The World Cup in Qatar has been running for over two weeks. The routines have long been established. Days and nights blur, there’s always the next game. The tournament, held in a city, fascinates and thrashes around with such a volume that everyone becomes deaf.
Which stadium is that actually? looks familiar Somehow. Have you been there before? In which duel? Actually has to. On the other hand: metal lattice snakes, the scan of the accreditation makes a “beep”, security checks, tearing off the labels from non-FIFA water bottles, media center, entrance, elevator or stairs to the press gallery, next beep, look for a seat, open the laptop – the many steps are the same in every arena. predictable routine. Habit that makes everything and everyone seem the same.
Attending a World Cup football match every day and reporting on it is a great luxury. But at some point a certain indifference automatically sets in. The special thing about an exciting visit to the stadium that you otherwise look forward to flies away. If you dart up the stairs during the opening game, you sneak days later, sometimes dragging yourself.
The steps are more leisurely, the eyes are fixed on the concrete of the barren stairwells, somewhere there is always a security guard sitting on a chair. Marker of Ascension. Game days, games, stadiums and players become blurred. What day of the week is it? Which date? I don’t know, but yesterday France played Poland. This is the new calendar calculation in Qatar.
This isn’t supposed to be a lawsuit book. But everything is always the same, that’s the thing. Also the weather in Doha is the same every day. curtains up in the morning. Sun. It’s hard to complain when the gray and the cold take over in Germany. But you miss the variety that you grew up with a little, but then you do. An Advent Sunday on the sofa with gingerbread and loved ones doesn’t sound wrong either. The big storm could come on Wednesday, they say. The Transition Days that bring “Winter”. Then the streets are under water, the rain washes away the dirt. That’s how the stories go.
Also always the same: the World Cup song. Hala hala hala yalah hayhm arhbo. On every corner. Already at breakfast and very late on the nightly foray home from the stadium. In between on buses, trains or in public places anyway. Always Hala hala hala yalah hayhm arhbo. Followed by On y va, here we go (Oh-oh-oh-oh-oooooh). It’s like being forbidden to switch off the head. Maybe other, critical thoughts should be drowned out?
In general, total sensory overload is lurking everywhere. FIFA and Qatar want this to be the best World Cup ever (what does that even mean?). That’s why it has to glitter a lot. On every corner. The bass from the pre-game show is already booming in front of the stadium. It’s even louder in the stadium. Then announcers heat up the two groups of fans with loud shouts. Halftime will be packed with 15 minutes of party music and a light show. Epilepsy warning would definitely be appropriate.
In general, life in many places on earth is louder than in Germany. Even than in Berlin. Quiet is a luxury that mostly wealthy people have on Earth, unless you’re living in total isolation in the country. In the desert state of Qatar, the latter is not possible anyway. And that’s why people here have gotten used to noise on the streets or in the subways. Always a lot of people, cell phone noise, babies crying, “Metro? This way!” in a continuous loop through automated loudspeakers that are already croaking. In addition, the stewards perform their routines. Maybe someone will film it, maybe it will all go viral. Maybe this is breaking out of the loop. Continue. down the stairs Cold.
The head is not given a second’s break. As a person who is not used to this, you feel more and more hollowed out from the inside. Slowly but surely deformed into a zombie who shuffles through the WM desert, attracted by noise.
Not always the same, but all the more strenuous for bodies not yet familiar with this system: in Qatar it constantly goes from hot to cold. And back again. On and on. Way to subway: hot. Inside the metro: cold. Exit at the stadium: sauna. On the square in the arena: refrigerator. Qatar cools down the stadiums with oversized air conditioning systems to such an extent that they complain in Brazil that it would cause illnesses in the team.
The city flies by in endless long journeys in the media shuttle, which takes journalists from the media center to the stadiums. In addition to the gray ruins of never-completed shopping malls, desert landscapes open up in the middle of the city. The “German Bridge”, which is based on the Beeckerwerth Bridge on the A42 in Duisburg, changes the lighting of the stay cables every second. Toyota pick-ups clog the freeway labyrinths, at least they don’t have any machine guns on the loading areas.
The Villaggio Mall is designed to remind you of Venice. Gondoliers float over chlorine-smelling waterways, vaulted skies and omnipresent security cameras put you in orbit for the Truman Show. It blares everywhere, glitters everywhere, there has been a fire everywhere, there have been accidents everywhere and everywhere: people, people, people.
The lack of outdoor distractions drives them in here. Outside, daylight threatens the unyielding sun that freezes you, driving out every thought. And inside the wild nervousness of the stimuli. Escape seems impossible. Then better go over to the stadiums. The City World Cup is, if you will, the last World Cup of all time. With 48 teams spread across three gigantic countries, the 2026 tournament will not be comparable. Qatar is the compression of all previous tournaments. Qatar is absolute sensory overload.
If you watch this World Cup in Qatar for several weeks with all its attractions – with everything that FIFA slaps on your eyes and knocks on your ears – at some point your head will stop thinking. You shuffle obediently along with the crowd. zombie mode. Battery empty. critical thoughts? Far too exhausting. Especially when the shameful DFB-Elf robs you of your last sleep. Hala hala hala yalah hayhm arhbo.
