Five years ago today Liverpool stunned the football world with one of the finest comebacks in history. Here .tv. journalist Paul Hassall recalls his own, unique adventure in getting from Anfield to the Ataturk.

Wednesday, May 25, 2005, undoubtedly the most significant date in the last 25 years of Liverpool Football Club's history.

Given the magnitude of the occasion, it was perhaps fitting that the 50th final since the inauguration of the European Cup produced arguably the greatest game yet - eclipsing the victories of the great Real Madrid sides of the 1960s and the previous four occasions when the mighty Reds conquered Europe.

From the strange coincidences of the Pope's death, the royal wedding et al, to the power transcending over Anfield Road in the classic encounters against Olympiakos, Juventus and Chelsea - it was meant to be...

And yet, as the players slumped off at the Ataturk Stadium in Istanbul following a first-half humbling, I sat amidst a stunned mass of red and surveyed the forlorn faces of those around me, their anguish silhouetted by the imposing shadow of the mocking scoreboard. Fate had conspired against us.

Staring into the wonderful collage of jubilant Milanese colour, my mind wandered back through my epic journey...

Two weeks earlier, buoyed by the euphoria of victory over Premiership Champions Chelsea, I ventured into the cool winds on Anfield Road, eager to secure my tickets for the final.

The only problem was that it seemed like half of Liverpool had the same idea. A perimeter of red caged Anfield on my arrival and I knew that I was in for a long wait.

A 6am start in chilly conditions had done little to deter other supporters and the next three and a half hours were spent anxiously eyeing the ticking hands on my watch. To say I was late for work was an understatement but there was no way I was leaving L4 until I had the tickets in my hand.

The usual fears gripped me on nearing the window. What if they run out? Would there be a mix-up that would mean I'd miss out?

Video: Six Minutes of Madness - Istanbul through Milan eyes>>

Finally I reached the front of the queue. There was no need to worry. The tickets to our first European Cup final in 20 years were now safely in my pocket.

Speeding along the motorway towards the office, hoping I still had a job, I was unaware that getting to the game was set to evolve into an epic quest.

All roads weren't even close to leading to Istanbul.

From travel agents and search engines to trains, planes and automobiles, every avenue was littered with obstacles. Istanbul was disappearing on my horizon.

Flights were already at a premium. Figures in excess of £400 were being touted and they usually involved some form of plane-hopping extravaganza.

The idea of a three-day driving marathon from the Wirral to Istanbul was the next mode of transport we considered, but with work commitments and mileage fears, the search continued.

Dusting off an atlas, I surveyed the countries surrounding Turkey and stumbled across the Greek Island of Thassos, situated approximately 400 miles from the 'promised land'.

Several frustrating phone calls and the odd curious glance from the boss later, and I had finally stumbled across the answer.

Flights from Liverpool and Manchester were a complete write-off, but steeled by a 'must-get to Istanbul at all costs' policy, I secured a seven day package deal from Gatwick airport to Thassos.

Deciding we would get to the obscure Greek island and take it from there, the adventure commenced on the evening of Saturday, May 21.  A five-hour drive to Gatwick was made somewhat more enjoyable after hearing Manchester United had lost to Arsenal on penalties in the FA Cup final.

It was a good start to what would evolve into the perfect week.

Arriving at Gatwick we were subjected to a lengthy wait before our flight to Kavala airport in Greece. Flight finally completed, we were herded onto a coach and a ferry from Keramoti port to the idyllic landscape of Thassos.

Stage one of the adventure was complete. Now all we needed to find was a direct route to the Turkish capital.... Simple enough, right?

Wrong!

Monday and Tuesday were spent enduring extreme highs and lows - the locals seemed almost as confused as us.

"What are the chances of getting to Istanbul from here?" we asked.

-"No chance..."

-"No problem..."

-"I'm not sure....."

-"There used to be a boat that..."

Most answers trailed off into silence as we discovered that we had taken one step forward and two steps back.

Ferries were a definite no-go as were planes and apparently trains take longer than coaches between Greece and Turkey.

We were faced with the exhausting scenario of a two-day trip involving a plethora of changes and various modes of transport.

Sat within the newly decorated walls of Thassos Town Tourist Information Office we contemplated the route. Time was to be our ultimate foe.

But just when it seemed our dream had been extinguished a lifeline arose.

A plume of smoke and the creak of the front door marked the entrance of a relaxed Greek taxi driver, puffing on the butt end of a cigarette.

At first we greeted his arrival with nothing more than a glance, particularly as we had grown overtired of the negativity surrounding the locals' take on our proposed trip to Turkey.

Little did we know that he would soon become the answer to our cup final conundrum.

Speaking in his native tongue he turned his attention to the tourist advisor, who was wearing a perplexed look on her face.

The quick-fire dialogue in Greek brought him up to speed with our predicament and we sat back expecting the usual response.

"I don't see the problem," he said, speaking in English for the first time.

The advisor informed him of the issues involved in hiring a car in Greece that would be equipped with a green card for Turkey.

His reaction gave us instant hope.

Pulling a mobile phone from his pocket he conducted a brief conversation before informing us that he had secured a car that would take us to Istanbul and back.

Overwhelmed by excitement and relief we agreed to take up his offer. Lifted by the chink of light that had appeared at the end of the tunnel, we enjoyed a relaxed climax to our first few days on Thassos, returning to the mainland to claim the car on Tuesday.

An afternoon spent checking out the best the island had to offer ensued before Wednesday finally arrived.  

Our epic trek began with a 4am start and a winding journey, through the mountainous terrain of Thassos, before catching the first ferry of the day to the mainland port of Keramoti.

From here we sped east across northern Greece, passing through Xantia and Komotini before a short delay in Alexandropoulis, where we navigated our way to the city's branch of the car hire firm to acquire the paperwork to cross the border.

Video: Six Minutes of Madness - Istanbul through Milan eyes>>

Our fears of problems with the documentation were unfounded and we were soon on our way again.

Within an hour we were approaching the Turkish border. If you are familiar with the film 'Midnight Express' then you will understand the air of trepidation this created.

But, despite a militant and somewhat unfriendly conduct from the border control, we came through unscathed. With our mind, body and soul still intact, we hit the incomplete Turkish roads, quite literally bouncing our way to Istanbul, whilst dodging the minefield of kamikaze Turk drivers and the roulette of their 'take no prisoners' traffic lights.

Grateful the car did not belong to us, we winced as we hit a multitude of pot-holes and uneven ramps. The suspension would never be the same again.

Nine hours on from Thassos and countless near death experiences later, the spectacle of the Ataturk emerged before me, the scene of our destiny...

And so as the second half commenced to a rendition of 'You'll Never Walk Alone' I wondered how, after such a dramatic adventure, it was all set to culminate in agony.

3-0 down - it was surely all over....

And yet fate had yet to conjure its final act.

An inconceivable second half with three goals in six minutes drew the Reds level and set up the possibility of the most incredible comeback in football history.

The atmosphere had reached a level beyond description as extra-time drained every last drop of energy from the heroes wearing red.

Moments later we were crowned Champions of Europe and the legends had taken their immortal places in Liverpool folklore.

I stood within the mass hysteria of the fantastic celebrations reverberating around the stadium and savoured the moment. This was what it had all been about. This was why it was more than worth it.

The singing would echo long into the night and it was with more than a slight element of reluctance that we took one last, lingering look at the now empty Ataturk stadium, before beginning our triumphant journey back to Greece.

Physically and emotionally shattered we made our way to the aptly coloured red Citroen C3, now coated in its own dusty brown tale of the Turkish roads.

Running on the euphoria of our triumph and sheer adrenalin we started the car, before embarking upon a familiar nine-hour car journey, that included a twenty euro bribe for jumping a set of lights, countless dodgy Turkish toll booths and, thankfully, an uneventful path back into Greece.

All that was left was to explain the condition of the car to the hire company and enjoy a few days on the beaches of Thassos, before concluding the adventure with a ferry, a coach, a flight and a triumphant drive from London to Merseyside...all done with a liverbird proudly worn upon my chest.