Dates: 20 November – 02 December 2022.

A World Cup. We qualified for a blydi World Cup! And of course it had to be the least likely of destinations. It couldn’t be Brazil or even Russia. It had to be Qatar. No one was actually really complaining though…

What a time to be alive…!

Due to the cost of accommodation in Doha, and the presumption that it wouldn’t be a very fun place to stay, five of us (thanks to Steve A’s foresight) shacked-up in a very nice hotel suite in Dubai. We would then use the dedicated shuttle flights arranged by FlyDubai plus the 24-hour matchday visas.

Mike, Simon, Jason and I were on the same flight from Gatwick which was about as comfortable a flight as I’ve ever been on. I managed to watch Qatar get thrashed by Ecuador in the World Cup opener, live, no less!

Waiting for Austins in Dubai DXB airport:

After a sweaty wait for an Uber we rocked-up at our most agreeable suite in the Jumeirah Beach Residence area:

Our first full day was also match day one for Cymru as we faced the USA.

Match ready:

The flight from Dubai DWC was swift and full of fellow Cymry. We also spotted fans of Senegal, Argentina, the USA and so many Mexicans…

Pre-flight beer time:

After grabbing some local virtual SIMs for our phones we made our way to FIFA’s fan park. It really began to sink in that we were at a World Cup!

Before the tournament there was plenty of well-documented controversy, and 24 hours before, Qatari officially announced that there would be no beer at stadia. Not really a big issue for us. More amusement arrived with the realisation that beer would only be sold at the fan festival after 19.00.

We watched England thrash Iran and wandered off in search of a pre-match pint. Yes, really.

Wandering Doha at night we found Mr Bale:

Cymru had arrived:

Beer would only be available at Western hotel chains. The InterContinental had been, allegedly, drunk dry by Cymru fans so we negotiated our way into the Wyndham (where the Uruguay team were based, incidentally) and proceeded to pay roughly £10 for a bottle of Corona.

The metro to the ground was very busy with everyone in great spirits – it felt like #WalesAway. The locals appeared to be cool with the singing and chanting…

The Ahmed bin Ali Stadium:

Inevitably, there were issues with the match tickets, with the QR not showing on everyone’s phones, but a backdoor had been installed and officials tapped in a magic code to activate.

Drink it in boys and girls, we’re at a World Cup!:

The shooting flames before each game was “very FIFA”.

Then, the moment many had only dreamed of, singing Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau at a World Cup… Yes, there was a lump in my throat at the end, and maybe a moist eye or two, but I was far from alone in that respect. Anything else from now on would be a bonus. Diolch bois!

As a spectacle the match was awful, the lads looked tired and out-of-sorts. That said, when Gareth Bale scored our first World Cup goal since 1958, we all went nuts, and hugged and danced for what seemed like the rest of the match!

You never want to lose your first match:

The flight back to Dubai was vile. 06.10 local time the morning after the game. Jason was even unluckier, he had to wait another hour.

Tiredness certainly had an effect on our moods… In the queue for coffee at a little Costa I was told that they only had oat milk. Okay, not the end of the world, I just wanted a half-decent latte. But the guy had the temerity to try charging me the extra couple of Qatari Riyas for the oat milk option! Like a petulant child I laughed and walked off! I got my fix elsewhere.

Mike wasn’t immune from this behaviour either. He went to the lower level to get some chocolate but they wanted to see his boarding pass… He’d left his phone charging up with us, so left in a huff following a sarcastic “seriously?” at the poor girl serving!

I did the honours for him later on. Safe to say we were all a bit “grizzly”, ha!

Unsurprisingly, we spent most of the day sleeping before heading to our favouring Dubai watering hole, the Offside Bar, for food, beer and football:

The Danes were out in force but we were still marvelling at the fact we were seeing Y Ddraig Coch at a World Cup:

Sadly for our Mike, there was something on our sharing platter – probably the prawns – that disagreed with him which put him out of action for 24 hours…

The following day, Simon, Jason and I ventured out to explore the Palm Jumeirah, whilst poor Mike snoozed and kept hydrated. Everywhere in Dubai seemed like a short walk from our hotel, but in reality, the Palm Jumeirah was a 45 minute walk.

Nice day for a stroll in 38-40c heat:

We eventually reached what we thought was the entrance to the Palm Jumeirah, and after scratching our heads and wandering around a bit we finally concluded we needed to catch the monorail to actually set foot on the man-made archipelago. We got chatting to some South Africans on the monorail who were just as surprised that Cymru were at a World Cup as we were!

Atlantis!:

Big fish at the Atlantis restort:

After a pleasant lunch the three of us mooched around a bit on the beach before setting-off for the large screen to watch some football.

The view back towards The Point / Palm Fountain with the city in the background:

I finally lived-out the dream of watching a World Cup match from a World Cup in which we were involved, on a beach:

And what a game, with the Japanese coming from behind to beat Germany. Almost as surprising as the £13-a-pint Heineken…!

As the sun set, a fireworks display started-up:

Monorail, monorail, monorail!:

Our Mike had recovered by the following morning, so the five of us set off to explore Dubai Old City, roughly 90 minutes away on public transport.

First-up, the obligatory World Cup Trophy group selfie:

Picturesque walk to the tram:

Considering Dubai’s youthful age, just how old could the “old city” area be? Erm…

To be fair, there is a modern part with low rise buildings like those above. There were areas though that clearly existed before the oil boom of the 1960s:

On the northern side of the Dubai Creek there are scores of Souks (markets), each one dedicated to one type of product it seemed, from gold to spices to perfume.

The Grand Souq, which seemed to have a bit of everything, including people addressing Jason as “professor” in an effort to sell him something:

As we ventured further into the older areas it felt a bit more authentic, with bustling traffic, full pavements and various sights and smells from restaurants, cafes and random shops. Understandably, Mike didn’t fancy eating anywhere too “authentic” after his painful previous 24 hours.

Instead we opted to take a pit-stop half way home at the Dubai Mall. I’ll admit the world’s largest bank of TV screens was fairly impressive:

And they had two Next shops. A whole one more than St. David’s in Cardiff…

As the sun set back at Jumeirah, we headed out to find drinks and football. Dubai by night:

We didn’t end-up at the place Jason was aiming for but we probably ended-up somewhere better. A sprawling terrace with a big screen, a pool, a picturesque cityscape backdrop and some very excitable Ghanaian girls whose hearts were ultimately broken by a certain C.Ronaldo.

How the other half lives:

The next day was match day two for Cymru. We got off to an inauspicious start, as Jason wanted to try out his new-found ordering-a-taxi-using-an-app skills acquired on his return to Dubai after the first match.

Unfortunately, the taxi driver didn’t really know the area and blindly followed the app’s direction to some wasteland a mile or two from departures. At one point we thought he was going to chuck us out and cancel the fare, but thankfully he just wanted to ask directions from some official-looking people.

Panic began to set in but we made our flight comfortably in the end. The up side was that we had business class seats for this flight because economy had sold out. Who doesn’t want a Baileys coffee for breaksfast? Well, Mike it seems. He opted for brandy!

Not really worth four times more expensive than economy:

There was no faffing around upon arrival, we headed straight to the metro, where it became clear we would be significantly outnumbered by the Iranians.

“Iran! Iran!” versus “Men of Harlech” on the metro.

The Ahmed bin Ali Stadium by day:

With the death of 22- year old Mahsa Amini while in the custody of Iranian authorities sparking riots in Tehran, we weren’t sure what to expect in terms of number and mood of Iranian football supporters. Firstly, they were there in great numbers and created a wonderful atmosphere in the ground.

Secondly, they were friendly and keen to have photos taken, to the point where it felt they (both men and women) wanted to make sure everyone knew they themselves stood for freedom and equality of women. There were plenty of t-shirts with slogans supporting this stance on show.

They, and the Iranian team, refused to sing their anthem before the England game, but this time they booed it. It took a moment to realise this, but it was surprisingly powerful. The whole Iranian portion of the crowd appeared to be in a frenzied state, and the noise was incessant.

Pre-match selfie:

We needed to win this game, but I think the heat and tension got to the Cymru fans. The atmosphere was somewhat tense.

Unfortunately, the performance in this game was worse than the first, with the only good news being that one women near us had managed to smuggle in sun cream and was generously sharing it out, and the fact there was aircon at ankle level under the seats.

Iran deservedly won the match (albeit with goals in the 90+8 and 90+11 minutes), and the outpouring from the players and fans was something to behold. It clearly meant so much to a people whose country was in open rebellion against its leaders.

A desperately-poor performance in the oppressive heat:

Post-match was predictably subdued. Barring a miracle against a team we hadn’t beaten since the 80s, we were out after all of five days of our first World Cup in 60-plus years. I think we were all a bit embarrassed about being so optimistic. The team just wasn’t up to it. Key players unfit or unavailable, and a resultant porous midfield. A complete antithesis to the previous eight years.

We headed back to the fan zone and met a nice guy who had travelled from Pakistan to watch some of his heroes play. Mike and I found ourselves apologising that he didn’t see Gareth Bale perform very well.

We met up with the rest of the gang and got some food. It was all a fit deflated, and of course we still had a flight to look forward to.

Quiet on the Corniche:

For the rest of the gang, except Big Rob, this would be their last game. Rob, Mike and I would have to endure the final game.

See you shortly, Doha:

We headed to the Burj Khalifa for some site seeing the day after. A video from the 124th floor.

The view from almost half a kilometre up:

Sunset at ground level:

Hmm…tastes like…chicken:

The rest of the lads were flying back the following day so we made the most of the last evening, eating well and drinking many cocktails. It was a short sharp end to our World Cup adventure as a group.

A metaphor for all us Cymru fans?:

The following morning Mike and I saw our comrades off, then headed for brunch and the beach:

Our base for the final few days would be adjacent to Dubai DXB in the surprisingly well-appointed Premier Inn Dubai, complete with rooftop pool!

After a pint and some football in the hotel bar, we headed-out to the old town area in a luxurious taxi to find some excellent food – both would be a feature for the remaining evenings.

An Emirati mixed grill in beautifully chilled surroundings:

A post-meal stroll around Bur Dubai (old Dubai):

The next day was dedicated to total relaxation by the rooftop pool, reading and watching the sun set over the city.

You can make-out the Burj Khalifa directly below the sun:

A selection of sunset pictures:

We dined on delicious Iraqi cuisine in the evening whilst watching Brazil do their thing on the television. It was great to see a group of local women on the table next to us getting into the excitement of the World Cup, with audible gasps and cheers for the Brazil goals.

The following day was our third and final matchday. We should have been excited, but being realists, we were just hoping not to lose by an eyebrow-raising margin. We were determined to make the most of our final day at a World Cup though, and it was great to fully take-in the festival area around the Corniche before heading to the match.

Beautiful Doha:

The Pearl Monument:

The Harbour:

The view to the city centre in the West Bay area (the white egg shape just off-centre is the official World Cup 2022 logo):

Qatar, you were fun:

A video showing each nation’s flag flying in the harbour.

Doha Lights:

And the music video to match!

We slowly walked the length of the Corniche as the sun set and the Doha skyline lit up spectacularly:

Cymru at a World Cup. Doesn’t get old:

The metro to the ground was lively, with strained renditions of Oh, Chris Gunter and Men of Harlech ringing in the ears of the mystified locals.

The Ahmed bin Ali Stadium one last time:

The lads warming-up:

Pre-match selfie (we weren’t as nerve-free as we look!):

The Red Wall belted out Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau one last time – who knows when it will happen at a World Cup again – and we settled into a predictable final showing.

We held out for 50 minutes, and then suddenly it was all over, and the grateful fans applauded the lads for what seemed like an eternity. No bittersweet tears or emotions like in Lyon in 2016, just resignation that perhaps this campaign was a step too far for the manager and the largely undercooked players. We’ll never truly know.

Da iawn, bechgyn:

Chris Gunter, the quintessential fan-on-the-pitch, came back out after the pitch had emptied and amazingly clambered up into the stand to shake hands and chat with fans.

A classy moment from a classy man.

So empty:

As we headed back to central Doha the mood on the metro was pretty subdued. Our flight was still over seven hours away and we just wanted to be home. Nevertheless, we said our goodbyes to Rob and headed to the only bar in town: Cavalli Club!

What a way to spend over five hours!

We drank £11 bottles of beer, made friends and shared hours of stories with two Canadian guys, swapped Instagram details with a drunk Saudi fan, commiserated with a Tunisian bloke, looked-on with envy at celebrating Americans, Ecuadorians and Mexicans (even though they were out too), and gently admonished an Argentinian guy who wasn’t too sure about their chances in the knockout stages…

It was a timely reminder that being at the party and having to leave early is still better than not getting an invite.

We left the Cavalli Club at around 06.00 and jumped on the first metro of the day to the airport for our 08.00 flight. It was all a bit of haze at this point.

Our initial plans would have seen us land in Dubai DWC, grab our luggage from the hotel and high-tail it to Dubai DXB for the flight to London. Thankfully, after the Iran game, we elected to move the flight to one day later at no extra cost, and stay an additional night at the Premier Inn for a measly couple of quid.

It was a wise move as we caught up on sleep and dined out one last time in style before some final night drinks Creekside:

As Mike and I paused to say our goodbyes before going our separate ways at Heathrow, we had a brief, unspoken moment where I think we both recognised the enormity of what we had just experienced over the previous ten days or so. It’s difficult to put into words.

This same parting moment in June 2016 left me with a feeling of great loss. A loss that left me feeling rudderless. However, this time, the moment left me with a lump in my throat and a feeling of what might have been, of unfinished business, of wanting a do-over.

Alas, the world and the World Cup kept on spinning and no one will likely remember Cymru at the World Cup in decades to come.

Apart from those who lived it, of course. Finally.

Cymru woz here: