This post needs to start with a back story. My feeling is the people who read this blog have heard this story before and so I apologise for that but for anyone who hasn’t: here we go.
28th of March 2024 I was in Zurich and I was bored. I was on my way to see a friend in Austria after being in France, however I had a week in between these trips and instead of fly home and fly back I decided to pick a mid way point, get an air BnB and wait it out. At the time I actually thought I only had 3 or 4 days to kill but turns out I, in-fact, had 7. By day 5 I was tired of just going to the gym and was itching to play Tennis. I went on google, found a random club about an hour and a half walk out of the city and decided to walk up there. My thinking at the time was this – I’ll go, ask if there is anyone to play or maybe I could pay for a coaching session and if not at least I will have had a nice big walk and got to know the city a little better. I left my air BnB on Langstrasse and began making my way there. Naturally I got lost, and by the time I made it to TC LENGG I was dripping with sweat and pretty flustered. I walked in to the club, headed to reception and asked the lady working there if she spoke English.
‘No. German or Italian’
neither of which I can speak. I wasn’t going to give up though and so I approached someone who looked ‘tennisy’ simply because they were tall. I asked the same question: ‘do you speak English?’ He says ‘yes’ I say: are you a coach? He says ‘no but that guy over there is.’ Ok, we go again. The guy he was pointing at was mid conversation and so I lingered like a fart until he was finished. He looks at me and I repeat my lines ‘do you speak English?’ ‘Are you a coach?’ He answers yes to ‘both’. I stumble through the next part, explaining I’d walked from the station and I was just looking to play some tennis or have a coaching session or anything. He looks at me like I am literally mental. I don’t blame him to be fair – bear in mind I am in normal clothes, covered in sweat, looking like the little gremlin I am. He just says
‘no, that’s not how it works – it’s Easter tomorrow and the club is closed’
he continues to try and suss me out with a confused expression on his face but I can see that he wants to help me. In desperation I say
‘I can actually play, I promise. I know it doesn’t look like it because I’m small and fat, but I can actually play!’
this breaks the tension and he starts laughing.
‘ok you can join the session on court 10 at 2 o’clock’
I look down at my watch, realise I’m not wearing one because who the fuck wears a watch?, get my phone out and see it’s 5 minutes to 2. He says ‘it’s kids but they are the top kids in Switzerland. Fuck I’m not that good. I rush down to the changing room and shout back to him ‘oh by the way I don’t have a racket!’. He’s regretting his kind nature at this point. After I’m changed I walk round the club looking for court 10. When I eventually find it, I walk in to what I can only described as a room full of tiny athletes. Stretching, regripping their rackets, and looking at me like: who the fuck is that sweaty man? I text my brother at this point with a brief explanation of what’s happening followed by ‘I’m in way too deep I’m gonna walk out.’ He responds immediately with ‘no, just firm it. you’ll be fine.’ Before I have time to walk out, the coaches walk in and hand me a racket. They send me in to another hall with a literal child to warm me up. As we’re walking off the coach says ‘ listen if you’re not good enough you have to go because this is serious’, ‘absolutely’ I reply. For whatever reason I’m hitting the ball great and what was supposed to be a warm up turns in to me and this baby at the other side of the net striping the ball at each other. The coaches walk in, arms wrapped around their rackets, ready to see whether I’m good enough to stay. Like some weird version of xfactor my audition goes great and I’m going to the judges houses. Yippee. We go straight in to drills, the first being one player hitting down the line and the other hitting cross court (A brutal drill for someone who had beers the night before) and the usual breaks where you pick up the balls do not exist in this setting as there is a coach on each court feeding another ball in as soon as the previous one dies. I make an excuse to get some water but honestly I just need a break and some air. I spend an hour and a half with them and then my time was up. The coach walked up to me and said ‘thanks, you’re a good player – it was great for them to play with you’ I reply ‘ are you kidding you have made my whole year!’
As we get older we don’t really get to test our abilities, it was nice to know that even though these children would batter me in a match situation I could still hang. I took a selfie in the mirror of the changing room – the only photo I took that day and then immediately rang my brother to retell what had just happened. I was fucking buzzing! and as I walked away I had a real moment of realising how far I had come from someone who couldn’t leave their room a year prior. And with that, unbeknownst to me, the seed of the Van Am Tour was sewn.
Fast forward to a couple of weeks ago:
I’m driving back to Zurich to chase the dragon. I mean, really, this whole project is an attempt to recreate the magic of that day and so it only seemed right to go back.
Before I arrive though I had received a message from an old friend called Alex. He was driving to Corsica and our paths were going to cross so we met up on route and played a match. The clay was heavy from the rain but we had a great time followed by some beers after. He knew some people in Zurich and so gave me their contacts and we said our goodbyes.
My plan was simple – through the afformentioned selfie I was able to find out the exact day (Thursday) I had played at TC lengg and I figured it’s the safest option to go back on that day in the hope the same group would be training. However I couldn’t wait and on the Wednesday I had a feeling that I needed to go right now. This is kind of a recurring theme on my trip and something I try to listen to. If I feel it’s time to move on or my intuition is telling me something I do my best to follow it. I packed up the van and drove to the club.
When I arrived I went on the search for the coaches but I just couldn’t find anyone. I had also made a note in my phone of their names, so after traipsing through the text messages I send to myself when I need to remember something – again thanks to knowing the date from that selfie -I found their names – Robin and Matt. I asked people at the club is robin here? Have you seen robin? Matt? No one really knew solidly who I was after and quickly my confidence dissipated. The things is, the longer I just linger in these clubs looking for matches the lower my confidence gets. For it to feel comfortable It’s imperative that I speak to people pretty immediately. I’d been walking around for far too long so I went back to my van deflated. While im sheltering from the rain a car pulls up in the car park and there he is! Robin! But he’s on the phone and my confidence is so low I’m second guessing myself. I wait it out some more for absolutely no reason and then decide to go find him. I get so close to him and, just as before, I wait for him to finish his conversation. He finishes his conversation and walks off and I freeze. It wasn’t the right time. Fuck knows! my head is absolutely gone. Back to the van. ‘Cummon tom this is what you’re here for!!’ Ok I go back in a third time and I can’t find him anywhere so, once again, I’m lingering at the restaurant when all of a sudden I see him walking towards me. ‘Hey! Are you robin?’ ‘ no, Robins on court 10?’
Huh!?! This is definitely the guy but ok I’ll go and check out court 10. Robin is not there. What is happening? I decided to call it. As I walk back past the restaurant the guy who I thought was robin who isn’t robin says ‘did you find him?’ I said ‘no’ and then out of nowhere he says ‘hey, didn’t you play with us last year?!?’ ‘YES I DID?’ I said what’s your name? He’s says ROMAN which is kind of close. Fuck you. Anyway I say man I was worried you wouldn’t remember me. ‘Of course we remember you no one just walks in here and asks for a game.’
I explain the project to Roman and how my experience with him was the seed for this whole thing. He can’t believe it and then starts figuring out how I can play someone. He also remembers it was a Thursday group and tells me to come back tomorrow at 2 and they will find the same kid for me to play. Fuck yes. I did it! And it was also nice to confirm I hadn’t made that whole story up.
Its match day and 2 o’clock takes ages to arrive. I keep my self busy by driving to the club far too early and then finding some suitable food to fuel up. I settled on a gastation ‘Long burger mit Rindfleisch’ Id never had one before so an odd move for me but holy shit did the gamble pay off – Its like a sausage roll but with burger meat and relish with that perfect ‘hot cabinet sogg’ to it. Belly full it was game time. On my way to court I saw the rest of the kids training and they had obviously been told I was back – They asked for my youtube channel and for the second time on this trip I didnt have the heart to tell them I wasnt a youtuber but if they fancied reading the musings of a 35 year olds breakdown that there was a ‘blog’ on my ‘website’. OK boomer. Anyway back to the match – im on court before my opponent and setting up my cameras when a 6ft1 athlete walks in. Hang on? surelllllyy this isnt the same kid? if it was the same kid he would only be 15 since I last saw him. The small talk before the game involved the question ‘how old are you?’ ’15’ was the reply. FUCK OFFFF thats mental. The match went as expected. I lost, but not 6-0! I won one game and listen, I really earned that game. I was happy with how I played and although my results werent improving my tennis definitely was. I took another selfie and left the club buzzing that my plan to come here paid off. But, as always, when you chase the dragon it was only 99% as good as the first time.
Although my only plan for zurich was to re visit TC Lengg, that same night, an old friend invited me to a bbq on his roof and offered up a bed for the night – a welcome respite to the carpark I was staying in. I headed to his flat and when I arrived him and his friend from childhood – Sam – where just putting the last bits of sausage on the BBQ. I recognised Sam but wasnt sure where from? Oh yer thats right, he is a coach at TC Lengg and he had seen me hanging around the club for the last 2 days. Mental. After a few beers and some cigarettes Sam agreed to play me for the project and so for a third day in a row I was back at the club! We played, He won. Obviously. After our match he noticed my racket was broken. A lovely hole right in the top of the frame. Sam kindly went and got me some rackets to try: A Head one and a Babolat. We hit for another 30-40 minutes and, of the 2, I seemed to be hitting the ball really well with the head racket. I handed it back at the end of our session and Sam said ‘no thats for you to keep’ I could of cried but there was no liquid left in me after 2 hours on clay in the heat. Thankyou Sam you saved the trip. Then Sam put me in touch with one of his players and so for the Fourth day I was back at the club. At this point I had to reassure Robin (Romain) and Matt that I wasnt stalking them and promised I would leave after this one. What followed was the worst match of the tour so far. An arduous, nervy, pushy game that went the distance and 3 changes of court. I got the win but it didnt feel good at all. However I had made another friend in Andi and he kindly bought me lunch. I left TC Lengg for the final time, Not before a shower of course – gotta grab those puppies while you can on this trip!
More matches happened and I made more friends. If I was rich I would live in Zurich, but im not, and so I had to settle for my van and the carpark which had become a second home at this point. I feel like I want to write an ode to carparks. They are the backbone of this trip but this one in particular was instrumental in keeping me under budget in Zurich. It had a 24hr toilet block and was right on the water (for washing myself – see below me nearly getting ran over by a boat) and it was free! (between 7pm and 7am) waking up in time to move the van before 7am wasnt an issue though as every morning 2 women came to clean the toilet block and I would wake up to the sound of them wretching as they went to work – not from anything I had done in there. That sweet sweet alarm clock not only made me think about how lucky I was to be doing what I was doing but also reminded me when I used to clean toilets at emberton park.
STORYTIME! I could never afford to stay in london in the summer when I was at uni and so each year I would sublet my room and head home to work some shitty job. During my second year one of the jobs was cleaning the toilet blocks at emberton park – A local park near my parents house. It was acutally pretty good to be honest I would ride my bike round the park stopping at each toilet block and just mopp the floors, wipe the toilets, polish the sink and move on. None of the blocks were ever outrageously minging and riding my bike around in the summer was fun. That was until one weekend. On this particular shift it was pissing it down with rain but luckily there was a girl working with me that day who had a car and so we drove from block to block and cleaned our sex appropriate toilet blocks. I felt sorry for her because if there is one thing that job tought me its that womens toilets are significantly more gross than mens. Anyway it was all going good until we got to the first of the private toilet blocks. Emberton park had residents who lived in caravans and they had acces to their own private blocks. I went in to the mens and, no exaggeration, there was shit everywhere. Proper human shit. On the floor, on the wall in the sink like absolutely fucked up amounts of shit. I went next door and told the girl. We both retreated to her car and just sat their smoking a spliff until the park ranger came over and banged on the car window. ‘What are you doing? Ive had residents complain that you two have been sat in the car for the last hour!’ I quickly explained about the poo poo on the walls and we both walked over so he could see it for himself. He looked, ummed and ahh’d for a second and then said ‘Ill go get the hose – you start cleaning.’ ‘No’ I said almost immediately. What do you mean no? ‘I mean no as in im not cleaning literal human turds off of a wall for 6.45 an hour’ ‘Well if youre not going to do you can say goodbye to this job’ I got on my bike and rode home in the rain. It was fun while it lasted.
This blog is so outrageously long, sorry. Let me try and sum up the last few days with less waffle. I was sad to leave the car park for lots of reasons but mainly because from this point on im heading back towards home. The trip is nearly over. On my way back across to France I stopped in a place called Biel. I had heard of 2 grass courts built inside an abandoned football stadium which is now the home to lots of independent art and community lead projects. It has a skatepark, bars allotments, a slip and slide from the top of the stands in to the middle of the pitch and two DIY grass courts all under a home made ‘HOLLYWEED’ sign atop the stadium. My literal heaven. I desperately tried to get a game but the weather did not play ball and so I was left without getting to play at Tennis Champagne (thats literally what the clubs called) and its club house is an old greyhound bus. I will be back. Although deflated I had been told by the people at TC Lengg that the best academy in Switzerland is also in Biel and it happens to be the academy Roger Federer himself went to. I drove there, not before swinging through the Swatch drive-thru, A genuine thing I saw with my own eyes and perhaps the most swiss thing ever? and when I arrived I walked in. This was no TC Lengg. This was Elegance, Prestige, Perfection much like Roger himself, And for the first time on this trip, I actually fully pussied it. Theres no way I was going to ask for a game at this place.
Behind the academy was another club and so I headed there, where I spent another four days trying to find a game and escaping the rain in my van. I felt oddly at home here, largely because of the fact that the club looked exactly like the snow-dome but also because some kids tried to open my boot in the middle of the night – an authentic Milton Keynes experience if ever Ive had one. The day of the Roland Garros Final I had found a bottle of wine in a cupboard in the van. I decided to hide from the rain, and get pissed watching the tennis. Theres few things better than getting pissed on a sunday and watching sport. The wine filled me with courage and during the break after set 3 I went and asked a man who was heading to his car if he wanted to play me for the project. He loved the idea and the next morning – both with sore heads – we played. I won 6-0. It didnt feel good and I wondered if the people who have beat me 6-0 on this trip felt as bad as I did when it happened. Anyway. During those last 4 days in switzerland I had received a letter at home informing me my van needed to be taxed. This led to me finding out my van had no MOT which lead to me finding out apparently you have to tell your insurer if youre going abroad and that I also had no insurance. Many hours on the phone to the embassy in the pursuit of doing the right thing and ultimately being told to have the van transported via lorry to the ferry port I decided to ring my french Uncle who verbatim told me this ‘French people dont give a shit, Who cares? If you crash its a problem but dont fucking crash!’ Ok cheers Bruno. One more Long Burger for fatty and it was time to head home. Slowly.
Thanks to everyone I met and played in Switzerland but big shout out to DBK for the hospitality and connections, Romain, Matje, Robin TC lengg, Sam for the racket and Tennis for always being there.
