Doha’s ‘Fan Zone’ is a gigantic space with gigantic screens, an overwhelming stage… and a corner for alcohol
At the entrance to the Doha Fan Zone, a short, chubby guard with electric movements loudly repeats: “Hayya card! Hayya card! This card, mandatory for all World Cup visitors, stores the details of each person: name, surname, nationality, age. Suddenly, the guard turns violently and runs after a boy (blonde, skinny, six feet tall) who has escaped him. He catches him and sends him out of the compound with the help of the police without thinking.
His friends are waiting for him with stunned faces. They came to watch the game between USA and Wales on the big screens but they are not allowed in because they are not yet 21 years old. They could only enter the room if they were accompanied by their parents, like a happy family going to the amusement park for the day. “This is incomprehensible,” protests Deryl, the young expelled, loudly. But it is of no use to you. Orders are orders and the police do not negotiate. Beside him, as if suppressing a smile, a boy of about seven entered, accompanied by his father.
The chronicler manages to gain entry because he turned 21 a long time ago and also has his accreditation hanging. Bravely pass through security checks and discover an immense esplanade, from which Doha’s futuristic ‘skyline’ is contemplated. There is a building that lights up with the flags of all participating countries, but when it is Spain’s turn, the stripes appear vertically and not horizontally. In the Fan Zone, they have placed several giant screens, scattered here and there, and the thunderous voice of the narrators, in English, creeps into every corner. In the pavilion of Qatar Airways they have set up some table football. At Ooredoo, a telephone company, attendees test their reflexes and skill with the ball.
Adjacent to the fence, food and drink stalls offer specialties from the five continents and charge the burritos for the price of Iranian caviar. In the corner of Europe you can order patatas bravas for 25 Qatari rials (about seven euros). However, only soft drinks and water are sold in this area. And the beers? The chronicler, who has been looking for hell for an hour, asks directly the waiter who just sold him a small hot dog the size of a ring finger for ten euros in the North American stall. “It’s behind,” he replies. And he adds, “Don’t you want a Coke?”
In reality, it was enough to follow the path of the Mexicans. The bad thing about moral restraints is that people end up plunging into sin with the fear of downtrodden adolescents, and the Budweisser corner at 11 p.m. has become a hive of people eagerly zigzagging for a beer. Each pint costs 50 Qatari riyals (about 14 euros) and is served in plastic cups that the thugs collect in the shape of a tower, as if showing off. A Mexican, with the flag tied around his neck, leaves the premises with fourteen pints piled high, his eyes half-mast and that hesitant gait of those who have already crossed the border.
This chronicler, willing to check whether he had actually tapped seven liters of beer in Qatar, approaches him to ask his name. The Mexican looks at him, smiles blissfully and for a moment it looks like he’s about to say something, but at that moment he stumbles and stumbles into a lively group singing ‘Cielito lindo’. He’s had a 200 euro binge, but maybe he managed to set some sort of record.
When the game is over and a music group comes to sing versions of old disco hits, it looks like Zócalo Square. Mexicans come from all over, although Ecuadorians are also seen, happy to have won on their debut, and some Saudis. Almost all of them are men, which suddenly gives the party the spirit of the old dances in priests’ colleges, with a lot of enthusiasm, many raised hands and a lot of melancholy at the end. There is no news about Spaniards here, although Hamzi, an Iraqi whose brother lives in Madrid, wears a national team jersey, and Rafael, an Ecuadorian from Guayaquil who lives in the Spanish capital, is wrapped in the red and yellow flag because he promised it to a friend who couldn’t come to Qatar.
At one in the morning the music stops and the various national groups try to prolong the party by singing their respective hymns, but without much success. Patiently, like old herdsmen well trained in herding, the Qatari police clear the Fan Zone using light sticks. There are no incidents or protests, although the nearest metro entrance is always closed and the next station is almost two kilometers away.
“Other World Cups are full of drunks and spoiled, look how calm they are here,” an Ecuadorian woman who leads her daughter by the hand tells her husband. It’s almost two in the morning and the thermometer reads 23 degrees. This is a sad, retreating parade, although chants can still be heard through the streets of Doha. The subway seems further and further away, almost inaccessible. The Mexican with fourteen beers will have a hard time getting to the hotel.
Source: La Verdad
I am Shawn Partain, a journalist and content creator working for the Today Times Live. I specialize in sports journalism, writing articles that cover major sporting events and news stories. With a passion for storytelling and an eye for detail, I strive to be accurate and insightful in my work.
