No. I didn't get to see even the shadow of Ballack or the team bus of Zidane while in Germany during the World Cup finals. But I did get to see the fans. And what a revelation that was. Fans in all shapes and sizes and race and gender... Noisy teens, couples in love, university students, husbands and wives, father with sons and daughters perched on their shoulders.

A continuous stream of people passed Riju and I as we lounged in front of the Brandenburg gate. People of all nationalities, their love for soccer overriding national pride. Brazilian supporters rooting for Italy, Germans cheering the French team. It didn't really matter. They were all actually shouting for soccer. It was amazing to watch so many true blue soccer fans congregated in one area.

And so many children among the fans. Boys and girls, even toddlers, with faces painted with country colours, waving flags and team scarves. Babies in prams, sleeping peacefully in the racket, while their parents swig beer by the gallon. It was all a great family outing: something to be enjoyed to the hilt.

It was all very novel for me: in India the soccer crowd comprises of men only. I have been to the Salt Lake stadium for a number of matches and never did I spot any woman in the teeming crowd. For the India-Japan match, there was a large number of women, but they were all Japanese supporters. Indian women clearly disapprove of football. Or, even if they do like it, they prefer the privacy of their drawing rooms to cheer their favourite team on. Very different from cricket, which draws a most glamorous crowd, with girls in tank tops and Indian colours painted on their faces (or on other body parts) vying for the roving television camera's attention.

I felt comfortable in Berlin. I was not the only mother in the fan area. It felt good to see women around you also asking their children to be patient, or taking out packets of sandwiches or biscuits to keep them contented. I think Riju liked it too with so many children around. Maybe the on-field action didn't hold his attention so much as the off-field one, but at least he didn't mind being part of a crowd. And being patient till his mom finished cheering for her team. Given that a soccer match is over in about 2 hours, the day-long enjoyment I witnessed in Berlin on July 9 truly proves that football is the world's favourite sport.

Contrary to all my fears, our (Riju and mine) journey to Berlin passed off without any major hitch. Kolkata to Dubai was hassle-free, of course. Three hours transit in the swanky Dubai airport was not so bad either. Duty-free tempted all the shopaholic genes in me, but thoughts of the next 15 days in foreign land on a shoestring budget kept me in check. Nonetheless, Riju wangled a promise to buy him a toy robot on the way back.

Dubai to Munich was mostly spent snoozing. When we landed in Munich, we were caught completely unawares by the daylight-at-9 pm characterestic of Europe. But we had an emigration to clear and a train (two, in fact, the second to Berlin) to catch and couldn't wonder long at the disconcerting sunlight.

Taking a quick glance at the worn paper with common German phrases written on it, I plunged into Germany. To my pleasant surprise, I saw that I can actually make do with the Queen's language, aided suitably with appropriate gestures.

The journey from the airport to the main station (Hauptbahnhof) was mostly incident-free, except an unexpected change of trains due to some problem on the tracks. A good samaritan helped me get on the right train thereafter. Here, let me add that I found Germans a friendly and helpful people. Definitely politer than the Parisians and Londoners. As I struggled with a heavy suitcase up a staircase (Riju having developed a sudden and temporary fear of the escalator), people actually carried it up for me, without so much as a sweat. They were always willing to help me find my way to some place or the other, always signing off with a smile. And they didn't mind that I could not speak a word of German except "Danke".

Catching the train to Berlin proved to be tougher. The train was scheduled at 11.55 pm. At a platform far from the main station. We squatted on our suitcase and watched as various other trains came and went and platforms around us emptied. At 11.30, I began to panic. For, there was no trace of our train yet. And the few Deutsch Bahn (kinda like Indian Railways) officials around at that hour simply shrugged when I mentioned the train number. The DB office was closed. I frantically raced, with Riju in toe, to the platforms at the other extreme which still had trains waiting.

For the umpteenth time, I showed the printout of my Internet ticket to a train conductor. He pointed to a train waiting in a completely different platform than was mentioned in the ticket. [Dhiman, more experienced in German ways, told me later that platform numbers are changed at the drop of a hat in Germany.] We got on to the train, got our ticket punched (was majorly scared that the Net version will not be accepted), and settled down for the long overnight journey ahead.

Lovely train. Very punctual. Clean loos. Noisy restaurant car next door. That was because of all the French and Italian fans drinking themselves silly on way to the finals.

Ok. Apologies to everyone. I had promised regular update from the Great European Tour, but had stopped after the very first post. Now it's past two months since we have returned. As they say, it's better late than never. And here let me start with a few photos of our Berlin trip.

The day before the Finals. The Fan Mile started from the Brandenburg Gate. The Football Globe in front toured the host nation before being dismantled in Berlin the day after the Finals. The Globe contained an exhibition on soccer and had as an exhibit the magnificent World Cup trophy. That's the closest I came to the much-coveted golden orb.

The Berlin Wall. Or, a section of it that still stands. Looks harmless enough, doesn't it?

The Olympiastadion at Berlin. The venue of the 2006 soccer finals. The hallowed ground that saw Zidane exit the match, shamed.