Planes, Pintxos and a Pathetic Performance
My trip to Bilbao for the Europa League Final took me to Alicante, the Basque Country, and even Catalonia
It’s 3am on the Thursday morning after the previous night’s Europa League Final, and I’m wandering around Bilbao, initially looking for somewhere to have a wee, but then to take in some of the sights I missed the previous day. There are pockets of fans everywhere, either stood around or huddled in doorways or vestibules. I hear the odd chants from those still sufficiently alert, or sufficiently inebriated more likely.
‘U-N-I-T-E-D, United are the team for me’ is quickly followed by ‘Yid Army’ as those still so inclined attempt to outdo one another. But there’s no edge to it, not from what I could see anyway – most Reds probably don’t have any fight left in them, if it was there in the first place. This also perfectly sums up the team we’ve watched these past few months, save for a few incredible moments which saw us reach the final.
The number of people being out overnight is down to the extortionate hotel prices in the city, a quick cash grab from those venues because of the final. With a 9am flight out of San Sebastian, over an hour away, it was a no-brainer for us to pull an all-nighter, something the prospect of doing would normally fill me with anxiety. Maybe here I was subconsciously convinced we would win, that we would be celebrating, and that the time would fly by.
I wander on, along the bank of Nervión River, where it is much quieter, although I hear the occasional chant from a distant bar; some Spurs fans still clearly celebrating their win, which of course should’ve been us!
I reach the Guggenheim Museum, Frank Gehry’s abstract yet stunning masterpiece, and its iconic flower dog outside. The city looks resplendent lit up in the darkness, and I take photos of some of the same buildings I had done 13 years ago when I last visited with United. If you’ve followed me on Twitter for more than 5 minutes, you’ll know about my affinity for the city of Bilbao, its people, and Athletic Club after that trip in 2012. I had yearned to go back there ever since, and I was made up United had reached that final, in that location.
The heavens open, so I power walk back to Casco Viejo (the old town) and back to the luggage store where a couple of mates were curled up on the floor trying to sleep in a narrow corridor, alongside about 20 others in the same predicament.
Let me take you back a few weeks now, to the night of the semi final first leg, also in Bilbao, versus Athletic Club of course. I watched in a local bar with a couple of match-going mates, amongst others. I had vowed to be there the next time United played at San Mames, alas in these circumstances, it was a choice of the semi (with no guarantee of a ticket), and a potential final, the latter being the obvious choice.
Many a Red had booked travel for the final before that game, to keep the price down as cheap direct flights were already non-existent, and I had chanced my arm with my wife as well. But she was having none of it, and was adamant that I was only going if United got through. Which is absolutely fair of course, given I’d already watched United in Bucharest this year. But at 3-0 up at half time in the semi, away from home no less, that was that, I was going - any attempt from her to have me hold off booking until after the second leg would have been futile. I saw very little of that second half in Bilbao as we were all too busy scouring Sky Scanner.
After much discussion and searching for options on the Friday, I was going to book for my mate Jugesh (Jugs) and I, but I was shattered and decided to do it first thing Saturday morning. Much to my chagrin though, by then the price of our selected route had shot up over £150, and I felt like I was making a massive mistake, spending so much on 3 days in Spain which at any other time would cost about £70 all in. But I quickly reasoned that our price would look very decent when the official club trip prices were released. And it did! It turned out to be £900 to book on the daytrip, and that wasn’t even flying in and out of Bilbao.
Most of my usual Euro away group wanted to do a slightly longer trip, so they plumped for Monday to Friday via Tenerife, whereas Jugs and I could only manage Tuesday to Thursday for a couple of different reasons.
We were booked then, and we just had to hope United didn’t capitulate in the second leg at Old Trafford, something I could very much see happening when we were 1-0 down. I, like many other Reds, did back Athletic to qualify at 25/1 though, which would’ve covered most of the cost of my flights had we royally messed up. This prompted a brief discussion in the WhatsApp group, with one of our party suggesting it was sacrilege betting on United to lose. Normally I’d absolutely agree, but this was an insurance policy, pure and simple. And it was all comfortable in the end, so off we marched to a European final, and a hope of slight redemption for our shambles of a season. It was even painless getting a ticket, and we’d received confirmation within around 15 minutes of qualification – United had to do the ballot before the second leg, given the quick turnaround.
As the game approached, more and more crazy routes came out that people were having to take. Some had booked to fly via Belgium, Germany, or Italy, while I heard that one of my former colleagues was driving from the north-east of England, where he now lives, picking up his mate in Manchester, and then continuing all the way down to northern Spain. Ours looked rather reasonable in comparison…we were going via Alicante, then up to Vitoria-Gasteiz in the Basque Country on the morning of the game, and home via San Sebastian and Barcelona.
For those who have only ever used Alicante as a way of getting to Benidorm, I’d highly recommend visiting properly. The city is very traditionally Spanish, with bustling streets full of bars and restaurants, and a palm tree lined walkway close to the seafront. Overlooking the city is Castillo de Santa Bárbara, sitting atop Mount Benacantil, which Jugs and I climbed; a challenge in the searing heat, but well worth it by the time we reached the top. And there’s a lift up, should you prefer.
After that workout, we ambled across town back towards our apartment, where we took advantage of the rooftop pool with a couple of beers, before heading out for the evening. I was hoping that we’d be able to find somewhere to watch York v Oldham in the National League Playoffs, but that was a tad optimistic to say the least!
Instead we wandered into a bar on the lure of 1.20€ cañas. After getting our beers, we were met with a waiter with a tray of tapas offering us a portion, and this kept happening every few minutes. Now I’m aware that in some parts of Spain, tapas is free as long as you’re drinking, which I assumed was the case here. But after the 5th or 6th portion we started to realise that we’d missed something, especially as we were on our first beer still, and struggling to get the bartender’s attention to get another. It transpired that we would of course have to pay for everything we ate, and that instead of a menu, staff just brought round a particular dish, and you either took a portion or you didn’t. Everything cost 1.50€, and staff just counted the number of trays in front of you when you came to pay. It made for a really good experience, and it’s these sort of situations that you stumble into accidentally, that often make for the fondest memories, in my opinion.
We were up and out very early on the Wednesday morning, with a 7am flight up to the Basque Country, something I was quite nervous about not going to plan, given we were waking up on the morning of the game hundreds of miles away. But all did go to plan, and we were wandering around Vitoria’s old town by mid-morning, with a couple of hours to kill until our bus to Bilbao.
Vitoria is the home to La Liga side Alavés, and the geek in me would’ve liked to have gone to have a look at their ground, Mendizorrotza. It was a little far out of the centre though, and I don’t think Jugs would have had the same desire to see it as I did.
The bus ride through the Basque countryside was a bit of a surprise, in that I didn’t realise quite how green and mountainous it was. We could’ve been in the Lake District or in the American Rockies, and I had been unaware that this terrain existed here. It’s definitely somewhere I’d like to explore more in the future.
Once we arrived in Bilbao, we headed to the fan park, which wouldn’t have been my choice of venue, but it was an obvious meeting point for our wider group. And in the information pack that United sent at the beginning of the week, they neglected to tell us that it was at the top of a big hill! There was a stage there, with a Q&A with a couple of United legends ongoing as we arrived, and we saw Manchester stalwart Rowetta perform a couple of classics, to my enjoyment.
There was a VIP area beyond the security fences, and a quick rush of fans in that direction told us that one of said legends was walking through. It turned out to be Andrew Cole, and in a moment unbefitting a 37 year old dad, I whipped off my 98/99 away shirt remake, and flung it over the fence for him to sign, which he obligingly did.
After a few beers in the fan park, our lot headed back down the big hill to find a better spot where we would spend the next few hours, drinking kalimotxos (half red wine, half cola, served over ice!) and eating pintxos. There were plans to meet up with old friends, which came to fruition, while the plan to meet my Spurs supporting cousins didn’t – probably just down to each of us being comfortable in our respective locations, amongst our own fans.
Bilbao is a great footballing city for many reasons, one being that you see locals of all ages wearing Athletic Club shirts of various vintages. Another though, as I have written about before, is the location of San Mames. The new stadium is in the same location as the previous iteration, in the city and within walking distance.
So then began the mass exodus from the old town towards the stadium, ensuring we had plenty of time, given the horror stories of issues at the turnstiles from continental games and finals gone by. Just like the original, the new ‘La Catedral’ (the cathedral) rises from behind the buildings as you approach, this time a large white bowl, the façade layered in rings increasing in size up to its roof. Once the stadium was in sight, a couple of us stopped for another drink, knowing that there would be no alcohol served inside. There were no issues at all getting in the stadium, as it turned out.
I’ve watched many an Athletic game since they moved to the new San Mames in 2015, and the stadium has always greatly impressed me, an opinion that didn’t diminish once I was inside. Two continuous tiers seating 53,000, with a long overhanging roof which I would imagine helps a lot with the atmosphere. Our view from the corner of the second tier was fantastic, but I can’t imagine there’s a bad view anywhere in there.
Talking of the seating, I need to give massive credit to UEFA here; when successful in the United ballot, we were given codes to buy our tickets through the UEFA website, and we were then able to link those codes, leading to 7 of us all being seated together. I heard too of groups of 15+ all being placed together, and it’s something that the FA could look to implement for domestic finals, to help improve the matchday experience for fans, as well as the atmosphere.
There isn’t much to say about the match, except for the fact that we never looked like scoring. Although neither did Spurs. Apart from when they did. And at that moment, a Spurs fans in the next block over, the neutral area, celebrated all too wildly, and got a good hiding for his troubles. Very unpleasant to see, but you have to question his judgement in his actions given his proximity to the United end.
After the game, I along with one of our group Sarah, got separated from the rest, so we stopped off for a couple of commiseratory kalimotxos, until she got a text to say that the rest of her bus were waiting for her. This wasn’t quite true, as they’d previously been given a 1am departure time, but it still led to a quick march across town, and up that big hill near the fan park (it felt much bigger at that time as well!). There I said my goodbyes to her and the others and then made my way to our storage locker and my ‘digs’ for the night.
Jugs had arranged a taxi for 3 of us all needing to get to San Sebastian airport, and in his wisdom had booked a larger vehicle with the intention of selling the spare seats to other Reds. Again, ridiculous prices were in play, which we fully anticipated, but the original 7 seater booking was quickly cancelled and replaced with a 6 seater, and an almost 10% fare increase. Jugs managed to fill those spaces thankfully, so the cost whilst excessive, wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been. And the cheek of the driver, who wanted more money from the other 3 randomers who all needed to get to the town rather than the airport.
Apart from a 50 minute delay while sat on the tarmac in Barcelona, the journey home was uneventful if not tiring, but these are the things we do for the team we love, the shoddy, ill-run joke of a football team that is ours. At least we can forget about football for a few months now…
