The key to surviving Saint Petersburg is sleep, or so they tell me.
The party is still going, bustling along at the speed of light. Unfortunately the structure of the tournament spaces the games out in each city, so the day of my departure is the time that another matched is played in the city. Although Russia is the home team, the Egyptians, their opponent, are here, ready, and loud.
The city, and Russians, continue to be a delight. The conversations often turn political, but not at my own doing. While my own curiosity is focused on their general feeling toward hosting the tournament, Russians are innately curious how the world sees them, especially at this precarious point in history’s juncture. What I’ve learned in my short time here, like I often do elsewhere: Russians are no different than us. They complain about traffic, expensive prices, and the usual drags on life. What they want you to know: they're a proud bunch, but not at all the scary figures the news makes them out to be. I tend to agree, they're quite a delight. In the short span of five days, I have had Russians invite me to their homes for a sauna, had a Russian tattoo artist offer to ink me up, and was promised a delicious home cooked meal. I had to refuse all three, but it’s the thought that counts.
As for the general feeling of hosting the world, most are happy. For the big cities, it seems to be an inconvenience, since they’re generally hosts to tourists as is. But many explain that they are happy at the boost this will provide for smaller cities, who otherwise wouldn’t see an influx of rabid screaming soccer fans. Rabid being the key word.
The beauty of this tournament is it brings together people of all walks of life. I, a Canadian, have sat around a table with Moroccans, Argentinians, Brazilians, Germans, Egyptians, English, Americans, Russians, and regaled at the world’s marvel. You find out you’re not that much different than someone thousands of kilometers away from you. Although everyone is often shocked at how much I pay for rent in North Â鶹´«Ă˝Ół»- except the New Yorkers.
The world still loves Canada, in case you were wondering. As I don my red team Canada soccer jersey around the city I’m met with quizzical laughs of, “they didn’t qualify!” - the only bit of trash-talking I have received in the city. I wore my Â鶹´«Ă˝Ół»Southsiders scarf for a night, and was asked to take no less than 1,000 photos with Europeans.
Hockey is a big topic of discussion here too, naturally. Anytime it is revealed I am Canadian, the Russians begin to quiz me - almost as a test.
I am now on a train headed for the city of Kazan. For the World Cup, Russia has offered free trains to and from host cities. Who doesn’t like free? The trains themselves are either new or renovated, a welcome surprise, and likely where some of the $15-billion Russia spent to host went towards. A staggering sum. The train is 22 hours in length, so I hope to catch some shut eye before I arrive for my second game of the tournament: Spain and Iran. The confidence among Iranians is quite high, some are planning the parade back home already. I’m more of a realist, I just want a competitive match.
I hope these blogs have been enjoyable for you as they are for me to write. It’s cool to try and offer a neat window into what this experience is like. Cheers, until next time.
Nick Hosseinzadeh is a Canadian with Iranian heritage and a longtime resident of the North Shore. He’ll be sending back regular dispatches during his time in Russia to give our readers a feel for the World Cup away from the TV cameras.
