Bernabeu: Another world

On a mild night in Madrid, with Real showboating their way through the opening exchanges against Villarreal, something caught my eye up above. A flame was racing along the roof of the stand, and incredibly only attracting bored glances from the local crowd.

The last time I had seen Real live was at Old Trafford the season before, and for someone who spent years on terraces and the wooden seats of Turf Moor, the more modern stylings of the Manchester stadium always feel like a slightly outlandish place.

But even in England's more modern grounds the thought of providing ambient heaters for the crowd would probably not occur.

At El Santiago Bernabeu even the vague suggestion of the chill brings the slightly shocking flame and a demon red glow of electric fires across the stand.

It is a strange anecdote from a wonderful night but then a footballing pilgrimage to El Santiago Bernabeu was always going to bring a glimpse at another footballing world.

I may work at planetfootball, but at times sitting in Madrid it felt like I was in a different universe.

It was always my intention to write about the differences in watching football in La Liga from viewing The Premiership, but in truth it is virtually impossible to compare. 

First of all the stadium has to be seen to be believed. No amount of pictures or television footage can illustrate the sheer size when you get inside.

Tier upon tier of stands at an unfeasible angle to the pitch leave you breathless both from the vertiginous climb up the steps and possibly because the air is a little thinner at the top.

My ticket had stated 'Vomitorio: 100' and although the literal translation is 'aisle,' they should provide sick bags for those reaching the dizzy heights of the top tier.

Incredibly, the view was fabulous - the sheer angles meaning that the height doesn't actually leave you as far away from the field of play as you might expect.

One thing is immediately apparent. Football shirts are not particularly prevalent amongst supporters. With 70,000 people in the stadium you would expect a sea of white, but although the weather (mild but not for Madridistas) may have left many covering up, there were less scarves than you would see in British games.

In fact, I expected the incredible warmth generated by the heaters to provoke a few more shirts onto display, but as I sat there sweating in a t-shirt the majority of the locals around me were still shivering in their coats. 

Secondly, a large percentage of those avidly waiting for the game to start were consuming a staggering amount of sunflower seeds. The stands were pristine as we arrived at our seats, but on exit I was wading through piles of discarded shells thrown in and spat out of mouths at a rate akin to a machine gun.

One surprise was that there is very little singing outside of the two sections of well known fans 'Ultras' and Orgullo Vikingo' the former behind one goal and the latter high up next to the away fans.

Apparently the two compete in a good natured fashion to generate the most noise - but I must have arrived on an off night for the Vikings because they were particularly subdued. 

But if you really want differences then it is on the pitch, and when you watch Real you are being given the chance to watch a side filled with some of the most amazingly skilled players across the globe.

Even with Zinedine Zidane missing through injury, the opportunity to see Luis Figo mesmerise a full back with a trick that frankly looked more David Blaine than David Beckham is something I will never forget.

Add it to a Ronaldo wonder goal (his first meaningful contribution of the match after 53 minutes) a sublime performance from the vastly under-utilised Santiago Solari and the chance to see Beckham in another footballing culture and you get an experience that any supporter would love.

For any that wondered if the England captain would be accepted by the Real supporters then you would be astounded by the way he had people on their feet with both his range of passing and a work rate that seems to have surprised everybody at the club.

When I boarded my flight to Spain I wasn't sure if a league match in a foreign country was worth building a weekend break around.

When I arrived back in England I was already wondering how soon I could do it again.

Have you been on a footballing pilgrimage that left you breathless? Tell us about it by filling out the form below