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.
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.
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.
Anyone named Kaka is cool with me.
ReplyDeleteWith a nickname like that, you have to be great
ReplyDelete