Before any of you start thinking; why is Bazza reporting on a match between two Turkish teams? Let me enlighten everyone. I happen to be in Istanbul this week at a vein conference. Phlebology is my field of work and interest and this year the Olympic Games of vein meetings is occurring and like the aforesaid sporting event, happens every four years. It is for this reason that I am unable to attend the game tomorrow evening at the Hawthorns. Like everyone else, I wasn’t able to go to Blues; home game against Swansea because of the postponement out of respect for HM Queen Elizabeth II and I am sure I am not alone in expressing my condolences to the King and the rest of the Royal Family.
However, on arrival in Istanbul on Sunday, I discovered that Besiktas were playing at home in a local derby and as I could see the Vodaphone Stadium:
from my hotel I thought it would be really cool if I could get down there on Monday evening for the game to sample the atmosphere, see a match in a stadium I would probably never get another chance to see and perhaps take in some of the local street food outside the ground. Trying to get a ticket for the game proved tricky as there are a number of sites, not all necessarily legitimate, flogging tickets for pretty steep prices so I enquired of the hotel concierge who told me that I would be OK to walk up on the evening. This I did. The ground is down a steep winding set of streets towards the Bosphorous waterway and after basic directions I picked up local fans with the black and white Besiktas colours adorned and followed the madding crowd.
It was a bit more of a trek than I had envisaged not helped by a row of surly looking police who were blocking the most obvious path down to the stadium. This I was told, by one of only three people I met that could speak English, was to keep opposing fans apart; think Blues-Villa and you can picture the importance of this game to the home faithful. There was an increasing buzz of excitement as we eventually approached the ground following our diversion by police and I went in search of a ticket. The language barrier was immense as my attempts to find ‘ticket’ led to much gesticulating and pointing in multiple directions until eventually a police officer with a smattering of English directed me where to go.
Having got to the kiosk there were several swarthy and once again surly looking individuals around it. I asked as best I could for ‘ticket?’ to be greeted with more gesticulation and shrugging of shoulders from weather-beaten looking gentleman who looked like a 40 fags a day man and in need of a decent dentist. He gave me an emphatic ‘no ticket, no ticket!’ Moreover, this statement had an air of ‘sod off!’ about it. The second of the English speakers I mentioned earlier seized upon my difficulty and intervened to help. After a brief conversation with the ticket vendor, the local English speaker regretfully informed me that there were no more tickets for sale because they had sold out. It was a capacity crowd for the game.
Just in case you were now expecting a happy ending to this tale and that Bazza saved the day by happening across a local Turk with a spare, I have to disappoint you. Disconsolately, I proceeded back from where I had come up a steep, steep hill. I clearly took a wrong turn somewhere on the way back to my hotel and ended up in front of a famous mosque down near the waterfront by the main cultural centre. I had a local map and attempted to navigate my way back but having discovered that I had at one point come full circle I decided to hail a taxi. This was easier said than done. All the local taxis were occupied it seemed and they were reluctant to drive anywhere near the ground where I was because of the standstill traffic. I walked on until I came to one of the other hotels hoping to pick up a cab from there. Once again getting a cab was proving impossible and fortunately, this is where the third English speaker of the evening came in. I told him where I wanted to go and he told me to proceed up the road we were on 500 yards to traffic lights and keep going straight. “Two hundred yards more you will see your hotel.”
It was dusk by the time I arrived back. I was tired, hungry and thirsty and had seen more of Istanbul than I had intended or anticipated. Two of my colleagues who had already eaten nevertheless joined me for a drink while I downed a delicious curry at one of the restaurants in the hotel. The inner man restored I reflected that although I missed the game I still enjoyed the vibe on the way.
By the way, Istanbul Basaksehir won the game 1-0 which will have improved their position from 6th in the Turkish top flight. Besiktas were second going into the game. So the away side won. Let’s hope it’s the same tomorrow eh?
The Good: At the very least, getting involved in the pre-match atmosphere. The curry and the cold beer enjoyed back at the hotel.
The Bad: Missing the match; would have loved to have got in. Losing my way on the way back. Still, it burned some calories I suppose.
The Ugly: The row of surly policemen. Not the sort of blokes you’d care to tangle with. I reckon they wouldn’t mess about.
KRO Bazza
Leave a Reply