Hungary v Faroe Islands
Legia Warsaw Reserves v Ursus Warsaw
A random pick of IC services off Ulm in the morning had me plump for an 0716 starter to Munich. There was no gen on this particular service so I was absolutely shocked to find a class 103 on the front. These were the flagship DB electric loco from the 1960s, and have all long since been withdrawn. However, in Germany, preserved stock in the national railway museum collection is sometimes purloined by DB in times of stock shortages, and it seems the current melt down necessitated such action and here it was, about to whisk me into Munich.
90 minutes later, and the 'light bulb' had us into Hauptbahnhof bang on time.
It was over to the Austrian part of the stations, with OBB having departures to Innsbruck, Budapest and Bologna.
Payback for my early morning classic traction jaunt was spending the next eight hours on a RailJet.
These are the new intercity trains operated by OBB, the Austrian state operator. To be fair, they are a decent train, but it all just gets a bit sweaty after all that time.
So we stomped across through Salzburg, Linz, St Polten and a brief interlude at Vienna main station.
Then into Hungary, and finally into Budapes Keleti.
After checking into a hotel adjacent the to Keleti, I went off to suss out tickets for the football. Budapest has a fairly unique public transport configuration. Basically, the metro lines run arterially into the centre from various points of the compass. They are complemented by a tram network which operate perpendicular lines circling the city at various distances out. I'm sure this would come under concentric ring theory as one of the few phrases you need to pass GCSE geography. See also; long shore drift, oxbow lakes, hydraulic erosion and corduroy Farah jackets with patches on the arms. Anyway, as my destination was in a fellow suburb, it was a convenient tram move from outside my hotel.
A short walk through a park with the Magyarok Nagyasszonya templom giving a backdrop to a group of drinkers who main activity seemed to be encouraging their dogs to shag each other. God I miss alcohol. Just to clarify, I'm not into bestiality, it's just the crazy sights that drinking provides. (Note to self, in future reports try not to write anything that has to be suffixed with "Just to clarify, I'm not into bestiality").
Anyway, I soon dropped onto the main road, and this, the Groupama stadium. Now the fun started. I went to the ticket office, under the assumption that was where I might be able to buy tickets, how wrong I was. The five open serving positions were eerily devoid of custom. I enquirer if I might purchase a ticket. "Not from here" was the rather perplexed response. A supervisor was sought to explain that ticket sales were undertaken in an office on the other side of the city, and that the office here was only to explain to people that. I raised the crass stupidity of the system, his rather novel response was that once you got used to it, then it made sense. I left him to consider that people may have got used to it, but it still didn't make sense, and the fact that he knew the exact GPS coordinates of the other location to put into google maps on my phone, suggested I wasn't the first person who wasn't used to it.
Anyway, another city circumnavigating tram move entailed. This took me to the Papa Lazaro stop. This is also the location of the Ferenc Puskás Stadium which is the national stadium, but is currently undergoing a rebuild into a 70k capacity all seater stadium.
I was expecting a frustrating wait with massed hoarders around a major ticket office. Instead I was greeted by this. Basically, a deserted back street save for the bloke on the left who alternated between going through the roadside bin and angrily chasing cement mixers as they left the adjacent depot. The ticket office was the dingy window on the right where a bored teenager explained I could go for a fans ticket which involved a laborious registration process (her actual phrase was "fucking difficult") or a VIP ticket of which the most strenuous activity would be consuming the free food and drink which came with the 50 euro outlay. Just to be awkward I started the fans ticket process before switching to the VIP option, only to be told they didn't accept either cards or Euros, which was odd for a ticket priced in that currency. A trek to an adjacent Tesco got me the required amount in local shekels and magic beans and the most tortuous transaction in all my 3500+ games of football, was finally complete.
The journey had given me time to download the local transport planner which alerted me that my best option to get back to the game was a winning trolley-bus leap, which added to the adventure.
So back at the ground, just in time to make kick off. Disappointingly, the ground is now sponsored by Groupama, who I used to be tied in for home insurance due to a mortgage, and who were fittingly as shambolic and mercenary as the Hungarian Football Federation ticket buying process.
Here is a large metal eagle stood on a football, homage to resident club Ferencvárosi TC, who are known as Zöld Sasok - The Green Eagles.
Making my way to the VIP area high up in the gods, gave a view of the adjacent Ferencváros yard. Hoping to see some MAV M41 or M62, instead, what was this familiar outline below? That's right, a class 47, one of the exported Continental Railway Solution locos. You travel 3500 miles across Europe just to be bowled by a spoon. It's like the final years of class 50s on the mule.
And that was pretty much it. The toll of traipsing half way around central Hungary on the quest for a ticket had drained my phone and I hadn't brought my backup camera as I didn't think I'd need it for a couple of hours of watching football. The VIP area contained copious amounts of free Heineken and cakes with apple struddle filling, but no charging point for a Samsung. The Faroes had found themselves in the surprise position of being in with a shout of qualifying for the play offs, but needed to win this game to go above their hosts. They held out for most of the game, without ever looking like scoring, and in the end, it was Hungary who scored ten minutes from time to win 1-0, and scrape into the play offs.
I walked the 50 or so minutes back to the hotel, and did encounter a shop which sold electricity from a strange device in its doorway with lots of different connectors, so to celebrate electricity, here is a painting of a train on a wall to end yet another crazy day in that there Europe.
The next morning and Keleti at 0515 with the only company being insomniac beggars, today's most adventurous being someone who introduced himself as a 'fellow tourist' and immediately asked if I could lend him 80 Euros for a ticket to Zagreb. As ever, my offer to go and buy the ticket for him on a credit card was met with indifference, and the kind consideration that if I just give him the money, I wouldn't have to inconvenience myself. Judging from the shambolic football ticket buying process of the previous evening, he may have had a point.
I was on the 0525 Prague service, formed of a very presentable rake of Czech Railways stock, albeit a very dull if slightly rare class 380 for haulage.
**Wanker posting picture of plate of food on social media alert**
I'd used my free Czech and Slovakia coupons for the trip in February so I was actually buying tickets. I'd tried to get them in Munich but the international booking office has been outsourced to some private agency, and they were clueless about anything other than trying to flog interail passes, and were trying to set me up with a 150 euro global fare. Fortunately Kileti still had the standard Euro booking office offering of surly yet competent middle aged women, and had sorted me with a 15 euro FIP fare from Szob to Zebrzydowice. This meant I could take advantage of the complementary food, starting with the CD offering of a bread and sausage breakfast, accompanied by mustard that could have easily powered the blast furnace at Georgian Heavy Alloys.
I had a +10 at Breclav onto a Warsaw bound service, but we were reassuringly on time. The biggest risk would be Slovakia, or specifically, Bratislava. Slovakian railways seems to operate for three reasons.
- To provide a moving canvas for graffiti artists.
- For every homeless person in Bratislava to piss in the subway at central station.
- To put in as much delay as possible into every international train that is foolish enough to touch the ŽSR network.
Sure enough, we rolled into Bratislava on time, sat around for ten minutes. Then an announcement that we'd be leaving fifteen minutes late awaiting connections.
A shrill whistle from the adjacent red cap and we lurched to an unannounced start after 25 minutes, with no sign of any mysterious connection arriving.
I enquired with the Slovakian guard as to if the Warsaw connection would be held, to which he gave a cheery 'of course', which I knew in railway language meant 'I couldn't give a fuck, I'm getting off at Kuty' which is the Czech border station before Breclav. However, arriving at the station, with my service departing for Prague...
...I was relived to see PKP stock in the adjacent platform, not least because the next Polish service was in six hours time and the direct Budapest-Warsaw, which I could have spent in bed but would miss the evenings football.
**Wanker posting picture of plate of food on social media alert**
I was immediately festooned with my Polish complimentary breakfast, which from previous experience, is just lots of different sorts of chocolate, on this occasion hot chocolate, chocolate muffin and a chocolate biscuit. Oh and water, though if there was such a thing as chocolate water, I'm sure they'd include that.
Through Ostrava with the prototype for the Matchbox diesel final located. There were god knows how many class 714 sat around, and these little fellas were struggling with this 120 SLU load.
Into Bohumin relatively on time, but with 12 minutes diamond time for the loco change. The CD loc was unhooked.
Though the activity was then at the other end of the train and my excitement that we might have some very unexpected haulage out via Rybnik...
...was tempered when it transpired that they were lust lashing on a green card (rolling stock that has a fault but an examiner has passed it fit for a one off move to depot for attention) coach to the consist.
So back at the business end and I was happy with a EP09 hooking on, as these have always been pretty solid class 370.
The station pilot then re-appeared. Not for any shunting duties, but instead to pick up three workers carrying bags of food and bottles of drink. Don't ever think the railways are run for anyone but the staff.
But eventually we were good to go.
Into Poland and we were immediately greeted by a private operator M62 on a load of open coal wagons, as though Perestroika never happened.
A four hour slog through southern central Poland took me to Warsaw Central station, which is like a communist designed Birmingham New Street, which itself isn't exactly a Western utopia.
Whilst those with time and patience joined them, I ventured off to see what the commotion was about. Instead, all that could be seen was a line up of trams heading as far as the eye could see.
By now, tram counting was occupying my time, and I'd got to 38 immobile units in walking the two stops to my hotel.
I never did find out the cause of the block, only that in the latter part of the quest a string of emergency vehicles went hammering past the unoccupied adjacent tram line, as by now the only traffic was also gridlocked.
The hotel was one of the receptionless offerings, where you have a series of door codes sent to get through the various entrances to buildings and the lobby.
And then another code from r a magic box.
Finally gets you an old skool door key. The whole experience being a more entertaining remake of the Crystal Maze than Channel 4 managed, although on recounting it when back in the office, it did inspire the bloke who sits next to me at work to spend an afternoon pitching a programme to me called 'Crystal Meth Crystal Maze' whereby competitors had to source various drugs and paraphernalia, consume them, and then undertake various tasks. This blokes actual job is to get Network Rail to have less signalling failures, so his idea wasn't too dissimilar to his normal duties.
Anyway, a quick stowage of belongings, it was back to the station, though with the centre in lock down, everyone was using the train...
...so it was an absolutely wedged unit out to Nowy Dwór Mazowiecki on the northern fringes of the city.
The reason for this was that this evenings game was advertised as being played here. Stadion Świtu Nowy Dwór Mazowiecki was built in 1934 but reconfigured a few times before taking its current guise post-war. The main stand was added in 1974. It is the home ground of Świt Nowy Dwór Mazowiecki, who managed a season in the top division in 2003, for which the stadium was refurbished into its current state.
Encouraging signs of the pre-match warm up taking place. However, closer inspection revealed that I was the only spectator present, and that this looked like a training game rather than a warm up.
It did give the chance for an @nonleague_train though.
Each clubs website confirmed that a game was taking place and the line ups, but both were shy about where the location was. Eventually Soccerway updated the location from when I'd last checked just before leaving the hotel, and I was on my way to Dolcan Arena, which at least was a new ground.
So it was back to the station for the return working of the unit I'd photted passing the stadium a few minutes earlier, it having spun at Modlin airport, the next shack along.
A somewhat emptier journey dropped me back at Wschodnia, where I didn't fancy the usual trudge across eastern Warsaw to find which terminus my suburban unit was going from, so instead a fast car got me to the ground just after kick off, but to the welcoming sight of a game underway.
The ground is the home of Dolcan Ząbki, who have a long history in Polish football, but went bust in 2015, and are currently regrouping much further down the leagues.
The lower Polish leagues recently signed a TV contract, but it stipulated a minimum lighting requirement for the clubs floodlights which was higher than any of those in the top leagues. This means that illumination at this level is brighter than the surface of the sun. Still, it highlights bespoke ironwork very well.
Legia Warszawa II 2 v Ursus Warszawa 0, III liga - Group 1
As the name suggests, Legia Warszawa were the team of the Polish army. They were formed in 1916 by soldiers fighting on the Eastern Front in WW1. When hostilities ceased, the club reformed in Warsaw, but it wasn't until the late 1920s that they had progressed up to the Ekstraklasa top league, but relegation soon followed. One of the Polish beneficiaries of WW2 were legia, as the massive influx into the army gave a huge pool of players to choose from, and therefore their rise as a power in football started in the 1950s with two title wins, peaking in the 1970s with successful European campaigns. Despite or because of the army connection, the club have always had a nationalistic and anti-communist influence. This saw a downturn in the 1980s but come freedom from Soviet control, Legia have become the most successful in Poland, with eight title wins in the last twenty years.
Ursus was originally a collection of small villages to the south west of Warsaw, but the 20th century saw it enveloped by the capital, and post war it became industrialised as the tractor making part of the city. I don't know which London suburb holds that honour. The football club were formed in 1939 as part of the tractor factory sports association that also includes acrobatics, badminton and weight lifting, all of which sounded a lot more fun to watch on a freezing cold October evening. The club moved up through the regional leagues to a fairly mundane existence in the Polish third division, save for a few seasons of excitement in the second in the 1970s. However, the 1990s saw the works withdraw their financial backing, and the club have since struggled, though they are now up to the third league.
The Dolcan Arena was built in 1953 as the home of Dolcan Ząbki. In 2007, they reached the Polish first division, but had to groundshare at Nowy Dwor as the ground did not meet regulations. Therefore a complete rebuild took place, with new stands, pitch, drainage and player facilities. It was intended to be used as a training ground for one of the nations in the 2012 Euros, but that didn't materialise.
The stadium is dominated by this 2,300 seater stand, a rather serious upgrade on it's predecessor.
There is a bank of open seating on the far touchline, which was originally temporary but seems to have stayed.
There was similar seating behind the goals, but this has been removed to provide a practice pitch...
...and a car park.
I'm not sure how much work was done to the pitch during the works, but it looked absolutely fucked.
The brightness of the floodlights were quite off putting when trying to watch the game from below the roof line.
How much assiatnce it did actually provide to these guys, I don't know.
Especially as they had chosen not to use the purpose built TV tower, which would rival any in that other gantry obsessed territory, the Welsh Premier.
In fact, the best place to watch from was here, where an upturned trampoline gave some respite from the blinding light.
Legia took the lead just before half time.
Then added a second just after the break.
The game ending 2-0.
With a more leisurely itinerary to get back into town, I headed to the nearby train station, where it was a passing of refurbished EN57 units.
These are the most prolific manufactured units in the world, over 1400 being made over the thirty plus years of production. They are still solid engineering wise, so there is currently a programme to modernise the interiors, stick on a new face, and impose them on the Polish public for another thirty years. This one dropped me a couple of shacks down to the Wileński terminus.
A walk through the suburbs took me back to Wschodnia.
Where an EF09 insect move...
...took me past the National stadium...
...on the one shack spin to Centraina.
Where outside the tram jam had cleared, though it now appeared that none were running, so I still ended up having to walk back to the hotel.
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