Coldplay Scammers — why?
How could someone (this so-called Duka Altiona) do such a thing
I was never going to see Coldplay. It was never anything I intended or planned to do in life. So that is why my sister Aisling, an unexpected fan of the band (she’s an Ibiza Head) bought one ticket to their show in Athens on 9th June. She said she would go on her own. I said I’d accompany her on the Metro before leaving her in the capable hands of Chris Martin.
A rewind for a moment. Months ago, she had tried to buy a ticket through Ticketmaster when sales went live for Coldplay’s Music Of The Spheres tour, but despite hovering aggressively over her laptop keys, the tickets seemed to evaporate to dust. She didn’t get one for Coldplay’s shows in Dublin or London. As predicted, they sold out in nanoseconds. The same thing happened for Athens; the show sold out, and she didn’t get a ticket.
However.
She managed to find a ticket for Coldplay’s Athenian leg of the tour through a legit-looking re-sell site called Viagogo. She paid €250 (that’s €150 more than the standard price) to a re-seller named ‘Duka Altiona’. Nothing seemed weird because Aisling wasn’t dealing with some faceless account on Gumtree, Facebook Market Place or Instagram. It was all done through the sleek site of Viagogo. What could go wrong?
On the day of the concert, everything started off so well.
We took the Metro for ten stops, getting off at Irini at 6 p.m., well in advance of Coldplay’s grand entrance at 9.15 p.m. We walked under the shade of the white spaceship structure leading to the Olympic Stadium, where Coldplay would be performing, passing gyros vendors and some questionable merch stands. Despite the hordes of people milling about and the hawkers of various natures, the atmosphere was chill. Relaxed, even.
It was going to be great!
We sat on one of the roundy mosaic benches dotted around the stadium, each one wrapped around a tree, providing more essential shade. The band wouldn’t be on for ages, so we passed the time chatting and voice-noting Coldplay-inclined friends and family about this momentous occasion. I also began to observe the crowd from my High Horse. Who listens to Coldplay? Who buys tickets to Coldplay concerts, apart from Aisling?
It turns out a very cute cohort of the human race. I saw a group of glittery-faced teenage girls holding hands, swinging their arms, and bouncing toward the entrance. Young couples. Older couples. Families. Groups of innocent-looking Greek lads.
Everyone looked so happy!
Aisling was in a fabulous mood, which put me in a fabulous mood. She bought a freddo from the Everest truck (“need the caffeine ha ha!”), and coming up to 9 p.m., I left her off at the entrance to the arena, waving her off like it was her first day at school.
I saw the steward in the bucket hat and hi-vis vest glance at Aisling’s ticket and direct her to the next set of barriers, where she’d get her ticket scanned. But I didn’t stick around for that part.
I made my way to the Metro, walking against a deluge of more sparkly-eyed Coldplay fans. The sun had just set behind Mount Parnitha, and the sky was dusty pink, adding a mystical vibe to the evening.
Everything felt so magical!
On the Metro, I thought about which bakery I’d go to for a spanakopita once I got back into town. Apollonion? Artiston? Attica? Or would the pastries be all sweaty and sad by now? Maybe I’d get an Oakberry instead.
Three stops later, I checked my phone.
Aisling was sitting at the big dried-out fountain near where I had left her only twenty minutes ago, in floods of tears. She explained what had happened. The nice woman scanning tickets told her that this ‘Duka Altiona’ had already used the ticket at precisely 6.40 p.m. So ‘Duka’ was in the arena right now €150 richer, probably having a cold drink and bopping to the support act, Maisie Peters, fully aware that Aisling was outside and utterly rejected in every sense of the word.
My sister wasn’t the only one who was scammed that day. She had seen the staff turn away a tearful teenager, her crumpled print-out ticket in hand, and a father and his three kids go through the same thing. And because Aisling used Viagogo, not some dodgy site (to reiterate!!!), she never expected this to happen. Neither did I.
In the minutes before Coldplay came onstage, we sat on the rim of the dead fountain. There were other rejects there too, and people who looked as if they had happened to be strolling by the stadium that night and decided to stop and listen to whoever was performing.
Aisling gathered herself through more tears, tissues and hiccups. I thought about ‘Duka Altiona’. Who was this ‘Duka’? Why did they do this? Maybe they needed money to pay for medical treatment or buy food for their two-year-old. Maybe they needed petrol so they could visit a sick relative. I felt sorry for them and whatever situation they had found themselves in to scam someone out of a Coldplay gig.
A Coldplay gig.
But actually, no. How can you scam someone and then go to the concert, knowing that the person you ‘sold’ your ticket to is outside in ribbons? I’m very curious about this. Would you not feel guilty the whole time while Chris Martin softly sings ‘Fix You’ in front of 70,000 people on a balmy Sunday night in Athens?
Anyway.
The stadium went all dark, followed by a long, cinematic intro. We could hear it semi-clearly, and then a woman’s ecstatic voice boomed into a microphone, introducing Coldplay in Greek. A burst of light, twinkling LEDs, UFO beams, flashes of blue and red, and then we could hear Chris Martin’s amazingly high-pitched voice reverberate around the arena, trickling through to the Fountain of Rejects.
“We just need a big screen, and then we’d be set!” I said brightly to Aisling.
“Sure, we could have just come here and listened to the whole thing for free,” she responded half-heartedly.
We both knew that sitting at the Fountain of Rejects was not the same experience as being inside the arena, obviously.
I can’t remember the first song because I was too distracted by more wholesome scenes, even at the Fountain of Rejects. There was a dad dancing with his young son, twirling him around, the child giggling in delight. A regal golden retriever had appeared behind us, its owner listening to the overflow from the stadium. A group of loud girls were jumping up and down and singing along to ‘Adventure of a Lifetime’. It was all too much and, coupled with the pearly half-moon high in the sky, triggered another onslaught of tears from Aisling.
Chris Martin spoke a few sentences in Greek (a valid attempt) and then launched into a breathy rendition of ‘Paradise’. I pictured ‘Duka Altiona’ holding their arms up in the air, eyes closed, swaying at the chorus, and hugging the person next to them. Maybe taking a selfie afterwards to savour the moment forever. xoxo
We stayed for about an hour before heading to the Metro, and on the way, witnessed a heated exchange between a security man and a couple. The latter had been leaning on the barriers close to the entrance, which was apparently a No-No. Both parties were shouting, with lots of “Malaka” thrown in, and not in the usually affectionate way that warrants the term “Malaka”.
We passed the gyros vendors, who had re-stocked on interesting terracotta-coloured sausages, and bought our Metro tickets to return to the centre.
On the platform, we heard most of ‘Clocks’ before the train sputtered into the station, and by the end of it, I felt an unexpected tug of emotion in my tummy. I had forgotten how stunning that song was; the elegant piano notes, the wistful lyrics “yeouuuuuuuuu ooooooooooooooooo (pause) aahrr” and the twangy guitar bits. I also couldn’t get over Chris Martin’s Peter-Pan style baritones. I have a new appreciation for him, it must be said.
Then my mind wandered to ‘Duka Altiona’ again. Were they having a nice time in there? WERE THEY FEELING GUILTY YET?
Thankfully, it wasn’t all shite. The following morning, after a carefully worded email to Viagogo, the company refunded Aisling the full amount. So, Aisling got her money back, but ‘Duka Altiona’ is still up €150 and got to see Coldplay in Athens, which is (according to Aisling) a “once-in-a-lifetime” experience.
While the refund proved the best outcome in this poopy situation, we will never know who ‘Duka Altiona’ is. But I think they are a bad person.
I do.