Cross-border adventure leaves Vinny in a sweat

AGAINST THE ODDS:AS HE emerged from the rear of the plane, blinking into the sunlight like a mole peering out from a hole, the wall of heat hit Vinny Fitzpatrick like a sledgehammer, writes RODDY L'ESTRANGE

Holding on to the hand-rail, as he descended to the tarmac at Larnaca Airport, he already regretted not wearing his shorts on the flight. Instead, he’d stuck with his jeans which were now sticking with him.

Still, as he waddled over to the bus which was waiting to ferry passengers to the terminal, Vinny felt a tremor of excitement. He was, against the odds, on World Cup duty with Ireland again, his first away trip since he’d soldiered with the lads in the Rhineland a year ago.

With Angie’s due date three months away, he knew it would be a long time again before he got planning permission for another international jaunt.

On this gig, there were just two of the Foley’s regulars, Macker and himself, who’d joined up with Fingal Travel for their two-night €399 package special, and that suited Vinny grand.

“It’s a covert op,” he grinned. “Get in, get jarred, get a win, and get out.” He’d placed his bets in Boru Betting the day before, a nifty-50 on Ireland to win at evens, and €20 on Robbie Keane at 7/2, to score at any time during the game, and had packed a light bag, under Angie’s supervision, the night before.

While Vinny felt two pairs of everything was more than enough, Angie had insisted he double his quota of underpants and socks. She’d also thrown in a peaked cap to protect his pink, potato-sized, head.

In the arrivals hall, the dapper handler from Fingal Travel, known as Spider, who spoke mostly in Dublin slang, took charge of his troops. “The so-say is outside to the left. Bright red, you can’t miss it,” he said.

Macker turned to Vinny.

“What does he mean, the ‘so-say’?” Vinny replied. “The so-say all of us, the bus you eejit. C’mon, let’s get a seat in the back where I can stretch out my scotch eggs, er legs,” he said.

Some 90 minutes later, Macker and Vinny raised a cool glass of amber liquid to their parched lips and drank deeply. It was almost six o’clock in Nicosia’s old town.

“Cheers, me dears,” said Vinny as he skulled back the local brew.

The hotel check-in had gone fine and the helpful receptionist, Ahmed, had pointed him to a nearby shop where he’d bought a large bottle of water and toiletries including a small tub of Vaseline, which he’d already applied liberally to a tender area.

Looking around him at the leathery faces of the locals, almost all of them smoking, he considered his bearings. Here he was, on the eastern edge of the Mediterranean in a city only a 30-minute hop from war-torn Beirut, sipping a beer which he’d paid for in euro.

Nicosia, he knew, was a city split in half, between the Greek Cypriots on one side and the Turkish Cypriots on the other. He was now in the part ruled by the Greeks but he was intrigued to know what was on ‘the other side.’ Ahmed had suggested they make the trip. “Bring your passport, smile at the guards and be confident,” he said.

In due course, refreshed by three or four pints, Vinny unglued his rear from the plastic seat and he and Macker headed down a pedestrianised street towards the border control. “I’ve never walked from one country to another before,” he smiled, as they left Cypriot territory and headed towards Turkey, passing a no-man’s land of around 50 yards between security posts. At the Turkish side, they showed their passports and were given a slip of paper which was stamped.

“Welcome to Turkey, me old mucker,” said Macker as they headed into a warren of shops selling designer-label goods, restaurants and, thankfully, bars which advertised euro prices.

They found a small hostelry selling a superior beer at €1.50 a pint and pitched tent for a tasty €10 nosebag of lamb and chicken kebab, hummus, rice, salad and a feed of chips. It was then, their burping discreetly dispensed with, their idyllic evening took an unintended turn.

Macker, who loved a fag, particularly after dinner, took a shine to a large smoking pipe standing in the corner. He called over the barman who informed him, in broken English, the pipe was an argilah and they were welcome to use it, for a small fee.

Grappling the large hose, Macker beamed. “I’ve heard a lot about these pipes. They filter the tobacco through water and are supposed to be better for you than the Harry Wraggs I roll up. Here goes.” For the next half hour, Macker must have inhaled around 200 puffs from the argilah. He reported the sensation was pleasant, not overly strong, and that it left a rather sweet residue on the palate.

By now, it was after midnight and Vinny didn’t want any trouble with the border guards. “Let’s have a nightcap back in Cyprus,” he said knocking back his glass.

It was only a short stroll back to the state line but as they approached the lights of the kiosks to get their exit papers stamped, Macker groaned and stopped. “I’m not feeling the Mae West,” he said before throwing up loudly and messily.

The retching continued for several minutes before Macker collapsed by the kerbside. By now, the guards were standing over him, clearly unimpressed.

Vinny, who could feel the force of Turkey’s finest Efes beer coursing through his veins, leaned down and gathered Macker up by his shoulders. “It’s alright officers, I can personally vouch for this man,” he said.

The Turkish guards, bearded, big and brandishing guns in their holsters, looked menacing. One of them, a ringer for Desperate Dan in ‘The Dandy’, approached Vinny and demanded to see his passport and clearance papers.

“You say you can vouch for this man Meester Fitzpatrick,’ he said. “But who can vouch for you?” Beyond no man’s land, Vinny could see the bright welcoming lights of the Cyprus side of Nicosia. But all he could think of was the film ‘Midnight Express’ where Brad Davis got banged up in a horrid Turkish prison.

Desperate Dan steered Vinny and the ailing Macker towards the security booth. “I think you had both better come with me,” he said through blackened teeth.

Dragging the semi-conscious Macker with him, Vinny nervously made his way in to a small portakabin where they were left alone. By now, Vinny was sweating profusely and fearing the worst, while Macker hung limply by his side. After a few minutes, Desperate Dan returned. “We always thought you Irish could hold your drink. Here, take this. It will help you and your friend,” he said with a grin, offering two cups of steaming black coffee.

An hour later, the two men were back safe, if not quite sound, in their hotel room where Macker stumbled as he tried to undo his shoe laces. “That’s your last trip of the night, Macker,” thought Vinny as he helped his old pal into bed.

Bets of the week

1ptBulgaria to beat Italy (10/1, Ladbrokes)

2ptsNew England Patriots to win Superbowl (5/1, Skybet)

Vinny's Bismark

1ptLay Wales to beat Russia (5/1, general, liability 5pts)