Monday: Moscow to Rostov-on-Don

The taxi driver at Rostov airport introduces himself as Vladimir in such a heavy accent that I do not quite make it out. “Putin, Putin,” he offers by way of clarification. I am running late for the Iceland press conference, having flown in from Moscow, mainly as a result of my hold bag being lost and then, miraculously, found, and the problem is that the airport is way out of town. I’m going to need Vladimir to step on it. “It will cost you an extra 500 roubles to go fast – speed cameras,” he explains, via my Google translate app. It’s about £6. Fine. Vladimir is a short, bald guy of about 70, with a kindly manner and great, gnarled hands that grip the wheel. He drives like an utter lunatic, particularly into oncoming traffic as he overtakes. We make it with a couple of minutes to spare. “I was never worried,” Vladimir says. Easy for him to say.

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Tuesday: Rostov-on-Don

Rostov (twinned with Glasgow) is a bit rough round the edges in parts – the ones I’ve stayed in – but the people are super friendly. I was here at the start of the tournament for Brazil v Switzerland (random incident: meeting Neymar Sr in a bar) and I could not get a cab to the stadium for love nor money – which was a stress. I’d met a couple and their 12-year-old son the night before and, out of nowhere and mid-meltdown, I bumped into them again. They, too, could not secure a cab and so they drove me themselves. Legends. Entering the stadium for Iceland v Croatia, the security guard is unhappy I have a bottle of water with me and he takes it away. He peels off the label and hands it back. Only Fifa-sponsored drinks are allowed in. The game ends in heartbreak for Iceland.

Wednesday: Rostov-on-Don to Moscow

Drama in the small hours when, as we leave the Rostov Arena after the game, there are reports of bomb scares in multiple locations across the city, including the Topos Congress hotel. It is an official Fifa hotel and a colleague of mine is staying there. The building has been evacuated, nobody is allowed in and so he holes up in the bar at my hotel which, incidentally, also has a bowling alley. Unfortunately for him, the alley is shut. In better news, the police later report that they found no dangerous objects. Rostov-on-Don is a short distance from Russia’s border with eastern Ukraine, where Moscow-backed rebels have fought Ukrainian troops since 2014. The bomb hoaxes are the only moody incident I have encountered so far.

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Thursday: Moscow to Samara

“Viva Colombia!” The cry is bellowed from the back of the plane on landing in Samara and everybody, seemingly, roars in approval. The Colombians are in town for the pivotal final group tie against Senegal and it is a day of colour – mainly bright yellow – and noise. Relentless noise. Getting to the stadium is a mission because of mass road closures, lack of taxis and the fact it is miles away, and so I end up jumping on the fan bus. For an hour and a quarter, the Colombian supporters bang the ceiling and sing their songs. Flags and Carlos Valderrama wigs are waved out of the window. It is tremendous fun but just imagine what happens when the actual Colombia team bus drives past. Mayhem. The atmosphere is sensational throughout the match and, with matters on a knife-edge, it makes for a gripping occasion, even if the game itself isn’t great. Colombia v England in Moscow is going to be unreal.

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Friday: Samara to Moscow

When is it acceptable for a journalist to have a picture taken with a famous footballer? Never. But, well, you know … I’m happy to take the yellow card on this occasion!

Saturday: Moscow to Nizhny Novgorod

It has been the Google translate app World Cup and my virtual sidekick tells me that there is a word for “curtains” in Russian. I have my doubts. In more than one place in which I have stayed, the lack of material between window pane and rest of room has been conspicuous by its absence. What is going on? The day breaks so early over here that I wonder whether it ever truly goes dark at night. I’m sleeping really badly and, with the constant churn of late finishes and morning schleps to various airports, the latest of which is Moscow to Nizhny Novgorod for Denmark v Croatia, I ought to be a zombie. But here’s the thing: the sheer buzz of the tournament is sustaining me and reporters from around the world. It is a privilege to be here.