AND SO I have finally made it to Berlin, sufficiently exhausted and egotistical to harbour visions of myself sweeping into the city through the Brandenburg Gate like Napoleon after he crushed the enduring Prussian resistance in the aftermath of the battle of Austerlitz. In reality I stumble off a train and onto the platform, carrying my heavy suitcase in a series of snap jerks. After his triumphant entry, Napoleon took the statue sitting atop the Brandenburg Gate – the Quadriga - and shipped it off to Paris as his own reward.
All I have to take home with me are my memories of the Deutsche-Bahn. I arrive on Thursday, a day redeemed by the fact it Wasn’t Wednesday, the most stressful day of the tournament so far. And it had all started so well.
Working off about three hours sleep after Spain’s semi-final win over France, I arrive way too early for my 7.30am train from Munich to Essen. (Nothing, not even sleep, gets in the way of my neurotic obsession for showing up for public transport way too early.
This has been the main benefit of growing up to become an independent adult – nobody can stop me from showing up five hours before a flight.) Dortmund hotel prices are utterly daft – one hotel that usually costs around €70 a night are charging over €1,000 on the night of the second semi-final – and so I’ve found a hotel in Essen, theoretically a 15 minute train ride from Dortmund. Theoretically.
I get to my hotel, nap for an hour, and then hop on a train to Dortmu.