Die Berliner in Ulm. Hertha BSC. Tins, trains, church towers and terraces

Words: Nils Simonsen

Images: Nils Simonsen

Spending Easter Sunday in the city that boasts the world’s largest church—at least while the Sagrada Família is still under scaffolding—doesn’t sound especially daring if you live in Germany’s devout south-west.

And yet, the moment I step onto the regional train toward Ulm, it’s obvious the day will be anything but pious.

A posse of Berliners in bucket hats, clutching carrier bags stuffed with sticker packs and tins of cheap beer, make that clear before the doors even close.

Until now my thoughts of Ulm revolved around a historic 9-1 hammering by Leverkusen back in 2000, a steady basketball side, and Berliners who claim they’re “only here for a couple of years.”

©Nils Simonsen/ Terrace Edition. Kulise pub. Ulm.

All the more reason, then, to join everyone whose Easter obligations seem flexible, head to Swabia (a region within Bavaria and Baden-Württemberg), and take a proper look at the club, its fans and the Donaustadion.

The arrivals hall offers the usual away-day sensory cocktail: fresh stickers on stair rails and lamp posts, the sour tang of the day’s first spilt beer, distant chanting that tells you the travellers from the capital have landed.

Or with their own words „Die Berliner sind da!“.

A quick glance at the famous Minster—Easter box ticked—then it’s onwards into the old town. Today, football folk appear to be the only humans left in the centre.

The rest of Ulm must be out in the countryside, sipping Prosecco at family brunch while we’re on the pils.

©Nils Simonsen/ Terrace Edition. Donaustadion in distance.

At the next table the mood of a group of Hertha supporters seems suspiciously buoyant until we learn the “orange juice” is 50 % vodka and the “large water” a covert G&T.

When a can of Export is cracked open to chase a bowl of strawberry ice cream, I ask for the bill.

A local friend draws us a perfect route to the ground: through photogenic alleyways, then along the Danube itself.

There are no beer stalls, granted, but the stroll is so handsome it might just rival Bremen’s Weser walk as the loveliest in Germany.

©Nils Simonsen/ Terrace Edition. Hertha Berlin at SSV Ulm 1846.

And then—pure football kitsch—sunlight bursts through as we reach the Jahntreff, the home fans’ beer hut outside the main gate.

Summer announces itself. Two cups of Gold Ochsen, the regional brew, and we’re through the turnstiles.

The Donaustadion feels like diving head-first into a ’90s football documentary: a broad running track, steel fencing, two modest seated stands and terraces wrapping three-quarters of the bowl.

Home and away fans mingle freely beside the guest block; students who’ve come purely to drink have filled the gaps—19 euros a ticket makes that possible.

©Nils Simonsen/ Terrace Edition. Donaustadion.

Even in the posh seats, Ulm banners hang and songs break out. Peering up you can spot a few old-hands from the curva who’ve retired to plastic chairs but still find their voices.

When Ulm score, the roar is properly fierce; the little ultra section looks vibrant, bare chests catching the first real heat of the year.

There’s less to say about the match itself. Berlin’s talisman Fabian Reese spends the afternoon trying to bail out a sinking ship with a bucket. Without him, Hertha would still be fending off relegation to the third league

The winner for Berlin, inevitably, is poked in by Florian Niederlechner—born and bred in Bavaria, of course, the perfect punchline to the trip.

The one disappointment: I’d lured my companion with promises of a pyrotechnic extravaganza.

The away end here has no roof, meaning smoke bombs drift harmlessly into the sky rather than across the pitch, so visiting fans usually bring an entire firework emporium (see the visits of Karlsruhe, Hannover).

Today, though, supporters in Berlin, Ulm and beyond are protesting collective punishments for previous pyro by—poetically enough—refusing to light any.

Banners instead of Bengal flares.

A sudden summer thunderstorm hurries our exit; even a short journey home drags when you’re soaked to the skin.

We still find time for a slice of Osterlamm, because Easter is Easter. Jesus is back (kind of), and for ninety sunny, boozy minutes on the banks of the Danube, so was the old-school magic of German football.

©Nils Simonsen/ Terrace Edition. Ulm Minster.

©Nils Simonsen/ Terrace Edition. SSV Ulm 1846 mural.

Nils is on Instagram: @smnsnjng

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