Today is the big day. Game Day. Turkey v Wales Day.
We have only been here two nights but it feels like a week. I get up and look out at the Grand Mosque and the mountains behind. Well, the Grand Mosque. The mountains are hidden by a blanket of smog.
You go to some cities, Reykjavik being an example many Wales fans will be familiar with, where you can’t help but remark how clean the streets are. Kayseri is not one of those cities. It’s quite grimy and the constant flow of old bangers doesn’t help. Not only are the streets litter-strewn, the condition of them is shocking. Claims Direct would have a field day here. And even the footways that are in good condition are less than ideal for people with mobility issues. You could abseil down some of the kerbs.
We go for breakfast and there’s a guy rustling up omelettes to order. I ponder on who originally came up with the idea of cracking an egg, whisking it and frying it. Apparently humans have been eating birds’ eggs for six million years, but only started actually cooking them a million years ago.
The origin of the omelette is disputed: possibly ancient Persia or medieval France. Variations on the omelette developed independently around the world but it was certainly in France where it got its name and the recipe we recognise today was developed.
But I digress. After breakfast we go for a wander around the Grand Bazaar. It was one of the sights I had been looking forward to. I was expecting them to be selling magic carpets, frankincense and myrrh. I was expecting snake charmers, belly dancers and fire jugglers. I was disappointed. It was more like Tonypandy market, but with fewer vape stalls. As Corky pointed out in the fans guide, ‘smoking is very popular’ here. Nobody vapes.
Instead of exotica, there was row after row of stalls selling replica football shirts, fridge magnets, and official police uniforms. I wonder if the scruffy c**ts outside the hotel are actually real cops.
We then head for The Hunger, a large restaurant in the old town that has an extensive vegan/vegetarian menu and a wide variety of beers, wines and cocktails. And it’s not even a hotel.
Posh, Becks and Posh’s stunt double soon join us and we have a relaxing few hours far from the madness of the hotel bars.
Eventually we decide to head for the bus. Out of the goodness of their hearts, and with the desire to prevent trouble, the Turkish authorities had laid on free buses for the Welsh fans, picking up outside the hotels where most fans were drinking.
The Turks have a bit of a reputation when it comes to football. Some of their fans can be a bit over-enthusiastic. There was, of couse, the famous incident in 2000 when two Leeds fans were killed by Galatasaray fans.
But their worst disaster goes back as far as 17th September 1967 when forty-three people died and three hundred were injured when violence broke out between the fans of Kayserispor and Sivasspor at the Atatürk Stadium, Kayseri. We won’t be going to the same stadium, it was demolished in 2009 and was replaced by Kadir Has Stadium, located on a different site, with a capacity of 32,864 seats. That’s where we will be heading tonight.
Fans of the local club still have a reputation for being fiesty, but there’s no suggestion Wales fans will have any problems. All the locals we have met so far have been extremely welcoming. As we walked around town, decked out is our Spirit of Fifty Eight gear, locals were stopping us to have selfies. I’ve not had this much attention since the China Cup, where the locals had never seen a fat man before.
And, well, we are Wales. We don’t play up.
Outside the Jolly Joker, there are proper plod. Plod that look like the government bought their uniform rather than they bought them themselves down the Bazaar. They’ve even got riot shields, helmets and fuck off sticks. Totally over the top for Wales fans, but it does mean the locals mostly stay away.
When the buses arrive at the stadium, it looks impressive and modern from the outside. But once we have climbed the ten thousand stairs, been searched twice, had power banks and lighters confiscated, we walk out onto the steepest terraces I can recall ever seeing. The away end was surrounded by fencing, wire mesh and perspex screens. It’s basically a cattle pen.
The odd thing though, was that dispite the professional-looking riot dibble outside (oh, and water cannon trucks), inside the stadium it was back to the scruffy cops. If it had kicked off they would have been useless. They were more interested in videoing the game than watching the crowd. The scary thing was that these slackers were actually armed.
But anyway. Football. For all the years I’ve been watching football I have hated nil-nil draws. The first time I recall enjoying a goalless ninety minutes was earlier in the tournament when we played Turkey at home. And it turns out the second time I would enjoy one would be Turkey away.
It was end to end stuff at a frantic pace but when it came down to it, neither side could hit a cows arse with a banjo. Wales did hit the back of the net, about ten minutes after an offside flag had gone up. And Turkey had a penalty that was so wide it didn’t even require a save.
But hey, dispite being less than a thousand voices in a crowd of thirty thousand, we made ourselves heard for ninety minutes and even beat them in the singing the national anthem competition. All in all, not a bad night out.
As we return to town, we give the usual post match drink a miss. We are going hot air ballooning at dawn. Watch this space.