With no further ado

For my first three days in Vienna, nothing was very palpable. I went down to the Fan Zone on Friday to find it quiet and mostly empty, populated by some over-eager Aussies playing soccer on a small rectangle of netted-in turf, and a tired DJ playing 90's music for people who were neither listening nor interested. Evaldas showed up on Saturday, to stay with the same IAESTE board member I was lodging with, and we walked through the Inner Stadt a bit, managing inadvertently to skirt the crowded areas.

Then: Sunday. Walking through the centre of town, we were immediately overcome by the stench of beer, sweat, and untapped adrenaline (not unlike an engineering party, in that respect). Packs of Germans and Spaniards roamed the streets, drinking, yelling, singing, and breaking into spontaneous soccer matches outside the 14th century cathedral in the middle of Vienna. Tickets were eagerly flogged for hundreds of Euro, while hopeful and underprepared fans roamed the streets with cardboard signs, searching for something cheaper.

Evaldas left, mid-afternoon, for his job in St. Polten, and I made plans with some other trainees to meet up later and brave the Fan Zone at night. However, when 'later' arrived, our intended meeting-place was hopelessly overcome with revellers, and my ongoing cell phone-less existence (unintended now, mind you) meant that I would be alone for the rest of the evening.

Only slightly daunted, I continued around a corner, following the crush of people into the fenced and gated Fan Zone. Keep in mind, when looking at the above pictures, that this was maybe 1/8 of the available area, and that the first two photos were taken about an hour before the game actually started. I sandwiched myself between a group of Germans and a group of Spaniards, strategically placing myself in front of the Germans (who were tall), and behind the Spanish (who were short, and looked like they had the potential to get handsy). Truth be told, most of the Spain fans there were actually Austrian, and were acting the way most Canadians do when the U.S. is playing someone who actually has a chance to beat them, at a sport Canada sucks at. However, the ones near me were speaking Spanish and singing football songs, so I'm satisfied that they were legit.

The crowd noise built to a dull roar as the players' names were announced - bye the bye, hearing a thousand Germans yelling "SCHWEINSTEIGER!" and singing "Lu Lu Lu - LUCAS PODOLSKI!" in drunken unison was one of the highlights of my trip so far - and never really subsided. Both teams had their chances in the first half, though Spain probably had the better of the play, and Casillas was good when he had to be (particularly on Germany's corners). The crowd positively exploded after Spain's goal, and after Spain really came alive in the second half, everyone in the predominantly Austrian crowd was singing "Eviva Espana".

The final whistle was a stranger-hugging, grown-men-crying experience the like of which I have never witnessed. After being whisked off my feet by Spanish fans, high-fiving elated Austrian ladies, and jumping up and down for a solid minute, I realized that a) I had been standing all afternoon, b) I hadn't really eaten anything since breakfast, and c) I really didn't want to end up like the guy who was carried past me on a stretcher in the 88th minute, so I high-tailed it out of the fan zone to the nearest seat, on the steps on the Hofburg Theatre.

Seeing me sitting alone, willing my head to stop spinning, an Austrian fan wearing only red and yellow underwear came over to me.

"You are supporting Germany?", he asked (in German).

"Nein," I responded, "just resting".

"Oh," he said, "super!". He danced away.