Monday 24 October 2011

A trip to Rennes


It's amazing that middle of the night car journeys, not being able to find the airport car park, conquering a fear of flying, losing your passport on the plane, three hour train journeys each side and not being able to speak French to the local taxi drivers was the least arduous way of making it to Rennes safely. I believe that a good thirty or so buses made it in a road trip fashion through Tuesday/Wednesday night and back again after the game via Calais. A feat I haven't come close to since I went on a school coach trip to Italy at the age of fifteen.

My journey began at 4am on Wednesday morning in freezing, gloomy Dundee when my brother picked me up in 'The Jambo', our maroon steed. Our flight wasn't until 9am but we had to detour to Helensburgh to pick up 'The Faither', the spark behind the whole trip (and a substantial contributor!). It was my first continental trip abroad watching Celtic. The other two had been abroad following the team before, my brother was a virtual ever present in the Seville year and my Dad had even been to France to see Celtic, taking in the first leg of the Paris Saint Germain tie in the Cup Winners Cup '96. At this point I was mainly concentrating on not having a complete mental breakdown ahead of takeoff from Glasgow Airport. I've had a fear of flying since I can remember and takeoff particularly takes it out of me. To put into perspective the way my mind wanders at this moment let me tell you my most rational thought was "I'm risking my life to see Celtic get thumped 3-0 away in Europe". If Dennis Bergkamp says it is dangerous then that is good enough for me.

A valium later and somehow the 'long orange metal death tube' I was in had managed to defy all statistical certainty of fiery misery and arrive at Charles De Gaulle airport. I'm positive we made it safely because of Rule 1 of flight travel: 'If any celebrity/well known figure minor or major is on your flight then it will not crash." So thanks Hugh Keevins, you really did the business. Sorry about planting that package of Class A drugs into your luggage that hopefully means you never see the light of day, it's nothing personal, just business. It seemed for a while my brother would be joining him in airport limbo as he had conveniently stored his passport down the back of his seat, not realising until we were almost in the terminal! Forgetting which seat he was sitting in, it was only found because my Dad had left behind his bunnet as well, a marker from the gods of forgetfulness. Thinking back, it's amazing we made it at all.

The train journey to Rennes was as pleasant as you'd expect. It turned out that it wasn't a train at all and was, to my brother and I, essentially a smooth, high speed bar. Of course all the travelling tims did Scotland and Ireland proud, drinking it dry of lager. After this there was a supply which allowed us to have a glass or two of Merlot. I enjoyed sampling the delicacies of the local fare with dignity, I definitely did not down it as we entered Rennes station. We arrived in early evening and scoped out our hotel, an Etap affair. The receptionist was as friendly as a guy can be and sorted us out with maps marked with 'Bar Irlandais' and where the main hub of the action would be. In fact I think the conversation went more like "Not much to do in Rennes but this area has bars on both sides and many restaurants, is that OK?". I think it was a genuine question and not rhetorical, bless him.

Rennes, the capital of Brittany, is a small city with a population of 200,000 or so. It's full of wonderful buildings, a mixture of grand French architecture and half-timbered houses. Most of the latter appear in a large pedestrianised area full of the aforementioned bars and restaurants, in lanes leading to a square where the mammoth Saint Aubin church stands. The majority of the travelling support congregated in the square in front of Parlement de Bretagne, a 17th C building rebuilt in 1994 after a fire. Rennes also seems to have an abundance of Irish bars, I counted at least five in my wanders around town. Two were in close vicinity to the throng of Celtic fans and they must have made a fortune through the week with the high prices and steady flow of chanting, singing, thirsty folk. That evening the bar O'Connell's opposite the square ran out of vodka! The evening for us was spent having a nice meal and going to one or two of the bars. We learned  the squad headlines that Hooper and Samaras hadn't travelled and there was a general feeling of pessimism from everyone we met, it says a lot these days that we can't guarantee any name on the team sheet. Everyone was of course having a good time. Even I, after the long day and big meal, perked up with some well timed espressos and red bull/vodka combinations. We retired to the hotel at midnight or so with the party in full swing. The Moroccan taxi driver wasn't into football but we soon realised he enjoyed swimming thanks to my Dad's smattering of French understanding. His credentials as a swimming expert were put into question when, despite my brother's enthusiastic explanations, he didn't seem to understand who David Wilkie was, sacre bleu!

The next day a growing number of Celtic fans were making their way North to Parlement de Bretagne from the train and bus stations. By mid-afternoon the Sun was greeting us, the songs had started, the flags were out and a game of football was on the go in the square. The people of Rennes looked on in amusement and seemed to enjoy having us there. We took in Saint Aubin and found one or two other tims saying a prayer for Loovens as well. Time was ticking so after the wander we had a quick bite to eat, a quick pint and made our way to Stade de la Route de Lorient. The city had put on special free shuttle buses for people heading to the match. Upon arrival we found more parties spilling into the streets, the fans were in good voice and very energetic, particularly the boy who scaled the side of a pub and the fans holding up traffic with renditions of Paddy McCourt's in front of local buses. The policing of the match was excellent, a visible presence but only ever observing and patrolling with little to no interaction with the Celtic fans beyond being helpful. Our tickets were in the home end beside the away enclosure and we were welcomed by the stewards who seemed to enjoy my efforts to try and buy a match programme and Rennes flag, which they were giving out for free.

Even before the match you got a sense walking around Rennes that the people of the city and Brittany as a whole were well connected to their kicking-k Celtic roots. Celtic symbols were on bunting throughout the lanes and there were even flags in windows with Scottish, Irish, Welsh, Brittany and Isle of Man flags intermeshed. This was further emphasised with the excellent "CELTIC PEOPLE AGAINST RACISM" banner that the Rennes fans unveiled. I believe the night was designated by the club to promote anti-racism and the banner went down well with me and the other Celtic fans who applauded it.

The game itself I enjoyed. I thought it was a fine performance away from home in Europe and that we had the chances to take all three points. Victor Wanyama and Anthony Stokes were particularly impressive for me. The former mopping up most of the play in our defensive third and the latter creating a couple of good chances for himself, even if he fired them straight at the keeper. The own goal speaks for itself. When it went in I turned to the Frenchman beside me and we both did the universal "what the hell was that?" laugh and shrug of shoulders. The Celtic section was in fine spirits and went particularly wild after we equalised, with the flares and smoke bombs lighting up our end of the ground.One enthusiastic punter even set one off in the home end in the opposite stand. The Rennes fans in my section didn't seem to mind us going crazy when Ledley's header went in and hands were shaken at full-time. The luxury of being in the home section meant we weren't kept for twenty minutes after the game and managed to get a shuttle bus back into town fairly easily. By this time all three of us were pretty knackered. We found a quiet 'local-style' pub with some strange French characters from the 1970s and decided to end the night there with a night cap. The whole trip had been building up to the match so once it was over all thoughts turned to getting up at 4.30am again to catch our train at six.

We landed into Glasgow through turbulence. A great trip with little turbulence in any form up to that point, from Celtic to the fans to the people of Rennes. It was my first continental Celtic jaunt and it won't be my last. It's unlikely to be Bucharest in 2012 but if we get any trips early next year then the point we earned might have gone a long way to getting there. If not, the memories of Rennes are more than enough to have made the whole trip worthwhile.

5 comments:

  1. Bet you missed the best Irish Pub in Rennes...The Westport Inn.
    Was in Rennes 4 or 5 times in the last couple of years. Great city where a Celt/Celtic supporter feels at home.
    Really sorry was not there for that game.
    (tom in Donegal)

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  2. That's where we were on the wednesday night mate, and you are correct The Westport Inn was jumping.

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  3. I never found The Westport Inn myself I don't think, definitely missed that! Is it out of the way?

    I think i'll try and visit Rennes again with the missus, it's a cracking wee place.

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  4. Just in case you go back to Rennes....
    The Westport Inn
    35 Rue de Dinan
    RENNES

    www.thewestportinn.com

    The owner is from Brest in western Brittany
    and spent so much time in Ireland in Westport and Donegal that he considers himself a Mayo man!!
    He is very friendly and welcoming and although the pub is covered with Gaelic football momentoes there is a good chance some of the locals will have stories to tell about Celtic.

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