European Travels: The Sun Never Sets on the British Empire

I was sitting on my couch the other day with my Dad watching Arsenal play a match against Shakhtar Donetsk. My dad explained to me that this soccer stuff was basically ‘slow hockey’ and promptly fell asleep, from boredom one can only assume. Good match it ended up being, with Arsenal winning handily.

This made me think about my travels through Europe and some of the interesting cultural differences I’ve come across. More specifically, stereotypes I’ve encountered or shattered. I’ve been to Europe four times now and I’d like to tell you a story. 

When I travel I’m always looking for that true European experience whether it’s in England, France or wherever else. It’s not as easy as you would think. Undoubtedly it’s fun to see the historical and cultural sights but there’s nothing like coming back with some stories about locals you chummed it up with. Fortunately for my most recent trip o’er the pond, my friend Phil and I were able to find one of these experiences. 

England

Isolated on an island, the English are unaware of modern day guns.

Oh England, the English speaking paradise of Europe. This former patriarch of the land I call home is domicile to bad teeth, homely women, bad food, and soccer hooligans. At least that’s what popular belief here in the USA says. Well I am here to set the record straight. The teeth are really bad. 

I really enjoyed England. It’s like America except everyone talks funny and the streets are backwards. So when you’re drunk at four in the morning it’s very easy to get yourself killed stepping out into traffic. Speaking of getting drunk (which I have been known to enjoy), London had the most rules I’ve ever seen about getting drunk. Mind you this is in the area known as Piccadilly Circus and Leicester Square. It’s a trendier/touristy area in the heart of London that reminded me a lot of being in New York City around Times Square. 

So the rules

If you want to get drunk and watch a soccer game (like we did one night) you must go to the sports bars. It seems no other bar in the heart of downtown shows the matches. Walk into a pub, no game. Walk into a sports bar, games everywhere. The problem lies in the fact that the lines to get into sports bars go half way around the block. By the time you’ve entered the bar, the game is at half. What’s the point?

Now if you want to get good old fashioned saucy for no reason the pub is a good choice. You would think that as I did, but once again London drinking rules are in effect. The pubs, though a good source of beer, close rather early: midnight or one in the morning depending on the night of the week. In one of these pubs we met the most attractive ladies we did in England. We started talking and it turns out they were from America. No surprise there, like I said before England is full of homely women. Also no surprise that they were ‘heading home’ at bar close and didn’t want to come out for some more drinks. They told us that if we wanted to keep drinking until the wee hours of the morning, the night clubs were the way to go.

If you’ve ever seen a picture of me, you would know that I don’t do night clubs. I have nightmares about nightclubs. Smooth-chested men in leather pants with gelled hair attack me in those dreams. Bass heavy techno sampling songs from dead artists I actually like make my ears bleed in those dreams. Women who want nothing more than free drinks and ecstasy from me make me broke in those dreams. I wasn’t about to make any of those terrible things reality. 

The loophole we found was the 24 hour casinos. A little bit of sanity in an insane part of the city. As long as we kept gambling, we could drink all night long. And for all that drunk gambling I did, I actually made money. So the moral of the story kids is drunk gambling will never lead to bad consequences. In fact we came across another group of attractive ladies while at the casino: they were Irish. 

Hooligans & Their Food

Okay so now that we have established that there are far too many homely women in London, let’s move on to my other preconceived notions: soccer hooligans and bad food. The food wasn’t bad. It was like the dinners your grandma made after she started to lose it. But you can’t complain to your grandmother for serving you tacos and green bean casserole because you know she loves you. It wasn’t bad, it just seemed the combinations were uninspired. The ‘Full English Breakfast’ consisted of eggs, a sausage, a tomato, a mushroom, and toast. They all tasted decent, but when you look at the plate you think ‘This is what you came up with?’  All I can say is that the food was good enough to give me a solid base for drinking. And as you will soon learn, that was important one night. The main reason my friend and I went to England was to see an Arsenal game, not the food. 

We made our way to North London for the match against Wolverhampton. Drank a few pints before the match in pubs packed like sardine tins. We then headed down the street to the Emirates. The neighborhood was really cool and reminded me somewhat of Wrigleyville in Chicago. It was a neighborhood consisting of flats and two-flats as far as the eye could see. Small, locally owned shops, pubs, and restaurants lined the main thoroughfares. It had that olden feeling, even for London. But then, out of nowhere rises the intimidating modern steel of the Emirates. 

Beautiful.

That's Phil, in all his glory

Packed house for the match.

The game was great. No score through 90 minutes despite the Gunners’ constant peppering of the Wolves’ goalie. Stoppage time came and in the 94^th minute Niklas Bendtner streaked into the box and headed a cross pass into the goal for the dramatic win. The Emirates erupted in relief as Arsenal put away a game that should not have been so close.  

   

Just to clarify a bit here: Arsenal FC players are called Gunners and their fans are called Gooners. I don’t understand the Gooners thing, so don’t ask. High on life my friend Phil and I made our way to a pub named Bailey’s Gooners. Obviously this bar was for Gooners exclusively. However if the name wasn’t clear enough, there was a sign placed in the window stating ‘No visiting fans welcome’. The bar was small, completely covered in wood and very dark.  It was daylight when we entered the bar and probably about two in the morning when we left. 

Gunner Niklas Bendtner

We chatted with a few groups of fans and as the time wore on and pints turned into more pints neither of us wanted to leave. Slowly the bar started to become less populated. There was one group of guys who remained. They were serious fans. They lead the bar in soccer chants the entire night. Unparalleled is the sense of unity in sport when an entire pub erupts into song together. You just don’t see this very much in American sports. At the end of a good Bears game this is what you’re bound to hear walking back to your car:

 Fuck yeah those fuckin’ Colts really fuckin’ sucked. And you see Cutler? Fuckin’ amazing tonight. 

HEY FUCK YOU JACKWAD, PACKERS SUCK!

Anyway we talked quite a bit with this group of guys. There were four of them that I remember. The first was really tall, probably about six foot five or so with a five o’clock shadow from yesterday. The second was a kid so bland I can’t really come up with a description for him. I do remember he really liked cocaine because he kept talking about it. In fact, all of them were talking about cocaine quite a bit. The third was a short, humorous, black guy dressed in purple. Last guy seemed to be a prick, honestly. He was very serious and despite the fact that the other three guys liked us, I’m not so sure he did. The night wore on with this crack group of guys discussing sports, America, and England. 

Sometime late, we all moved on to new bars. All I really remember from this part of the night was walking through the streets, singing soccer songs, and watching these guys knock over trash cans, construction signs, and basically anything not chained to the ground. Stop in a bar have a couple drinks, move on to the next. We got a good tour of North London. It was during this march that we found out these guys, although they did cocaine and were drinking at the bars without a problem, were 17, 18, and 19 years old. Maybe it was the beers that shaded our perception or maybe it was the fact that they wanted to keep drinking, but it never crossed either of our minds. Somewhere in the range three in the morning (mind you the spirits began somewhere around 1pm), Phil and I decided to head back to the hotel. We had a seven a.m. train to Amsterdam to catch. Somehow we made it back to the hotel and to the train on-time. In hindsight, a miracle.

That train ride to Amsterdam was probably God’s way of telling us that we were assholes. It was long and boy were we hurting really bad. But it was totally worth it. Nothing beats hanging out with the locals when abroad, even if they were five years younger than us. If you want to party, I'm game. That may just say something about my maturity level. However when all was said and done, it was truly an experience that will be hard to top.