The Joy, Pain, and Rain: Following Celtic in Europe

There’s something almost magical about being a Celtic fan in Europe.

The excitement, the optimistic belief, and the sense of adventure—it never truly fades, even when the Football itself leaves you drenched in more ways than one.

But this trip to Dortmund, well, it might just top them all for the sheer rollercoaster of emotions and, yes, the unrelenting rain.

When Borussia Dortmund was announced as our opponent, the planning began. We scoured flight options, train schedules, and accommodation, waiting for that final fixture date to drop so we could jump on a deal. It’s part of the ritual, really. But no amount of meticulous planning can truly prepare you for what follows.

The journey began smoothly enough. A taxi to Edinburgh Airport, and before I knew it, I was sitting in departures with a beer in hand—feeling that familiar pre-trip buzz. A quick flight to Hamburg and a hop onto the underground brought us to the central station, where we stocked up on beers for the three-hour train journey to Dortmund. Delays added some time, but spirits were high.

We arrived in Dortmund in pitch black, with the rain hammering down. But what’s a bit of rain to a group of Celtic fans determined to enjoy their European away day? A quick check-in at the hotel, and within minutes, I was back out, joining the sea of green and white in the city square. The chants, the songs, the pints—it didn’t matter that we were getting soaked.

The next morning, I woke to find my phone water-damaged from the rain. A wireless charger sorted me out, and after a soggy start to the day, it was time for some breakfast and, naturally, a pint. We gathered again in the same square, this time with pop-up bars and a stage blasting tunes. There’s something surreal about standing in a German city, surrounded by fellow fans, drinking beer for breakfast, all while soaking up the pre-match atmosphere. Quite literally soaking it up.

By the time we made our way to the stadium, the rain hadn’t let up, but neither had our spirits. The walk from the subway was brilliant—Dortmund fans mingling and drinking beer, chatting with us. We took in the sights, snapped a few photos, and soon found ourselves standing in the away section, ready to cheer on the Bhoys.

What followed on the pitch was, well, an experience. Maeda’s equaliser sparked joyous celebrations in the away end, but soon, the Game slipped away from us. When the final whistle blew, we’d been battered 7-1, and yet, the away support was in full voice. It’s what makes Celtic fans special. Despite the drubbing, the passion remained.

Kasper Schmeichel, stationed at the far end, was the first to come over to applaud us. And young Alex Valle, taking it all in, seemed almost moved by the unwavering support he witnessed.

As we filed out of the stadium, the rain still poured. It hadn’t stopped since we arrived, and neither had the sense of embarrassment after such a defeat. Our plans for a post-match night out evaporated into the damp night air, and we trudged back to the hotel in silence.

The next morning felt as dreary as the night before. We grabbed some much-needed coffee and made our way to the station, only to find our train back to Hamburg delayed—again. By the time it arrived, any remaining buzz from the trip had long worn off. I forced myself to watch the highlights on the journey home, and yes, it was as bad as I remembered.

As we sat in Hamburg Airport, waiting for the flight home, the mood had shifted. What had started as an exciting European adventure had ended with disappointment. Still, even after such a result, the memories of the trip—the fans, the songs, the beer (and, yes, the rain)—stayed with me.

Now the question is: will we do it again? Before Dortmund, I’d have said “absolutely” to any trip to Zagreb or Villa. But after that hammering, I’m not so sure. Maybe time will change that. In fact, time will definitely change that.

It’s always a pleasure following Celtic, I promise.