By SleepyHollow
May 23 2003

As a relatively new supporter it’s amazing how far we have come in such a short time when it comes to supporting the Quins on our European sojourns. In Stade Francais the number of travelling fans must have been close to five hundred (for a game that was essentially dead), a far cry from my first trip to Dax, when there were barely fifty there.

Now it’s a slick and well groomed operation to fill a carriage or half a plane. You aren’t surprised to see wandering fans abroad anymore, now you expect it. A couple of years ago hearing that somebody was diverting from a family holiday to drive for four hours to watch a friendly, well it just would not have happened. Now, no one is surprised anymore.

My first adventures into Europe were delayed, Cardiff got moved to a Friday night, thanks to Eurosport (remember them?) and the charter to Trevisio fell foul of apathy. So I can count Dax, Perigeux, Beziers, Castres and Stade Francais amongst the French clubs visited. Ebbw Vale, Bridgend and Caerphilly amongst the Welsh. I’ve yet to experience Scottish or Italian hospitality.

All of these games have been in the lesser European competition. So rugby’s Eufa cup has thrown together everything from fallen or perhaps sleeping giants, to novices and those that are just happy to be there. For many the European competition has been a respite from domestic struggles.

If you’ve never experienced some foreign travel following the team then I would now heartily recommend it. Providing you plan well there’s always a little time for some culture and plenty of time for some sociable drinking. I’ve never had a poor reception any where that I’ve been. Perhaps teams welcome us as different faces, new opposition or a chance to do a bit of flag waving.

Planning your trip is vitally important. If you’re not careful half your weekend will be spent in airport lounges or being ferried around in a hire car. If you can get out on the Friday, whether it’s with a leave day or going straight from work, then you’ll have all of Saturday morning, and probably the afternoon as well in France, as many of their games are in the evening. Some times though, it just doesn’t work out. In Castres I saw little of the town and even less of Toulouse. Although I can heartily recommend the airport for sleeping in and some of the ditches in that region are well worth a second look.

The French definitely roll out the carpet for the players and officials. There always seems to be some sort of civic do, the mayor gets the chance to practice his broken English and the visitors get the chance to identify some foods that they’ve never seen before.

When you look at a map of southern France it reads as a who’s who of French rugby. Some in the south west, but most in the south eastern corner. Rivalries and traditions that go back years. The same applies in Wales. Focus on one portion of south Wales and all those memories of Grandstand come flooding back. Now some have fallen on hard times, for a few there will be no return, for others it’s not if but when, even if when might be a generation away.

You can’t visit a Welsh club without the rugby politics getting in the way. But if you can, you can soak up the atmosphere and the history. I can remember looking at the photos on the wall of Ebbw Vale’s club house. Internationals many of them, few in recent years. But here was a club with a proud past and an uncertain future. Players and fans mingled comfortably in cosy surroundings. Bridgend was a different story. Here was a club with more money, the cheque book had been opened to bring in a cluster of internationals to arrest the decline of recent years. There was a new club house and the car park doubled up as the supermarket’s during the day. In the bar was like a who’s who Welsh rugby, but most of us there that night will remember a player’s dad more than any of the other players and the pork baguettes!

Caerphilly was different again, a well appointed ground with a new covered stand and a new terrace. But short of a sugar daddy investment had been lacking on the pitch, so players were being groomed from the youth set up and then frequently poached by bigger clubs. It astonishes me that a player from two divisions below Caerphilly can earn more than them. Most of Caerphilly’s players were part time, two even left the changing room to start evening shifts the day we went there.

Whereas in Dax I was in the rare position of being told that my money would not be accepted, so as long as I stayed in the bar the drinks were on the proprietor. This was great, but why didn’t someone tell me about it several hours previously? Dax is also a spar town. Seeing octogenarians come down to breakfast in their heavy dressing gowns and flip flops was a sight to be seen. The women didn’t look any better either. In Perigeux the taxi drivers had a field day, no two trips for anybody at any time cost the same amount. Teflon Hill got really stung once. Shame!

In Castres we stopped the traffic several times with our flamboyant dress sense. Although, we arrived during some sort of siesta time and the place suddenly came alive with the rugby. Within half an hour of the game finishing it had returned to it’s sleepy quiet. Apart from …… the Quins’ fans.

Stade Fancais even laid on lunch for a large group of supporters and met fans at Gard de Nord. This is something that Quinssa needs to develop.

The French grounds tend to be multi-purpose, so the club bar will normally be adjacent to the ground, and you’re never too far away from yet another bar owned by an ex international. The exception was Beziers, a concrete monstrosity of a ground. Once we had blagged it into the members bar we were made most welcome by some part time drinkers!

So it’s over for another year. The rugby has become almost secondary to the weekend away. It’s amazing what you learn about your friends on these weekends and the number of new friends that you make. Even if things don’t quite work out, there’s always a badly translated sign somewhere “Please vacate the WC in an emergency” or “This lift is for the use of humans only”. So in closing I’m left thinking, why hasn’t someone published an European rugby atlas? So see you in Beziers and Castres thi