Trip to Baku
If it wasn’t for England playing football there in 2004, Azerbaijan would’ve been somewhere near the bottom of my bucket list.
But one of the reasons I decided to follow the England Football Team in the 2000’s was to combine two passions of mine – football and travel.
And so, in the early hours of a wet October morning my brother, a mate of ours and I headed to Gatwick Airport to catch a special charter flight laid‑on specifically for England supporters to Baku, Azerbaijan’s Capital, located a five-hour flight away on the Caspian Sea.
Normally we’d make our own way on these trips, but Azerbaijan was proving difficult to organise at a sensible cost, so the organised trip seemed the cheaper option.
Leaving at 6am on the day of the match and returning straight after the game, arriving back in the UK at 6am the following day, it was to be a flying visit in every sense.
We arrived mid‑afternoon, boarded a laid-on coach and were treated like royalty (or hooligans), with a police escort into the centre. Which turned out to be a bonus, as outside, it was absolutely lashing it down.
First Impressions: Ladas Everywhere
There weren’t many sights to see, apart from ducking into an Irish pub and an Australian pub and staring out the windows at thousands of white Ladas bombing around the streets.
It was as if no other brand of car existed. They were everywhere. If you’d told me Azerbaijan had a national law banning all non‑Lada vehicles, I’d have believed you.
If anything, the 1,000 England fans in town were the main attraction. Locals gathered around, stood in doorways and on balconies to watch the white circus wander through their city.
We did briefly visit Fountain Square, Maiden’s Tower and the Palace, but the real entertainment was yet to come.
The Local Police Encounter
After a few beers, we headed to our bus for the stadium.
On the way, one of the most bizarre experiences of my life occurred. A local policeman standing in a shop doorway stopped me and started speaking in a language I didn’t understand and gesturing to my England Shirt.
A little nervous, not understanding what was going on, I asked him what he wanted. After a re-assuring smile, some broken English and plenty of sign language, it turned out he wanted to swap his police uniform for my England shirt.
I couldn’t believe it.
His infectious smile, gold teeth and Ian Rush moustache told me he was serious.
At first, I thought it would be fun. But luckily as I had only had a couple of drinks, my senses kept me in check, and I declined the unusual offer.
Turning up at the stadium, dressed as a local copper probably wouldn’t go down well with the other coppers. Plus, with no change of clothes, turning up back at Gatwick Airport dressed as an Azerbaijani copper may also have caused some questioning. Slightly disappointed, we carried on, in the hammering rain. Although as I looked back over my shoulder, I could see who was more disappointed.
Vodka Cheaper Than Coke
With the taste of alcohol in our mouths, we fancied more. We popped into a small shop and were about to grab beers when we noticed a litre of vodka for £1. A litre of coke cost £2. No wonder vodka is such a part of life here.
We still needed something to drink it out of, so we came up with the genius idea of buying three pots of mini-Pringles, eating the crisps and using the pots as mugs. England fans: innovators since 1872.
The Stadium Experience: Soviet, Soaking and just weird
The stadium was old, distinctly Soviet and had no cover. In torrential rain, it was going to be fun.
There were no turnstiles, just one big gate locked and protected by a row of local police.
There was one controller barking orders as 1,000 England fans pushed forward.
It was only a short while to kick so I have no idea why they didn’t just let us in.
Eventually the force of the crowd was too much and they quickly burst the gates open.
In we flooded. Literally. By now we were soaked through.
On paper, England were meant to spank Azerbaijan, but by half‑time they only had a narrow 1‑0 lead thanks to Michael Owen’s header.
At half‑time, most England fans went to find a toilet. There wasn’t one.
So everyone headed back out the entrance gate where a bunch of locals had set up fold‑up tables selling cans of beer. They made a roaring trade.
With still no toilets in sight, fans headed into the bushes.
But the local cops were one step ahead. Hiding in the bushes, they ambushed anyone relieving themselves with a firm whack of the baton on the backside.
It was comical watching fans sprint out of the bushes, zips and belt half undone, being chased by cops.
Beer sold out, bladders emptied, we headed back to our soaking vantage point to watch England hold on for a 1‑0 win.
The Long Damp Wait Home
From the stadium we were driven back to the airport, sodden and exhausted, only to find our flight home was delayed five hours.
And this was not an airport you want to be stuck in for five hours, soaking wet and sobering up. It was torturous. We tried to sleep on the rock-hard floor – as seats seemed to be non-existent.
Eventually we left in the early hours and had to head straight into work, without proper sleep for 36 hours.
The things we done for a footy game and some travel experience.
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