How far would you go? The chaos of passion tourism

How far would you go… to watch second-rate football at great financial expense? Quite far, actually.

The trend of “passion tourism” is only on the rise. Last year, Mastercard’s annual travel trends report found that, “memorable events are driving travel trends, whether it is for concerts or sporting events”.

Indeed, whether it’s Swifties travelling to another country (or continent) to see their favourite pop star, often to avoid the ticket touts for what many consider worthwhile reasons, or sports fanatics journeying to England for their maiden Premier League, combining travel with following one’s passion is understandably a huge market.

My passion, however, is a bit more out of left field. Instead of going abroad to attend performances from the world’s biggest pop stars or sports teams, I have made a habit of travelling to the United States to support my second favourite football team, Orlando City, in the always-ridiculed Major League Soccer – far from the glitz and glamour of the Premier League.

Since getting the bug for the sport on a family holiday to Central Florida eight years ago, I have attended a further seventeen games, either in Orlando or around the North American continent. In fact, pretty much every penny earned working full-time in my gap year before university has gone towards fuelling this passion.

For me, one trip in particular stresses why passion tourism is practised and enjoyed by so many of those lucky enough to travel around the globe.

In February last year, I made the mammoth 4,714-mile pilgrimage from Sheringham, Norfolk to Victoria, British Columbia on the Canadian Pacific coast, to see Orlando take on Canadian outfit Cavalry in the Concacaf Champions Cup – North America’s premier continental competition.

Pretty much every penny earned working full-time in my gap year before university has gone towards fuelling this passion.

Actually, it was anything but a pilgrimage. Typically, ‘pilgrimage’ conjures up images of golden embellished citadels in Jerusalem or Mecca, being swarmed by baby-faced cherubs upon your triumphant arrival. In footballing terms, a pilgrimage would probably terminate at Manchester United’s Old Trafford (before Sir Jim Ratcliffe demolishes it) or the Camp Nou in Barcelona. Not, as it was for me, a glorified high school field in the middle of nowhere with one-and-a-half stands and a set of bleachers.

Starlight Stadium, though, was my destination, and the Greater Victoria area turned out to be the setting of my favourite trip of all time.

Having to make do with missing an entire week of lectures and seminars to accommodate the trip, I embarked on the alarmingly early morning journey from Norfolk to Heathrow. I touched down in Calgary some ten hours later – ironically, the hometown of Cavalry and the hoped-for venue for the fixture, if not for the bitter Alberta winters. From there, I made the short two-hour hop over the Rocky Mountains to Vancouver Island.

Landing very late at night, I made straight for my hotel in downtown Victoria. Yet, getting there on my typically frugal budget proved particularly challenging – I had to take the bus, which would have been fine if Victoria’s buses accepted card payments.

The obvious benefit to passion tourism is that you’re bound to meet like-minded people at whatever event you travel to

The obvious benefit to passion tourism is that you’re bound to meet like-minded people at whatever event you travel to, especially if you’re travelling solo. That didn’t quite happen the morning of the game…apart from a handful of Cavalry fans who noticed the Orlando cap I was wearing and were rather amused at my English accent.

However, after spending the morning wandering the noticeably empty streets and waterfront, another forgiving driver waved me on the bus to the stadium complex and the bar where I was to meet a handful of the few Orlando fans that had braved the similarly lengthy journey from Florida.

These fans, whom I now call friends, have since accompanied me on two further Orlando away trips – the most recent being to New York City that I covered for The Boar Sport. Being in Canada on this occasion (as I was only twenty at the time) meant that I could enjoy their slightly more relaxed alcohol laws than the usual away day location in the United States and celebrate the eventual 3-0 win with them.

Alongside making new friends, I have a whole host of memories and stories to tell from travelling to games – the good and the bad. In October, I missed another week of university to attend Orlando’s playoff fixture in Charlotte, North Carolina – the second time in five months I’d visited the city for a game.

The first trip was nothing short of a disaster. The night before Orlando laboured to a 2-2 draw against ten men, I’d been kicked out of the hotel that I’d booked, apparently not old enough to check in unaccompanied.

I have a whole host of memories and stories to tell from travelling to games – the good and the bad.

Luckily, October’s trip was a more enjoyable experience. Having touched down at Charlotte Douglas airport in the nick of time, I was able to catch that night’s basketball game between the Hornets and the Raptors. The following evening, one of my friends having since arrived from Orlando, attended a college football game with me in what was one of my favourite sporting arenas I’d ever visited.

And this was all a warmup to Orlando’s game the next day. Despite the humiliation of losing on penalties, the day had been spent trying out the local breweries and bars in the southern sun.

The truth is, finance-wise, all of my trips have been disastrous. In my seven away games supporting Orlando, I’ve seen my team win just once.

What’s more, I am often met with a confused look on the face of whoever I tell of my passion: “You’re absolutely mental, you know that?” Yes, I reply.

Yet, I regret none of it. When I’m just a saggy lump of wrinkly skin and frail bones, bank statements and mortgages will all be academic to me.

However, I’ll always be able to look back fondly on the time I got (technically illegally) drunk in the French Quarter in Charlotte, North Carolina, celebrating in the stands a few hours later as my team netted a last-minute winner – even if it was disallowed for offside almost immediately.