Thursday May 24th.
The day finally arrives. The culmination of all that planning, arranging, booking and confirming, checking in, phone calls in and out, with those I’m travelling with and also those of our group who are going a different route. And three whose route will intersect with ours in Warsaw. In theory.
I’m up at 4:45am, just time for a quick cup of tea and some toast, and check my packing for the umpteenth time – passport, match ticket, train ticket, a folder full of boarding passes, a handwritten time schedule to refer to, maps of Kiev metro, city centre and stadium, LFC official guidance ….
The taxi arrives at 5:45am, on the dot. The driver’s a Pakistani, a Muslim, and thus on Ramadan. He talks of nothing but food for the length of the journey, in a slow, wistful way.
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