MY WORLD CUP JOURNEY: Katie Mishner

I thought that my October would involve adjusting to my final year of University WRITES KATIE MISHNER, but instead I found myself on the five o’clock flight from Birmingham to Amman. The purpose of my trip: to report on the FIFA U-17 Women’s World Cup in Jordan. Dissertation out of sight and out of mind.

One viewing of Borussia Dortmund v Real Madrid in Istanbul airport, one more flight and a short car ride later and I was in Room 503 of the Grand Palace Hotel. I would live here with 13 other Young Reporters from all over the world for the next 25 days.

The first week was jam packed with new experiences and lessons. I picked up my first media accreditation which now hangs proudly on my mirror, I had my first (of many) coffee in the media centre of a stadium and sat in a press box for the first time with a huge grin on my face.

Above all, I now know how to eat hummus “the correct way” – courtesy of my Lebanese roommate!

Slowly but surely the novelty became routine. I woke up at 7:30am more tired than I before I went to sleep, I’d then have my plate of hummus and flatbread. After breakfast we’d fill the meeting room for a 9:30 lecture where practices of journalism would be discussed and we’d more often than not have a visitor.

I didn’t think being taught in a classroom setting would be particularly advantageous but there are so many sets of anecdotes or pieces of advice embedded permanently in my brain. For example, I will never go into a match without writing the possible introductions first. Not only were the lessons of great value but it presented me with the opportunity to meet people like Tatjana Haenni, FIFA Director of Women’s Competitions or commentator John Helm, the voice who has guided me through so many matches.

My favourite days of the week came in the form of game days. We were basically the only media there so the coach would consist of around six very excited Young Reporters. Bus journeys varied greatly depending on destination. After arriving and passing through some extensive security, apparently my tourist magnets were a threat, I would get myself a few bread sticks, a bottle of water and some instant coffee before strategically plonking myself in the seat with the best view.

Irbid was the first place that I was allocated to, which is 25km from the Syrian border and nearly two hours away from our hotel in Amman. I distinctly remember the feeling I had in the coach. Mostly uncertainty, I had only written about matches from afar so I began to doubt my ability. My job was to write the match report on the later game in Group B, Cameroon v Canada. Despite my low confidence at this early point in the tournament, I instinctively climbed over the barrier and started talking to the people in the seats who I soon learned were the parents of the German players. Just like that I had my story before I had even written the match report. I went on to interview more parents from all over the world in different games.

The day continued to improve when John Herdman (Canada WNT manager) walked into the tribune. We bonded over being from the North East of England but I was too shy to ask for an interview. I will forever regret that but you live and learn….

My match report earned me quite a lot of praise from my colleagues. I was glad, as I wrote it my focus was on nothing else but the game in front of me. From this day on, the view from the media tribune became less frightening. In fact it became where I was most comfortable and I was certainly not looking forward to trading it in for lectures and coursework.

As the games flew past I felt myself growing. I hit the deadlines with more ease, started to look around for interesting stories without thinking about it and had way more belief the words I was typing.

Life in Jordan wasn’t all about U-17 WWC but it almost always centred around football. On free evenings, I’d often find myself in the Marriott hotel’s sports bar, usually watching Jordanian favourites Real Madrid. There was not such a thing as ‘time off’, on a lot of the visits to our local I would bring my laptop to work on articles – though this did prove a perfection distraction from another drab performance by the England men.

On the evenings that were not about finishing stories, our Jordanian reporters would show us around their favourite places, always making a conscious effort to feed my falafel addiction. We went around a week without actually seeing anything but the lobby of the hotel and the stadiums and I think it would have stayed that way if was not for our local journalists. I still think about Jordanian falafel before I go to sleep.

Speaking of experiences that shaped the month into more than just work, our two actual full days off came in the final week the tournament, when games were more spaced out and stories were less frequent.

The first trip was the Dead Sea, a very large body of water with such a high salt content that you just float. Now, I know I said it was an actual day off but I missed out on the the first dip in the sea due to an article deadline but what is an hour when you have a full day of floating ahead of you. Once the article was sent, I rushed down to the water, covered myself in mud and bobbed about. I loved watching other tourists instruct their friends to take pictures of them pretending to read a book. In that moment I seriously felt like the luckiest person in the world. Here I am, literally floating on water, after several weeks of writing about football. Could it get any better?

Spoiler: it did. Even with England out of the competition, my experience just kept on improving. Days after the Dead Sea, we all visited Petra and this trip was not interrupted by deadlines. It had been on my list for so long to see a wonder of the world but I didn’t think that it would come about in this manner. I climbed, hiked and wandered around in amazement that something like this could exist. I didn’t completely forget about football as I bumped into a local Bedouin vendor who was selling trinkets while sporting a PSG shirt, so I talked to him about the beautiful game. Turns out he was more of a Real Madrid fan.

It was these days that the Young Reporters grew close. It’s amazing how human communication is when it’s not from behind a laptop. I think we really realised how much we enjoy each other’s company. In fact, our group chat is still incredibly active two weeks on, though mostly me complaining about the English weather.

And then we were ready for the final day. Venezuela lost to Spain for third place and an all-Asian final as North Korea and Japan went head-to-head. The Japanese were our favourites to win, especially as we had a reporter from Osaka among our ranks, but they lost out on penalties. We watched Japan’s crying captain pick up her golden ball and fair play award and then North Korea lifted the trophy to signal the end of the tournament.

Following the conclusion of the tournament, the girls from Cameroon and Ghana set off at around four in the morning and a bunch more left several hours later. We all stayed awake for tear-filled goodbyes, a testament to how strong the bond between us had grown. I was lucky to be on the late plane, which meant a final day of meandering around the slightly tarnished streets of downtown and grabbing my last two falafel sandwiches before boarding.

It all came full circle at Istanbul Airport, where I had made my first solo trip. This time I was not alone or uncertain. Eventually I was left to return to England solo but at least I was coming back with a tonne of writing experience and phone book full of friends from all over the world.

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