We Go To The Belgian Formula 1 Grand Prix

In this Cars.co.za Special Report, Ciro De Siena discovers what it’s like to travel to a Formula 1 Grand Prix. He flew to Belgium from Cape Town as a guest of Shell.

The trip to my first Formula 1 Grand Prix began with being sandwiched between the window of a Boeing and a flatulent German man for 10 hours. This is why I always choose an aisle seat. I’ve wanted to go to an F1 race since I was just a kid, but travelling to what appears to be one of the most glamorous events on earth was never going to be glamorous.

Top tip: On arrival in Germany, I made a rookie error walking to the gate detailed on my ticket. Do not do this. Frankfurt is an extremely large airport and they changed our boarding gate three times, resulting in a half an hour fast-paced walk through what must be one of the biggest buildings on earth. I began to wonder if the gates were assigned by moderately intoxicated Belgians using darts.

The mind melting connectedness of modern Europe can be quite disorientating. We were staying in the Netherlands in a beautiful town called Maastricht, about an hour’s drive from the circuit. Landing in Frankfurt, transferring to Brussels and then coaching to our hotel meant we had visited three countries in a morning. This however makes for some excellent quips, such as “I’ve needed the loo for two countries now.” Etc.

The circuit really is in the middle of a forest. It’s not a for-TV effect, this is rural Belgium and it is very green and full of cows. Our bus driver was superb and found the least trafficked routes in and out of the circuit, and we parked very close to the entrance indeed. Top Tip: do not try drive yourself to a Grand Prix circuit. Hire a local driver and save yourself the frustration and lost time.

Arriving at Spa and seeing Eau Rouge in all its tarmacked glory immediately made all the travelling worth it. The weather was dreary but it didn’t matter at all. One of the most famous corners in all of motorsport, Eau Rouge is a manically steep, curved double corner that literally disappears over the crest – cars may as well vanish over the hill. It lives up to its reputation in every respect. Seeing an F1 car barrel up there at full chat was going be magical.

And we didn’t have to wait long. Free practice 1 kicked off and the unmistakable wail of an F1 car filled the valley. We perched on our grand stand which gave us a fantastic view all the way up to La Source, the first corner of the track. An F1 car driven in anger is a beautiful, noisy thing.

The Shell hospitality centre was superb. Snacks, food and drink all day, with an F1 simulator straight from Ferrari at our disposal. The generous hospitality made a massive difference to my enjoyment of the weekend. I do feel that without it, the ratio of effort to enjoyment may have just tipped the wrong way. Attending a Grand Prix is a trek, something the locals deal with by consuming copious amounts of beer from gigantic tins. We drank Martini and ate fine cheese. It wasn’t terrible.

Friday saw the highlight of my trip – the Paddock and pit lane tour. This must be one the toughest pieces of ground to access in any event, any time, anywhere on the planet. Passes are not bought; there is no price. You are either in or you are not. This was it, a walk through the epicentre of a Formula 1.

It is remarkable how clean everything is. For a sport that is fundamentally dirty by anyone’s standards, you could eat off every wall of every motorhome. And the word motorhome does not do it justice. It feels a bit like the set of a Transformer’s movie. Incredible bespoke trailers expand, link together and gleam in the sun to create a headquarters for each team at all the European races. It was fantastic to see this secret world up close.

As I snapped this pic, Fernando Alonso skipped past. It was the best accidental picture I’ve ever taken. This is also possibly the best shot of Fernando’s rear hair setup. It might be the secret to his speed. Perhaps I could sell this to McLaren.

The pit lane was busy, there was a GP3 race on the go. The Ferrari garage was busy too. Race engines were being fitted by the extremely focussed Italian mechanics, who must feel like they have reached a slice of motoring nirvana. This is the very pinnacle of what these men can do with their trade, and they work diligently and seriously. I didn’t see a single one of them glance up at us while they worked.

Tyres in Formula 1 are like peanuts. You can’t have 1, you have to have 20. And they all have to be kept nice and warm in their little blankets. This was obviously McLaren’s stash of rubber.

Top tip: Ear plugs are mandatory. This is a picture of Top Gear SA magazine Editor Pierre Steyn sporting an orange ear plug. Also, ponchos are nice when it rains. Shell gave us ponchos. Race day is catastrophically loud. When you are so close to the circuit the noise made by one of these machines seems to bypass your ears and bury itself directly in your bones. It’s a thrill, and I will never forget the sound of 22 F1 cars revving on the grid, waiting for the green lights. But, permanent ear damage is hardly a desirable element of travelling to a grand prix, so I kept my trackside ear plug in, removed the other one and soaked up the noise. It is, quite simply, epic. I am very fortunate to have heard what will almost certainly be the last of the V8s, as 2014 sees a change to V6 turbos.

The speed an F1 car carries through a corner confuses your brain. This is a pic of the Ferrari clipping over 300km/h. It is unnatural, it feels like the car is behaving according to the physics of an unfamiliar world that looks like our own. Watching an F1 handle a curve and accelerate away, it’s hard to believe there is a human being in there, absorbing those forces. I have always had massive respect for F1 drivers, but after witnessing them work, I am convinced that what they do is bordering on super human. Also, I was quite chuffed with my photography. I worked out if I swung my camera at the same speed as the car, I could get a blurry background with an in-focus car. Chuffed.

I was fascinated by the behind the scenes logistics of the race. This row of trucks was remarkable. Obviously all of them were gleaming, resting in wait of the next trip. This row of Ferrari trucks was three-deep in some places.

Staring at the Mercedes trucks, I half expected one to stand up, stretch, yawn and wander off for a large pint of motor oil.

This is going to sound ridiculous, but come Sunday, I did not enjoy the race as much as I had expected. Neither did this little guy. It is impossible to follow what is happening without commentary, and as the field spread out around the massive 7km circuit (the longest on the calendar), it became a fairly monotonous event. It is essential to bring some sort of FM receiver, as the commentary is broadcast on a local signal. This would have made the world of difference.

A coach trip, three airplanes, no sleep, and a MyCiti bus or two later, and I was home. This was bucket list stuff, but I was exhausted. If your bucket list has “Attend an F1 race” somewhere on it, it’s going to be expensive. But looking through my photos and telling my friends and family the stories is just about priceless. The only regret I have was not buying enough chocolate.