A big night out in Kaliningrad

We were somewhere over the border on the edge of Kaliningrad when the drug dog came aboard.

This was the third stop on our bus journey to the World Cup venue few knew existed, having left Gdansk en route to this week’s Group B clash between Spain and Morocco.

The first step in a border crossing fans were warned could take five hours was a standard identification check upon leaving the European Union. The second was another perfunctory passport examination in the no man’s land between Poland and Russia.

Stop three, though, was different. First came a stoic woman carrying a camcorder and filming a close-up of each passenger, then came a man wearing a ushanka, the fur cap with earflaps my limited imagination told me every Russian wore, then came the inquisitive canine.

Stop four brought the latest passport check and, once over the Russian border, the final hurdle saw either a government official or a random off the street request the passengers’ nationalities and scrawl down the responses on what appeared a loose scrap of paper.

Then, at last, with all the serious business out of the way, it was on to our destination.

The host of four matches during the World Cup, including a dramatic draw between 2010 champions Spain and unheralded Morocco, Kaliningrad doubled as an educational experience.

A city that became Soviet after World War II and became a Russian exclave after the fall of the Iron Curtain, Kaliningrad sits between Poland, Lithuania and the Baltic Sea, 600km west of ‘big Russia’, as the locals call the mainland.

But during our 40 hours in the city — a little longer than my friend and I intended — there was no denying we were in Russia.

Kaliningrad was razed during the war and Soviet efforts to rebuild the city were . . . indifferent. While Fifa’s, shall we say, unusual choice to award this tournament to Russia provided eight years to prepare, our hotel room overlooked crumbling buildings and deserted parking lots.

Eventually, we discovered we were staying on the ‘wrong’ side of the Pregolya River, a body of water where, on an island, lay the body of philosopher Immanuel Kant.

And, eventually, we also discovered the World Cup, having spent the previous night meeting only the unsmiling man sitting stonily in our hotel lobby and the silent woman waiting dutifully behind the reception desk.

Once in Pobedy Square, the sight of Spanish and Moroccan fans became ever more frequent, with clusters of each gathered as early as midday to begin the singing. And the drinking. It would have been rude at that point to have avoided the festivities, especially since another, more prominent group was about the join the party.

So with the hosts facing off with Uruguay for top spot in Group A, we headed underground to Kropotkin, a spacious eatery where the beer was served in flagons and every seat was occupied by an exuberant fan who left it whenever the home team had a sniff of goal.

Unfortunately for the locals, there were fewer sniffs than enjoyed by the good dog who came aboard our bus. Russia went down 3-0 and, with the undercard over, we set off for the main event.

The first poles at Kaliningrad Stadium were driven into the ground in 2015, undoubtedly using money that could have been better spent elsewhere in a city where little seemed new. But those three years clearly allowed for no time to provide supporters a simple route from the centre city.

We took a wrong turn. Possibly it was the fault of the $6 Budweiser on the stopover at the Fifa fanzone, where a full orchestra played a rousing version of Metallica’s Nothing Else Matters, but the game was eight minutes old when we found our seats.

Never mind, no goals were missed, as two nations who throughout history have regularly been at war settled into a friendlier but no less competitive contest.

The highlight was either Iago Aspas’ 91st-minute VAR-assisted equaliser or the unusual sight, moments later, of Spain’s bench leaping in unison and imploring goalkeeper David de Gea to slow the game, having just learned of an advantageous goal in the group’s other match.

Spain earned top spot and we headed back to the pub. Which was where the real action began, as three sets of fans — plus a couple of Kiwi interlopers — traded songs and vodka shots long into the night.

In hindsight, perhaps a tad too long. In hindsight, perhaps that planned 6.30am bus back to Gdansk was a bad idea. Sparing the gory details: alarms were missed, tourists were stranded, exorbitant taxis across borders were hastily arranged, flights back to London were, thankfully, caught.

And lessons were learned. Like the fact Russia has an exclave and it’s a pretty cool place.