BUS-ted Again

June 22 Day 13

South Korea 2 Nigeria 2 Durban

The day broke bright and sunny, yet again; certainly one could not have asked for better weather. I spent a pleasant morning at my computer, with the window shades wide open to the lovely sea view.

The afternoon was set for exploring Durban. The central business district looks like Johannesburg, mostly run down and very crowded. Also, Durban has extensive port facilities, plus warehouses and industrial sites. Outside these areas, especially along the coast, north and south Durban has a coastal Florida feel, and is quite pleasant.

An interesting sociological feature is the luxury automobile dealers located on Durban’s north side. The facilities are quite significant scale, not simply small offices, and all within the city limits. The location is only a few minute’s drive from the seedier Durban areas. The contrast is sharp. There is significant poverty here, yet clearly substantial economic opportunity as well.

I did a Durban driving tour, stopping only to briefly view a couple beaches. The nice beaches start rather closely to the central business, port and industrial districts. The stadium is near such beaches.

Well before 4:00pm, I decided to head back for an early dinner and that day's 4:00pm game, South Africa v France . I was downtown in the seedier area. The traffic was very thick, with the private transportation vans everywhere. The travel time back to the hotel was eventually so long, I gave up on seeing the first half.

However, World Cup radio coverage is abundant. We even listened to games in Kruger National Park. Games are broadcast in English, Afrikans and tribal languages. We identified three different English radio commentators, who seemed to take turns broadcasting games, one British, one South African white and one South African black. The South African black was the most colorful. At first his African accent so thick we were unsure he was speaking in English. However, we grew used to his accent. He became so excited calling his matches, frequently shouting as a goal-scoring opportunity materialized, that his games always seemed like the most compelling in history. For we all knew, a TV broadcast of the same game would have been totally boring.

A British radio announcer did the South Africa game. To advance, Bufana Bufana needed a miracle, Mexico to lose to Uruguay and South Africa to win, all by a margin of at least five goals. Plus, France was the opponent. “No way, too bad,” I thought.

However, in fact there was hope. As poorly as the previous game had gone, South Africa came out like world champions, overwhelming France and going up 2 – 0, with numerous other scoring chances. Meanwhile, Mexico was losing to Uruguay. “Am I witnessing a miracle, the South African people have willed?”, I wondered.

I parked my car at the hotel and walked (yes!) just 15 minutes a nearby shopping center, where buses went to the stadium. In the shopping complex, I found a tavern. The management was Indian descent, prevalent in Durban. My meal was lamb, with several vegetables plus rice. Rather good. Most patrons were African, representative of the significant, and hopefully growing, African middle class.

When Bufana Bufana had a scoring opportunity, people jumped to their feet, shouting with anticipation, and raising their arms. When no goal occurred, they collapsed back in their seats, groaning and muttering.

Alas, no miracle was in the offing. Indeed Mexico lost, but time ran out on the nation’s heroes. No more goals came, but reality did. South Africa did not qualify for the next round. A virtual black cloud over the entire populace was palpable. “Mightly Casey had struck out.”

Nevertheless, World Cup life went on. I went outside and the buses were right there! Could World Cup commuting life be so grand? Pretoria, again? No.

The stadium was only about a 15-minute drive. My bus approached the stadium, which has a soaring arch and looks spectacular in the night lights. I hoped the bus would turn in, but I was not the least surprised when the vehicle kept going…and going….and going, past the stadium. Finally, the bus turned back toward the stadium and drove into an area where other buses were waiting.

Yes, we got off the first bus and boarded a second bus, which took us to the stadium vicinity. From that point, people walked 15 to 20 minutes to the stadium gates. There is a beautiful new six-lane divided stadium approach road. Since the whole complex is new, there was ample space to build bus platforms near the stadium, like Rea Vaya at Soccer City. The stadium builders had not taken advantage of this opportunity.

I had an epiphany. These World Cup parking/bus schemes could only he developed in the Extreme Sadism Ward of the national insane asylum. That was the only sane explanation: irrational human beings designed the system.

Not to be outdone, the stadium designers had their own wrinkle. The new facility is indeed quite nice, but nothing compares with Johannesburg Soccer City. Durban’s stadium’s sections only have one aisle bordering each section. Thus my seat numbered one was in the middle of a long row. The good news was the 30-yard-line location, just to the left and behind the player benches, 19 rows up.

The teams were warming up when I entered. Nigeria wore its traditional green with white trim; Korea wore navy blue pants with white tops, a combination I had never seen.

Nigeria has a whole team of wonderful athletes, even more than other African sides. Indeed, for years many people, most notably Pele, have predicted great things for Nigeria. However, Nigeria has not yet realized its promise, akin to all of Africa. Indeed, if anything, Nigeria is going backwards. The current team is not as strong as past sides. In 2006, Nigeria did not even qualify for the World Cup.

Just as the World Cup is an institution of contrasts, while all play the same game, Korea could not be more different than Nigeria. On the field, Korean teams usually perform to the extent their natural talent allows. This game was no exception. Korea played well and lead most of the game.

Rather few Koreans had made the trip. That surprised me, as Koreans are generally tough-minded, determined people, and emigrate all over the world. Indeed the crowd was overwhelmingly South African. As always, they vocally supported the African team. Any past African conflicts are forgotten, at least for this World Cup in Africa.

No mater the crowd loyalties, though Korea outplayed Nigeria overall, and the teams skirmished to the end, a draw resulted. Nothing new about FIFA tie games.

Following the game, I hiked out to the bus pick-up point. I saw people walking past, and suspected they knew where the first bus stop was located, less than a mile away. I wanted to join them, but I was not sure where I was going, and it was dark and late. “Discretion is the better part of valor”…..particularly in strange cities.

Despite the 15 minutes driving distance, I spent two hours getting home. World Cup BUS-ted again.

Down in Durban

June 21 Day 12


Wisely, for once, I decided not to charge around South Africa in my automobile. I flew yet another time on 1 Time from JNB to Durban. The distance is about 400 miles. I booked on line the night before, and I spent about $250. The fare could have been cheaper with less attractive hours.

1 Time performed still another time and I made it to Durban Airport around 2:30pm. 1 Time is so spartan that one pays for water. Yet, they are very efficient.

The Durban terminal is modern but much smaller than we would find in a comparable American city. The airport is in rolling green countryside, not far from the ocean. When I walked out of the terminal door, I had a sensation, like “What I am doing out here alone. I must be a bit daft to do this just for a soccer game.” I laughed to myself. I am.

I headed for the next local find, First Car Rental. They have worked very well for me so far. I did not even have a reservation. I arranged the same car I had in Joburg, Chevrolet Aveo. There is always a careful check-over process with a rental car agent, which takes time. Street crime in South Africa is clearly worse than in the USA, but not that much so. Fraud, on the other hand, is exponentially more rampant. Thus, for example, the agent verifies the spare tire’s presence and its make.

The process is much longer than in the USA. Finally, I got into the driver’s seat. I noticed something odd. There was an extra pedal. I had forgotten to specify automatic. No way I would try to drive a stick shift left-handed while driving on the left. Left-side driving is not so bad, once one gets used to the experience. The problem is that it is not natural and every move is the reverse of right-hand driving. The most difficult aspect, for some reason, is judging clearance room on the vehicle’s left side. That judgment is ingrained for right-side driving.

Another challenge, especially in the dark, is gauging a wide street's width when turning right. If the way is really wide, one can be lured into the incorrect belief that he has successfully found the far left lanes. I did make that error a few times, but survived.

Many Americans probably do not realize that stick shift is the world’s preference. It is cheaper to buy; cheaper to run.

I returned to the rental office. There was one automatic, but it had just been returned, so I had to wait 30 minutes. No problem. I had not had lunch, as usual. Also, by then it was 4:00pm, time for the that day’s game. All restaurants with TV’s were deemed eligible for my patronage.

By the time I entered the airport exit highway, the winter darkness was setting in. Fortunately, my hotel was only about 20 minutes away, in a nice seaside northern suburb. The problem was I only had general directions for a nearby hospital as a landmark.

I exited the expressway at the correct place, but soon lost the hospital trail. Darkness had fallen. I was in a foreign country, a strange car, a new city and driving on the left. I meandered on to another highway. At least I had the ocean as a landmark. The parking gods told me to exit the first possible chance. I did so, and found myself driving up a long, winding road with construction. At the top, I looked to the right. In the distance, I saw a green and white sign high on a building reading, “Holiday Inn Express.” I cheered out loud. I thought, “Thank you, parking gods, yet again!”

This hotel is new and has an ocean view, though the water is about a half-mile away. However, I was so exhausted I could not explore anything or even watch that night’s game. I collapsed on the bed. Durban could wait for the next day.

The Lion in Prime Time at Soccer City

June 20 Day 11

Brazil 3 Ivory Coast 1 Soccer City

The first order of Sunday business was Table Mountain, a Cape Town must. Though, again, we had seen rain in the forecast, the day in fact was yet more brilliant sunshine. We had a good view of Table Mountain from our hotel room window.

Table Mountain is only about 15 minutes drive from our hotel. Indeed Cape Town is not that big, so attractions are accessible.


Already by 10:00 am, a large throng had gathered. We felt we were in the midst of an international convention. Seemingly every foreigner in Cape Town had come out, probably resulting from previous rainy weather and cloud cover. We parked on the road up to the cable car station, and walked up the crowded road. The temperature was in the mid-70’s, with no wind.

From the cable car station, one rides up the steep, sheer mountain face to the top, a huge flat area.The eons have worn down Table Mountain flat, and hence its name. There are two other mountains adjacent, but they do not have flat tops. Green vegetation combines with rock cliffs, reminiscent of the Sabino Canyon cliffs near Tucson, but lacking the cactus and with much more greenery. Framed by the brilliant blue sky, the scene could not have been more spectacular.

Brian and I agreed: this cable car ride to the top of a tall cliff face sure looked about as thrilling as they come. However, the line to board was very long. Since we were short on time, there was no need to get in line to board that thing. Someone else can tell that story.

We walked the main road for a time, and drove around to an adjacent mountain. That spot did not have the crowds but did have the city views. Easy to see why everyone loves Cape Town.

We consumed lunch by the harbor, at one of the many pleasant waterside restaurants; San Francisco, South Africa.

After lunch we caught 1 Time back to JNB; 1 Time became two times.

Brian and I parted in the JNB parking lot. I was now alone, and without my navigator. I had wondered from time to time what strangers thought about a very middle-aged man accompanying a much younger male. You see fathers and boys, but such an age gap is not common. Indeed, World Cup fandom is a young person’s game; maybe 10% I have seen have been in my age range. In light of the recent scandal involving an anti-gay rights loudmouth and his male European “travel companion,” I wanted to make a sign: “This man is my SON; he is NOT from Rent-a-Boy.com.”


I started down the airport parking lot exit ramp. However, my trunk lid flew open. Fortunately there were other exits, so I was not blocking anyone. The trunk latch is defective. Two African men stopped their car on an adjacent ramp, and helped me get the trunk lid closed and latched. This act represents the African people we have met.


That crisis solved, I headed into the South African winter darkness, this time driving alone. I studied the signs carefully. However, somehow I ended up off the freeway and heading through a seedy downtown Johannesburg neighborhood. The city is dark and many street signs are missing. We hear people take them, just for amusement.

Fortunately I know the downtown reasonably well by now. I kept my windows up, doors locked, and I was alert for potential trouble. With significant effort, thanks to missing street signs, I manged to move in the right direction, toward the Westgate parking lot, AKA The Promised Land. Suddenly I realized I was in the central bus lane, forbidden to cars. Before I could vacate the lane, I came to a stop light. Two traffic police spotted me, and approached. OK, I already knew what they had to say but I stopped and rolled down my window. One stared at me for a moment and said, sternly, "You cannot drive in the bus lane." I wanted to say, "Well, if you would just get out of my way, I would not be in it."

I held my tongue. I meandered on. Wow, it sure is dark downtown. Angelo was waiting for me at Westgate. He had called me several times, to help me figure out where I was. Finally, turning up and down one way streets, I made it. I handed my "fee" to the attendant, who also said, "I will make sure your car will be safe, sir." Well, that is his job. Anyway, I like everyone happy around here.

Angelo has never ridden the Rea Vaya bus. I confidently showed him what to do. As before, we made excellent, not traumatic time. We saw people outside the stadium looking for tickets, a sight I had not seen before at this Cup. Brazil is a draw. Ultimately, I learned, as always, thousands of seats were empty. FIFA?

Inside, the stadium was electric, just like a big Monday Night Football game back home. Before the game I went to acquire a World Cup meal for Angelo and I (hot dog and soda). The many concessions stands downstairs did not sell hot dogs. I had to go up a level. There the line was about a dozen people. It was after 8:00pm and the 8:30 kick-off approached.

The line moved slowly. I thought, "Two Korean grocery checkers would have the entire line each with full grocery carts done in a minute each." The pleasant young African woman handling the sales was doing all herself, carefully ringing up each item and purposefully going to fetch each item the customer requested. The people in line became boisterous but not unpleasant. Finally, my turn came. I gave my order quickly and had my money ready. No moss growing under my feet. Brazil was taking the field!

I hustled back toward my seat, literally at field level, just inside the corner flag, opposite the player benches. I tried to go down the first available portal, to make sure I would not miss the kick-off. I planned to make my way around the concourse, while viewing the field. However, each one of four security guards insisted that I had to use the exact portal for my seat, even though I could have accessed scores of other sections, from the concourse below my designated portal. This, too, is Africa. Eventually I made my way to my seat, and the show began.

Brazil wore its famous yellow shirts and light blue pants. Ivory Coast wore white pants, and green shirts, with white and orange piping.

Of course there were thousands and thousands of rabid Brazilian fans. Some had brought large banners. As I was at field level, I observed how a couple Brazilians asked a security official if they could attach a banner to the field wall. That official brought over his supervisor, who said "OK." The fans erected their banners as they do routinely at home. Curiously,during the second half I observed a riot police squad stormed our area and pulled down the banners.

As the game began, at first Ivory Coast held its own. Like the better African teams, the players are swift and graceful athletes. However, the African teams have not yet fully mastered soccer's techniques and tactics, as have big European and South American squads. To catch up, African teams have regularly brought in European or South American coaches. A Swede coaches Ivory Coast.

Ivory Coast has striker Drogba, a major international star, playing for Chelsea in the English Premier League. He is the captain; he is an African lion. He directs his teammates where to line up. They all quickly complied with his directives, from my vantage point. He is Drogba. He is a lion.

Drogba had broken his arm in a warm-up game, about 10 days before the World Cup began. More African soccer bad luck. He had surgery in Switzerland. His cast was not evident, covered under a long green sleeve. The arm did not seem to bother him, but Drogba did not seek physical play, either.

Brazil was content to play its new game under Coach Dunga: no more colorful attacking. The new strategy is patient passing, probing for an offensive opening and defense first. The Brazilians brought lithe players, lightening quick, who make consistently sure passes. A blinking defender will miss at least two passes.

Brazil did not have that many chances, but when they did, they "made no mistake" as the English commentators like to proclaim. The went up 3 - 0 in the second half, a very big blow to Ivory Coast, because goal differential to so important to the frequent tie-breaks, in determining who advances to the next round.

Frustration overwhelmed the Ivory Coast players; play became rough. At the field's far end, we could see a melee. Then Brazilian superstar mid-fielder Kaka received a red card. He sauntered off the field.

Later I saw the game replay. Every game is replayed here, on multiple channels. I know many people criticized the referee for the red card as too stringent. However, he faced a volatile situation. Instead of calming, Kaka instigated. He paid the price.

Tempers dissipated and play resumed. Ivory Coast could not do much, even against 10 Brazilians. However, late in the game, Drogba scored on a clever header. Lions can sometimes succeed with finesse, rather than brute power.

There was some hope, but Ivory Coast's dim prospects ultimately dribbled away.

After the game, Angelo was ebullient over his first World Cup game. He was ready for another. Yes, World Cup fever is quite contagious.

Cape Town: The Real Deal

June 19 Day 10


We did arise at 4:30am and headed for the JNB Airport. We were not sure where to find the domestic flight terminal. We asked two security personnel. No intellible response. However a businesslike bespectacled woman of apparently Indian descent stopped and asked where we were going. She gave us the directions.

This is South Afirica. Many aspects function extremely well. However, often the most basic questions are too hard to answer. This situation may result somewhat from language. Not only do we speak different accented English, we learned most Africans' native toungue is a tribal language. Not everyone here even knows English although everyone we have ever met so far, did.

Though getting information can be frustrasting, the many, many Africans we have encountered have been uniformly warm and pleasant, with consistent smiles. All seem delighted with the foreign World Cup fan hordes, who have dropped in for a visit to their home nation.

Our next challenge was whether someting called "1 Time Airlines" could actually get us to Cape Town. Indeed 1 Time is spartan, with old planes, but efficient. Yes, we got there.

The weather report threatend rain. However, we arrived in brilliant sunshine, except for the cloud cover obscuring Table Moutain, much like Mount Fuji.

We drove through the city toward the Cape of Good Hope drive. All good things said about Cape Town are true. One feels as if he could be in New Zealand, Australia or a northern Euorpean port city. The terrain, the look, the feel is definitely San Francisco Bay Area.

The Cape of Good Hope drive is more than 90 miles. The scenery is like Monterrey, south of San Francisco. The Cape itself is a small parking lot with a sign, "Most Southwesterly Point in Africa."

We did a late lunch at a seafood restaurant overlooking a harbor much like Stonington, Maine.

Our hotel was in a neighborhood of pedestrian streets and even a cobblestone square. We were in Europe!

We ate dinner at a nearby African fusion restaurant. The food was good, but the service was quite slow. We surmised the staff had caught the raging World Cup fever. We of course had timed our meal for that night's game. We had no serious complant.

Following dinner, we explored Long Street. The look is very New Orleans, with many verandas where bar patrons hang out.

Then Brian met Caleb, Alma and their friends. I was only too glad to collapse into bed.