear little pockets of vocal fans offering their thoughts to anyone who would listen. The main theme was the dread of going up against Bayern on Tuesday after serving up a performance as dismal as that. I think I was in shock more than anything. I had come all this way and they loss without even scoring a goal. That's the least I could have asked for, to see just one goal. I felt entitled to it, in my mind the club owed me it to me but in reality thats not how football works. To add salt into the wound, after the anger wore off, I was freezing my bollocks off. In my haste to leave the stadium I had left my newly bought beanie behind. I followed the crowd assuming that it would lead to a tube station. I didn't want to catch it at the Arsenal station because I knew that would be a headache and I think a walk was much needed so I headed to the Finsbury Park Station. Along the way I was walking behind two Gooners who had to be in their 60s. It was quite clear that one was a Wenger In and the other Wenger Out. Personally I am Wenger In but after that display I could have been easily persuaded otherwise. Shamelessly eavesdropping they finally concluded to accept their differences because at the end of day we all want the same thing. I couldn't help but think this isn't the first time they had that very same conversation and most likely not the last. The next few days after the game and before the Bayern match were filled with London sight seeing with my friends (which I told specifically I didn't want to talk about the game). I dreaded checking my facebook, e-mails or messages just knowing that smartarse comments from back home were coming. To be honest they were mostly ones of sympathy but I couldn't help think they were being sent with smug smiles on their faces. 

My time in the city was split over 2 different visits. I had done my time in Madrid and I really wanted to visit my uncle in Antibes but he was busy for a few days. So I decided to split my journey to Antibes by catching the train to Barcelona. On reflection this was a rookie traveler mistake, Ryan air and Easyjet are so cheap I could have easily just flown to Nice. Bygones, bygones.

I arrive at the train station and it is absolutely bucketing down (so much for it never raining in Spain). Luckily my hostel was right next to the train station. When I got there, the girl at the reception was from Barcelona and apologized for the weather and assured me that it isn't normally like this. I still went for a walk down Las Ramblas which still had people on it considering it was raining pretty heavily. The next day it was still raining, so I decided to go the mall to search for a Ricky Rubio jersey. Alas, they didn’t have any in stock but I found a pair of black Nike Blazers which i had my eye on since London, going for 40€. So damn cheap! However, I had to refrain from buying them. One of the few Cons to the great number of Pros of ‘Backpacking’ is your inability to buy anything bulky unless you had to.

Those who know me well probably know that it was difficult to leave a fresh pair of kicks behind. Typical Australian up bringing lured me to the beach to forget about it (Yes it was still raining). It was cool to see the rough Mediterranean Sea but the beach itself was not really that impressive. It did make me appreciate how good the beaches are in Australia are.

I returned to the hostel which was a fine hostel by all accounts. Clean, cheap, hot shower all things a good hostel should be but it lacked any type of atmosphere. I put it down to it being the off season but still this was the place that was supposed to be one of the best places in Europe! Up until now anyone reading this will think I hated the place (even with the Pussy Barcelona not on the pedestal) but I definitely didn't but the city definitely didn't impress me either.

After spending some time at my uncles place in Antibes (which I also visited twice during the trip) I made my way back.The reason why I wanted to go back can be best likened to South Park episode where Kanye West doesn't get the gay fish joke. Barcelona was my gay fish joke.

I wanted to get it. Also the timing worked out so I could go watch FC Barcelona play at the Camp Nou (may have contributed to the cause).

Straight away I felt better about the city simply because it wasn't wet. This time I choose a different hostel which was recommended to me by one of the workers who was at the hostel I stayed at in Madrid. It was more expensive than the previous hostel but not outrageously so. In fact it had every right to be more expensive than it should have been. This place was like a hotel. Straight away when I arrived the reception was packed so the receptionist kindly asked me to have a seat in the common area which was full of people having drinks. I sat down at a table by myself and straight away this tall, brunette, straight gorgy of a girl comes to talk to me. It could have been something straight out of the movie Before Sunset but the paranoid nerd in me would jump to the movie Hostel instead. But... it turns out she runs the pubcrawl every night for the hostel. For most single guys when a pretty girl asks them to go out for a drink no matter what the context, under very rare circumstances he says no. It was late on weeknight and I had just got off an incredibly long train ride with not whole lot of sleep. Still, this was not one of those circumstances. Good marketing I guess.

I check into my room to change and freshen up. Boom, there are only 4 beds in there! Free upgrade. I head down to join the rest of the people on the pub crawl. It was cocktail night so the Hostel itself were doing 3 euro Mojitos. Hooray! They are mostly Americans but there a few other nationalities. I ended up striking up a conversation with the bloke wearing the All Blacks jersey MS who was also travelling solo. We headed to an Irish pub (every city in the world has them I swear) as you do when you're in Barcelona but then we head to this club on the beach side. It was Harlem Shake night, apparently they were shooting a video for it. (I hope by the time I read this again in the future I'll have to Google what the Harlem Shake is. Gen Y what were we thinking?) Regardless, it was a pretty fun place. It was beach themed (genius) so the bartenders were bikini clad. The music was not my cup of tea but oh so much fun, with the essential Pitbull, Shakira and of course DANZA KUDUUUUUURO!!!

(Don Omar has a special place in the Spanish club scene's heart....and now admittedly a place mine) There were sparklers going off inside and the area which I thought was where you went to get glasses of water was actually the area where you go for glasses of free champagne. Both Oc Health & Safety and RSA are clearly non-issues in Barcelona and I love it. The only down to the night was that I decided to head out to the beer garden which was just the beach. When made it back to the hostel at around 6am (not late at all by Spanish standards) I brought half the beach back with me and it decided to stay with me in my bed for the rest 4 nights. Oh sand how I hate you.  The next day was a complete write off and is one of the main reasons I no longer feel the need to 'Go Hard or Go Home' when going out, especially on holiday. I only left the hostel at around 3pm and decided to go a check out Park Guell which was an effort to get to as it is a steep walk to where it sits. By the time I got to the top I was struggling big time and just wanted a place to sit to eat the kebab I picked up along the way. At the time all the cool architecture was completely lost on me. 

That being said though, the view from the place over looking the city and out to the ocean was pretty darn good and the walk through the streets before the hangover really kicked in was really cool. I ended up going back to the hostel to have nap, which is actually in the true spirit of the culture. I ended up just going for tapas with this Japanese YY who was sharing the dorm with me. 18 and travelling on his own. Respect Kemosabe. The same girl from the pubcrawl asked us if we were keen to go again. Now this was one of those circumstances where that kinda proposition was turned down. Even though not all bad, I felt like I had wasted time in the city when the weather was mint and I really could have seen the Barca that people rave about but instead I was feeling very seedy in a very sandy bed. Plus I was going to see Barcelona play at the Nou Camp the next night.  Luckily, the next day the sun was out again and I saw it as a perfect oppurtunity to go on a bike tour of the city. I looked up a company called Fat Tyre by the guy who ran the bike tour I took of Madrid. I went down to take advantage of free breakfast before hand where I saw MS the Kiwi from the first night and he introduced me to a Canadian guy MB who were both keen to take the bike tour. The bike tour was rad, the guide knew his stuff about Barcelona. The stuff I found most interesting was the origins of Catalonia and presently, the growing desire to be an independent nation. The streets are lined with balconies sporting Catalan flags and the locals speak Catalan not Spanish. He also gave a good background on Gaudi which made me have more of an appreciation for his work around the city. The fountain which he had a hand in building is really beautiful and much less crowded than La Sagrada Familia. We also stopped along the beach for lunch where I saw first hand how much of difference the weather makes to your overall experience.

It wasn't really even that warm but just the sun being out gave the seaside a great atmosphere. Naturally as soon I saw the sun out, I left my shoes at the bike rental place and set off with thongs on. The tour guide was more than understanding as it turned out he was from Adelaide as well....small world. I asked him where to go for a good night out and he told to head to Razzmatazz and said that it is nothing like Red Square which I found quite appealing and funny to talk about on the other side of the world.

The guys also happened to have tickets to the Barcelona game that night as well as YY so we planned to go as a group. It was on the way back to the hostel that I realised that I was the dumbass who forgot to pick up his shoes when dropping off the bikes and now the shop is closed until tomorrow. So as I was contemplating going out in thongs MS came through and lent me a pair of cons for the night. Good bloke! The Nou Camp is something else. The atmosphere at the game was so different to the game in London. It almost had a theatre vibe to it. It almost felt like people were going to see a performance not a game. The game was against Deportivo La Coruna who were bottom of the table at the time but the game still managed to get a crowd of nearly 70 000. Easily the biggest crowd I have been a part of but the stadium still felt kind of empty which is more of a testament to how large the Camp Nou is. Although we all had tickets we were seated at different parts of the ground. I choose for the cheapest option which was 25 Euro which I thought was very reasonable. My seat was very much in the nosebleed section. It felt like an eternity walking up there.

To be honest I really liked my seat, it was mid pitch and you had a view  where you could see everything that was happening on the field. The tikki takki style that Barca play you could see the gaps appear in the defense. I was especially happy to see 2 of my favourite ex-Gunners get a start (Cesc and Song are welcome back any day). It was obvious however that everyone else in the crowd only wanted to see one player and although he didn't start and the team were completely control of the game Messi was brought on. Straight away the mood of the whole crowd lifted. Every time he came close to the ball there you could almost feel each member of the crowd get closer to the edge of their seat. It was almost a forgone conclusion that he would score and in typical Messi fashion he beats his man with a touch to the right plays the ball out wide continues his run into the box, the return ball comes in from the wing come in fast and at an awkward height bringing the keeper out and at full speed chips the ball over the keeper into the back of the net. Lionel you're always welcome to Arsenal as well. The crowd stood up as one to give him a standing ovation and were literally bowing to him. One of the strangest things I have seen at sporting match but all the while fitting of a player with his stature.

The game ended the crowd got what they wanted and my mind quickly turned to checking out Razzmatazz. By the time we got back to the Hostel it was very much early by Spanish standards. I asked the receptionist who looked to be around my age if she had heard of it just to get a second opinion and she more than backed up the first opinion.   MS, MB and I decided to join the pub crawl but only went to the first stop and somehow cut a deal so we didn't have to pay for entry. MS and MB went on the pub crawl the night before and once they saw the line for Razzmatazz they quickly called it a night. I was well past the point of no return though and was determined to check this place out. Plus the band 'Cast of Cheers' and I was keen to just see them at least. I managed to meet some locals in the line who helped me get in for reduced entry which was awesome. Once inside the place was massive easily the size of Hq or the Ivy for those playing at home. 5 different rooms playing all different types of music with the main dance floor playing indie pop/rock. THIS IS MY SPOT! I was just waiting for something to Dougie to but that would have been too good to be true. It still wasn't the same being on my own though, it's a shame because I think the guys would have dug as much as I did. I decided to stay to watch the band assuming that they would be on soon. What a silly assumption. They only came on at 4am. I couldn't help notice a different vibe to a usual club though. It was a vibe that was totally non discriminating. Everyone was there to have a good time and it didn't matter what you were wearing or where you were from. It was strangely welcoming. I stayed till the band finished their set. Sadly the days activities caught up to me and hit me like a tonne of bricks and I caught the train back at 5:30am. I still can't wait to go back there though.

One of the beauties of travelling solo is that you can do whatever you want and the next day I very much slept in. I woke up with no hangover, learning from previous indiscretions.When I eventually decided to get upI decided to go check out Montjuic, the site of the 1992 Olympics (which the more I learn about it is in my opinion one of the most influential events in modern times)

As a self confessed sports obsessed nerd, walking around the place was really cool for me. Some of the greatest athletes of all time participated here. Countries that were unified and countries had just gained independence got to march in front of the world for the first time. Despite all this I still couldn't help but miss my friends, which is one of the ugly things of travelling by yourself. Compounding it all was knowing that after I finished my trip I wouldn't be going back to see them again. Then as I was walking (like Charlie Brown) around the grounds I was stopped by an Italian girl who worked at the hostel who recognized me from the first night. Honestly, the conversation we had wasn't particularly memorable, I remember her being very nice and that she was showing her parents around the city. I let her get back to it. For some reason this got me out of my funk. I kind of said to myself "Right now on you're on top of one of the most amazing cities in the world. You're having the time of your life. Don't waste your time feeling sorry for yourself". Till this day whenever I feel myself getting even close to feeling like that, I remind my self of that time the Italian girl recognized me in Barcelona. I didn't see that girl back at the Hostel again and if I did I probably wouldn't have said it but I would have wanted to say thank you. It's the thought that counts people.

I could have gone to the Picasso museum the next day but I didn't really feel like it. I had a bit of museum fatigue by that stage and I don't think I know enough about art to have a real appreciation for the man. I was told by another backpacker over breakfast on one of the days that there is Monastery in a mountain range about an hour out of the city. After doing some research, I found that it was called Monserrat and it was actually really easy to get there. There is a direct train from one of the main stations. MS was keen to come along as well. I wasn't really too bothered to checking out the monastery itself but I read that there are a few trials to the peak. It was by no means K2 but the views of the country side were awesome and provided some decent photos. It also felt good to be active and to get out of the city for a bit.