Every trip I take never goes as expected. And my World Cup adventure was no different.

It started with a United Airlines flight leaving the gate at Denver International 2.5 hours late. This coupled with an Air France ticket with the wrong flight number (booked separately by KUONI) meant I couldn't check my one checked baggage through to Paris. This had me using an air phone to find out what gate at Washington Dulles would have my Air France flight apparently leaving 2 hours sooner than the time on my ticket. Thank God I planned on originally living in Washington DC for most of the day because it had now given me a precious 25 minutes to *RUN* for my Paris flight. When poised with the choice of getting your bag at the Dulles carousel or flying to France for the World Cup, I chose to take my plastic bag carry-on (an air horn and a cow bell) and run to the Air France gate.

Running in a Washington DC airport on a day with lots of heavy thunderstorms, 90 degrees, and 90 percent humidity (in an airport that doesn't believe in air conditioning) meant I was sweating pretty good in my heavy dark green cotton Rapids shirt and jeans (the only clothes I had for the next 7 days). I was simply grateful to heed the warning of another Sammer to carry my passport and tickets at all times.

Arriving in Paris was similar (but slightly cooler) to Washington. Hot and humid. After getting a funny look from the French customs carrying no luggage and a bag with a cow bell, I met up with a KUONI rep in the terminal at Charles de Gaulle.

I immediately became aware of two things. A heavy concentration of CRS (?) national police in groups of three (a lead with two grunts toting loaded machine guns chained to their clothes with fingers close to the trigger). The other was a complete lack of trash cans.

The KUONI group walked from the air port terminal a short distance to the TGV train station where we had to wait a few hours for the train to Lyon (with no clothing stores to kill my wait). When the time approached for the train to arrive, the CRS police swarmed the TGV station. Our KUONI rep helped us stamp (validate) our TGV tickets and I was separated again by having a seat separate from the rest of the group.

The KUONI Travel people I was with were mostly Iranian-Americans with two exceptions: two white bread boys ages 19 and 16 who couldn't speak a lick of French. I have had 1 year of high school French almost 20 years ago but refreshed it with French visitors for Denver's World Youth Day in the early 90s. These two young boys were to stay in the same hotel for my Lyon leg in France, so I felt obliged to help them as a father.

When the train arrived in Lyon (late afternoon when all stores had closed for the weekend), we discovered that the Hotel Mercure was in a suburb called Charbonaires. We ended up taking a taxi for US$20 after using the Metro to get as close as possible. Later I found out a bus would've done the same for US$1.25 and ended up using that quite a bit. During this trip, we came across (briefly before fleeing) a huge Iranian rally in the square called Perrache. While I was wearing a dark green shirt, an Iranian flag color, the two young boys were covered in the red, white, and blue.

The first night, I hand washed my underwear and socks in the bathtub sleeping au natural. The heat in my very clean but not air conditioned room easily dried my wash by the next morning. I traveled into town to get some good French cooking and find the stadium for the US v Iran later Sunday night. Lyon is absolutely beautiful! Historic monuments, cathedral, three rivers (the Soene, the Rhone, and the wine). Pastry shops could not be avoided and sidewalk cafes to watch the French women. I was in heaven on earth. Even the occasional groups of Iranians cheering as they walked by couldn't dampen my euphoria.

Realizing I hadn't found the stadium by 4pm (not really looking as I should've), I returned to the Hotel Mercure for the KUONI bus to the stadium leaving at 6:30pm. The KUONI bus picked up several others throughout Lyon making a 50/50 mix of USA and Iran supporters on the bus. Neither side chanted and some Iranians were heard saying they would rather walk home after the game than be on a bus with Americans. We finally arrived at 8:15 driving through a police barricade that had closed off most streets anywhere near the stadium (to get through, all bus riders were told to hold their tickets up to the windows).

CRS police *EVERYWHERE*! Shortly off the bus, we came to a check point about 100 yards from the stadium where we were searched (spread your arms and legs wide for a nice close inspection -- men CRS searched the men and women CRS searched the women). It was here that I learned that neither my cow bell or horn would be allowed. I actually argued with the CRS over my cow bell in French to no avail. Il est une projectile.

At the stadium gate, I was again searched (arms and legs spread) where they tore my ticket (people who, for whatever reason, didn't pass this inspection were moved to a group of CRS with a metal detector and dogs).

Since I was wearing the only shirt I had, a solid dark green with a small circular logo on one breast, I was presumed to be an Iranian supporter by most. While walking in, however, I witnessed many Iranians in the face of US supporters predicting the eventual outcome. Also present for my security walk to the stadium were several shouting matches between different factions of Iranians which seemed very volatile.

Finally, I entered the stadium. What a beautiful sight! The sails above the goal stands, the 35,000 fans each with a passion greater than my own, the moat surrounding the field, the 15-20 foot high fences separating various sections of the stadium seats, and a surreal haze hovering over the field while the two sides were warming up.

But now, I was in the heart of Sam's Army (middle-left) with my whistle and a sea of red. Much to my dismay, our goal seating on the first level near the corner had about 30 rows in front filled with Iranians and the last 10 rows behind us the same. No fences to keep the factions apart. And directly in front of us hanging from the second deck of the opposite goal was an Iranian flag 30 feet wide by 20 feet high fluttering in the breeze. The surroundings were as if I'd traveled to Tehran for this critical US match.

Before the match began, I was hooked. Until I drop dead, when the USA makes the cut for any future World Cup, I'll be there!

For people unfamiliar with me, I lead the Colorado Rapids supporters known as the River Ratz. And, regrettably, I scared some of my co-workers when treating them to games in 1997 with my enthusiasm and constant vocal volume (usually able to endure 90 minutes before failing).

But, tonight I was among 300-400 others equally as enthusiastic (if not more so) truly making this Iranian hell house a warm and welcome security blanket. I tell my co-workers to imagine 300-400 Daniel Zirins together cheering as one to envision what an experience with Sam's Army would be like.

As you all know, the game went very wrong. Down two goals, Sam's Army didn't quit (as I never quit no matter how far behind your team gets). But the deafening noise was only slightly altered when the US scored. Because of the number of bodies and confusion in the goal, the US supporters were robbed of a unified cheer while we waited to see if the goal counted.

On the way back to my KUONI bus, wearing my green shirt and appearing to be an Iranian supporter, I witnessed Iranians gleefully shaking US supporter hands and being very congenial rubbing salt in the wounds of the few USA fans who'd braved the terrorist warnings to be in France for this game. It scares me a bit wondering what would have happened if the US had won.

On Monday, I again took in Lyon and Buchon Lyonaise (wonderful food) returning late afternoon Monday with new underwear, socks, a second pair of jeans, and a plain red shirt to watch World Cup on TV in the hotel while doing my wash in the tub.

Tuesday, I left on a non-TGV train from Lyon to Nantes that left at 9am and arrived at 4:30pm (yes, taking a TGV to Paris and then a TGV back to Nantes would have been faster -- good ol' KUONI). This train was also similar to a metro or bus in that it smelled like dog piss the entire way. The French have a love affair with small dogs and even take them to the market shopping. The result is dog pee and poop everywhere (well, the poop is confined to the streets at least and wasn't seen on any public transportation). The exception is the TGV which was very clean and pleasant (aside from the vicious ear popping when entering tunnels at 200 mph).

KUONI gave me another surprise when I found that my hotel was located at the Nantes airport *WAY* out of town on a bus ride that stopped at 8pm and started at 6:30am. By this time, my French was polished enough to figure out the bus/light-rail in Nantes (asking questions on occasion) to get me to the hotel cheaply.

Wednesday was the first day I changed my pants washing my original pair of fragrant jeans for the return trip home two days later. I spent the day seeing the castle of Duchess Ann and the Nantes Cathedral along with the World Cup sand beach imported in for beach soccer 3v3 tournaments. A wonderful day, but Nantes food leaves a lot to be desired (especially when compared with Lyon!). I also took the light-rail to some lovely gardens by the Universities as well as scoping out the stadium located at the end of one of the light-rail lines.

I arrived early, on my own via light-rail, Thursday night for the USA v Yugoslavia match. When I couldn't find a group of Sammers, I entered early. This time there was far less security (only one place where they spread-eagled you and tore your ticket -- I left my prohibited goodies at the hotel this time). I did notice this time that there were sharp-shooters on the roof of the stadium (which probably was also true in Lyon).

With the USA already eliminated, the lead Sammers were in the mood to simply have fun and enjoy the night with sprinkling in cheers like "Women's number one" and "Mia Hamm."

The stadium mix was also much different. Sam's Army was located in the south goal zone near the right corner. Directly diagonal to us was a just slightly larger contingent of Yugoslavs. The rest of the stands was a mix of French, Yugos, and Americans (heavily weighted towards the French who couldn't unload their ticket outside the stadium at cost).

During the game, the French quickly became US supporters so on many occasions the entire stadium sounded like we were in Portland. But very few cared (seemingly less interest than if it were a friendly leading up to the Cup). Nevertheless, I had fun with all the rest of the Sammers. And the night quickly ended.

To return to my hotel, I shared a cab from the train station to the airport. I then just barely slept in time to wake-up at 4:30am to start my return to Denver. Again, clearing customs in Washington DC was very easy carrying only a bag with an air-horn and another small shopping bag with a few extra clothes.

While in Washington Dulles airport, I saw an earlier flight back to Denver. Looking unshaven, dirty, and smelly (love that humidity), I got in line as a stand-by for a 747. At the last second, I was given a ticket with the seat number 4E located in first class in the nose cone of this monstrous airplane. It was very clear the exec next to me didn't appreciate my presence at all. ;-)

Three days later, United Airlines forwarded my baggage from a Chicago holding bin back to Denver so I could have some clothes again.

Daniel Zirin