As meticulously planned as the Conservative Party election campaign, and notwithstanding the joy and liberation experienced by a few, who saw more of the environs of Bucharest than others, just about as successful on the pitch. A combination of players succumbing to heat stroke, over “hydration”, gastro-intestinal disorders and some miscommunications as to where and when the game was to be played and who might have had an obligation to participate in the event; led to a sub-optimal ending to an otherwise magnificent season by The Blues. Good job it wasn’t just about the game then.

Rugby Touring, in the purest sense of the activity, has to be an essential component of any club’s DNA, from the youngest age grade to the doyens of the adult membership. The chance of playing different teams, in different places in vastly at times, different styles, ensures the opportunity for players and others to bond, develop team spirit and act as ambassadors for our city, our sport and our community.

Apart from the opportunity to foster Rugby-related relationships further afield than the club has ventured in recent years, this sojourn to the “Paris of the East”, was the perfect way for the 25-man squad to wind down from the tensions and intensity of the past nine months. The richness of the vibrant cultural mores, breaking through the sombre sobriety of the post-Soviet controlled austere years, ensured an effusive welcome offered to tourists by the local population, keen to ensure nobody wanted for anything.

The favourable exchange rate between the Leu and the Pound Sterling made indulging in the culinary and libationary offers, not only infinitely affordable but also compelling. Who would have thought that three of the “big five” fast food giants would also be so well represented in Eastern Europe? Much to the delight of those in need of sustenance at pace, the tasty comestibles offered by the likes of McDonald’s, KFC and Subway whilst pleasing the Riponians no end, must have had Nicolae Ceausescu spinning in his grave. As for the famed delights of the local cuisine, well one would have to go back again to experience that.

Complemented by the ready availability of Uber’s finest, to economically and speedily transport the intrepid explorers around the Romanian capital, this was a dream excursion in the making, what could possibly go wrong?

The pre-dawn meeting on day one, 30th May, was vaguely reminiscent of a gathering of concerned individuals, ready to be transported by air into the unknown, to fight battles on foreign fields. There rested any resemblance between the tourists and those embarking on airborne journeys 80 years previously, as any battles fought thereafter, were entirely of their own making and largely involved excesses induced by over-indulgence and incapacity.
Day One: The journey to Leeds Bradford Airport passed uneventfully, apart from a slight dalliance caused by some misinterpretation of the meeting and leaving times. First roll call effective at third attempt resulted in the party arriving in totality at their destination. Airport administration effectively processed and a quick sprint through duty free enabled the procurement of some essential items for the weekend, mostly in liquid form. A hearty breakfast washed down with as assortment of beverages, set the tone for the rest of the weekend. At the appointed time, the party moved on towards boarding, not missing any opportunities for last minute drinks, just in case the aircraft proved to be dry.

Once settled on board Ryanair’s pride of the skies, it soon dawned on anyone over 5’ 6” that the next four hours or so, were going to be extremely uncomfortable. The discomfort exacerbated by the extortionate pricing of in-flight refreshments, the least palatable of which was the “meal deal” of half a curly sandwich containing an unrecognisable substance, a tube containing two Pringles and a thimble-full of beer, for the bargain sum of €30. The saving grace of the journey being the happy, smiley and friendly cabin crew, for whom nothing was too much trouble.

The smooth landing and transition through Henri Coanda International Airport was uneventful and the awaiting fleet of vans whisked the intrepid tourists through the post-modern industrial hinterland of Bucharest to the 3 Star Hotel Elizeu, conveniently placed next to the railway station Gara Bucuresti Nord. Convenient for its transport links and centrality, less so for those in need of a quiet night’s sleep, what with 24/7 train and tram services, tooting and rattling past with monotonous regularity. Besides the inconvenience caused by the comings and going in and around the busiest railway station in Eastern Europe, the saving grace of the monstrous edifice with it’s fourteen tracks and endless platforms, was the plethora of fast-food outlets with extensive opening hours and the magnificent “Café Parmir”, whose obliging and tolerant landlord made staying in the city centre all worthwhile. Without dwelling too long on the matter, the Wikipedia description of the premises as “in a deplorable state”, pretty much summed up the lack of investment the country makes in its infrastructure. Were it not for impressive broadband speed and abundant Uber vehicles, this might be a very sad place to live indeed,
A quick spruce up and first check in for all tourists in the hotel bar. Curtailed after less than an hour due to polite suggestions by the hotel management that there might be too many of us in one place, too noisy for the comfort of the other guests and having the potential to become a nuisance quite quickly. Pathfinders despatched, the sourcing of the best (and only) Irish Bar in Bucharest set pulses racing at the prospect of a venue with some atmosphere.

Apart from a faded Celtic scarf hanging above the bar, “The Dubliner” failed on so many levels to meet the expectations of anyone who’d been in an Irish bar before: no Guinness (or anything other than Romanian lager), no “diddley-dee” music and not a Leprechaun in sight. The premises did however suffice for the first formal court session of the tour and an opportunity to establish some expectations and rules, most of which went on to be flouted unreservedly. Cases were heard and judged fairly and consistently, punishments meted out with vigour and everyone left in no uncertain terms wondering who might be above and beyond the reach of the tour rules. The untimely cessation of availability of water in the premises may have been a tactical ploy to rid the establishment of the invaders, did the trick and the party moved on to enjoy the rest of the evening getting to know the local population, in the many and varied watering holes of the Old Town.

Day Two: The taking of compulsory breakfast in the hotel by ten of the party didn’t bode well for the expected togetherness and unity of the group. After less than 24 hours in country, the adherence to the “let’s stick together” policy was in danger of falling at the first hurdle, so urgent messaging was sent around the hotel, for the benefit of those actually in residence, to assemble at the Café Parmir for an ad hoc court session.

The business of the court, hampered slightly by the delayed attendance of key personnel, proceeded in a relatively subdued manner due also to the unavailability of the variety of drinks needed and glasses to drink from. Clearly the mass taking of shots wasn’t within the core business of the station bar, with its usual customer base comprising passengers in transit.

The high spot of day two was the planned excursion to “Therme” a magnificent water park on the outskirts of the city, boasting numerous pools, slides, swim up bars, tropical rain forests and the largest urban beach in Europe. Resplendent in their colourful “budgie smugglers” the tourists made an immediate and hopefully not lasting, impact on the establishment and hopefully didn't ruin too many people's day out. The water-based activities went well for most and apart from a couple of minor indiscretions that curtailed some individual’s day out earlier than expected, the majority enjoyed a fun packed afternoon and benefited from getting all the time and fun they paid for. Hopefully the Interpol investigation into the mysterious case of the missing sliders, will be resolved without recourse to a visitation from the Politia Romana to feel someone’s collar back in Ripon.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully for most, as folks dispersed to swap stories of swim time, visited more hostelries and immersed themselves in the local cultural attractions.
Day Three, Match Day: With kick off scheduled for 11.00am to avoid playing in the heat of the sun, the morning passed in a blur as the excitement built up for the forthcoming game and the unknown quantities. What were the opposition like and should there be concern that their name “Bucharest Harlequins” might be a portent as to their proficiency? What would the playing conditions be like and from casual observations of the parlous state of pretty much everything in the city, would there be a clubhouse, changing rooms, or grass on the pitch? Would the HM Forces colleagues currently on exercise in country get the time off to come and play as they had alluded to? Would the numerous ex-patriot players and other interested parties met in the bars of the Old City, put their money where their mouth was and turn up to boost the numbers? All valid questions but missing the key point of would all the Ripon players remember there was a match on, remember where and when it was to be held and just maybe in a fit state to play?

Thus, when the time came to make the short hop from hotel to host ground the answer to most of those questions was a resound “no”. What was reassuringly positive, were the facilities available for the game to be played, on a full size, well grassed and properly set out pitch, with reasonable changing facilities that would put some Yorkshire 2 and above clubs to shame. The absence of a bar and toilet paper were of minor irritation, depending on how badly one wanted a drink or a… The absence of the bar facility was to be fair, of greater inconvenience, particularly as the hosts turned up with enough beer to fill an Olympic size swimming pool, but for their own consumption. Somewhere along the way, the meticulous organisation had neglected to check on this detail, recovered ably by a rapidly organised supermarket sweep to arrange for suitable post-match sustenance. Shame they forgot the toilet paper.

As the host’s squad assembled and initiated their intricate pre-match preparations, the less hardy or hearty Riponians, preferred not to peak too early and remained in the shade of the “grandstand” for as long as they could. Not one to advocate lengthy and complex warm ups, there has however, got to be a happy medium between sleeping on the touchline up until kick off and going at it full tilt for an hour before hand. The former was very much evident as the remnants of Ripon’s most successful squad in decades, looked about to sleep walk their way through however many minutes of play the match was to be agreed at. Failing to prepare and all that!

The final selection decision for the starting and erm, only team, was made on the bus to the ground, only to be thwarted on arrival, by some representations seeking exclusion from the forthcoming proceedings on account of being: too old, too sick, going on another tour tomorrow, didn’t expect to have to play (Sorry, the clue’s in the title “Rugby Tour”) or - my dad would kill me! Shades of “stupid boy” quotes from Dad’s Army sprung to mind but of course ever the compassionate diplomat, such pleas for exclusion found a sympathetic ear.
On paper, this was not a half-bad side, comprising eleven out of the sixteen fit and present enough to play, who had appeared in and around the senior squad over the past year or so. Nobody ended up playing who couldn’t and hats off to everyone who committed to stepping up for The Blues, though there were one or two, who for safety reasons, shouldn’t have been let past the perimeter fence.

Some pre-match mind games were initiated by the opposition: firstly with regard to the nominated referee being introduced as a former Romanian international player, who had been capped in World Cup games. As many will know, being a half-decent player in a half-decent national side, does not make a decent referee. The standard of officiating of this game being the case in point. Next up was the plea from the host coach, that we “take it steady” in the contact areas. Many of the home players were only recently introduced to the game and unsure of their ability to cope with the physicality they would expect to meet from such a celebrious English team. Had the coach explained this to their own players, a more evenly contested opening few minutes may have transpired. As things happened though, the slow and gentle start by Ripon allowed the opposition to start at a blistering pace, run rings round defenders, burst through tackles and go 15 – 0 up in as many minutes and pretty much continued at that pace and intensity for the rest of the game.

Thankfully the game started and continued with uncontested scrums, thus alleviating the most energy sapping part of the game for the forwards. It did however, lead to a style of play that Ripon simply couldn’t live with and with the referee ruling conversions after every try superfluous, the ten try to three rout and score line of 52 – 15 could have looked a lot worse. As the heat of the day rose to the low 30s Celsius, so did Ripon’s energy decline. Max Marston scored The Blues’ only first half contribution and Jack Thomson and Tom Roebuck crossed the line later on to maintain what dignity they could. The game was mercifully cut short at 60 minutes and everyone dragged themselves toward the shade and the refreshments comprising copious amounts of – bottled water. The immediate post-match activities were subdued, mostly involving gathering breath watching the rejuvenation of the pitch as its sprinklers were activated and stimulating scintillating conversations about crows – attracted to the emerging earthworm population from beneath the sward and the irrigation scheme stories being swapped by English and Romanian farmers alike. With the official post-match celebration deferred to an evening event at a city hostelry reserved of the occasion, the thoughts of the tour party turned collectively to establishing the wellness and whereabouts of those unfortunate enough to have missed the bus to the match.

After some widespread and far-reaching enquiries, the tour party reassembled and all reconnections went swimmingly well. Calling off the air searches and dragging of the River Dâmbovița drew a line under the day’s proceedings, with a reiteration of the buddy system and certain persons not to be allowed out of anyone’s sight. The “evening do” at the Fabrica Club went well, with all parties present and correct and an opportunity for the hosts to hone their English language skills, discussing the finer points of Rugby and farming. A fine example of shabby chic design, optimising the post-Communist legacy of urban decay, attracting the rudest bar staff in the world offering the poorest service ever received in a bar. Only the Parmesan coated French Fries made the place tolerable, taking the concept of cheesy chips to a whole different dimension.

The celebrations involved the remnants of the host squad leading a sing song of epic proportions and quite putting the visitors to shame with their eloquence, knowledge of the English language and their ability to string a song together that comprised more than one-line repeated ad nauseum. The singing and dancing went on into the wee small hours for many and the day’s events slowly evaporated into the mists of time.

Day Four: Following another poor turnout to enjoy the best continental breakfast the Hotel Elizeu could rustle up a further court session was demanded for 09.00 sharp, in Room 303. The message reverberated throughout the hotel and almost everyone made it into the cosy accommodation with seconds to spare. With 25 men crammed into a three bedded room, this was not for the faint-hearted and accusations, judgements and sentences carried out without delay. The coughing and retching noises coming from the bathroom were enough to put one off drinking forever, well almost. Punishments taken manfully and the best part of a litre of Jameson’s wasted, the party was instructed to rendezvous at the Café Parmir for further deliberations as to how to spend the day.

After much thought, the cultural attraction of the Cismigiu Park was opted for, with its delicately landscaped grounds, sophisticated cafes and expansive boating lake. Advance parties were sent forth to establish best entry and entertainment points, as well as what turned out to be a futile attempt to buy something like a bat and ball or even a football to have a knock about. Once established in the picturesque parkland and doing their best not to ruin a wedding party’s photo experience on a romantic bridge over the river, the tourists descended on the boating lake. Definitely a case of discretion being the better part of valour, only four would be explorers set off onto the water. With one rowing boat and a pedalo, this was not going to be a recreation of the Spanish Armada and hopefully with a depth of around half a metre, nobody would drown. The less said about waterborne exploits the better at this point and needless to say, the park experience was short-lived before the crowd moved on to ruin somebody else’s afternoon.

Descending on a sleepy bar in a sleepy back street was just the right idea and the next few hours were spent relaxing, chewing the fat discussing the merits of the establishment’s offal-based menu. With the day drawing to a close, there was only one thing left and that was to reconvene at the Café Parmir for one final court session and bid the host a fond farewell. With a supermarket sweep to Carrefour, the necessary punishment materials were purchased and again the hospitality of the long-suffering landlord was put to the test. And so the end of the final day petered out with another old and young division, with some seeking one last glimpse at the excitement of the Old Town and some seeking to wind down and perhaps get some sleep before another long day of travelling.

Day Five: A rather more subdued than usual group of breakfast faithful met up to steel themselves for the journey home. The rest of the morning was spent tidying up, regrouping and rehydrating, though the only liquids on show were water or pop, the excesses of the previous four days clearly having taken their toll. The departure from the hotel was cordial and good natured, no losses or damage having been reported to the management. However emotional the send-off, it just fell short of the management saying we must come again, nor was there any desire on behalf of the tourists.

The airport experience went like clockwork again and the party assembled at the departure gate held an impromptu award ceremony for notable achievements. A nice touch and some thoughtful gifts were well received. All went well on the return flight and the bus trip back from Manchester felt more funereal than exciting to be going home. All arrived safely back in Ripon and dispersed within seconds.

This is meant to be a largely unattributable and hopefully as near to factual accuracy and memory serves, so it would be most remiss to identify individuals for particular reasons. However, without the tour organising committee of Pete Fletcher, Jack Thomson and Matt Clark, this wouldn’t have gone ahead. Some on tour individual roles were undertaken at the behest of the organisers, with gusto and dedication and showed true grit and character. The playing outcome wasn’t what the club wanted and some might argue the whole was maybe a day too long. What it did do however, was create a strong bond between players old and new, and a unity in taking the pride of Ripon to pastures new and whilst upholding the values of Rugby and the club, having some fun too. Up the Ripon!