World Cup Diary - South Africa 2010

Monday 28 June

We wake at 445am and the taxi, much to our relief, is on time so we can get to the airport in good time for our flight to Durban.

As we take flight I notice just how rubbish most South African daily newspapers are. They seem caught between American English and British English and when this manifests itself in describing a football match it just comes out as utter jibberish.

Of course, those papers are dominated by England's demise from the day before, not that we need reminding, and some excellent photos of the goal that never was.

Shepherd's Fold, the B&B we will be calling home for the next few days, turns out to be a pleasant nest in Westville North, ran by the lovely Barbara and Marsh, on the outskirts of Durban. Not only was the ambience warm but the garden, including a swimming pool, offered a wonderful view of the city.

Later that morning, I do an interview for BBC Radio Norfolk and give them my 'two-pennies-worth' on the previous day's debacle.

Our journey from the hotel to the stadium turns out to be pleasant enough and we have our benchmark price for trips into town. The fee was 170 rand.

We watch Holland comfortably dispense of Slovakia and the Moses Mabhida Stadium is particularly impressive. I am no architect, so I cannot explain in detail as to why, but the arch and the overall beauty of the stadium puts Wembley to shame.

Sadly, the option of climbing the arch was not available throughout the tournament which was disappointing.

Tuesday 29 June

One thing that Durban does offer is pretty good weather, even in winter, and this turns out to be the best day's weather of the entire trip. We watch Japan lose to Paraguay on penalties at the FIFA fan-fest on the beach. We drink a beer called 'South African Lager'. A strange name for a beer. It tastes exactly the same as 'Castle', the beer we have been drinking throughout the trip. This is primarily because IT IS 'Castle'. However, because they are not the official beer of the tournament and Budweiser, which is, is neither imported nor brewed in South Africa, they have to give it this superficial name. Another example of the commercial madness of FIFA.

Durban is supposed to be renowned for its food though our experiences turn out to be very different. Mind you, we did not have the local speciality - Bunny Chow. This is basically curry on top of half a loaf of bread.

At one restaurant down by the seafront, I ordered a Caesar Salad. The only problem was that there was no Caesar sauce. The waiter/chef must have forgotten, I thought, so I asked for some. The waiter looked at me like I was speaking Japanese so I repeated my question a little more slowly. The blank look remained and I ate my salad.

Another restaurant down by the marina offered adequate food but the service was laughable. The staff were never available when you needed them and then when they were there they were offended when you asked them a question about the menu or asked for some dessert.

Wednesday 30 June

Anyway, enough of that and on to a subject that was to be the bane of our trip - taxis!

In England we may have watches but in South Africa they have time and taxi drivers take this to the limit and beyond.

If the inconsistent prices for the same journeys was too much to take on occasions, the unreliability was even more frustrating.

Furthermore, I have never been anywhere where the taxi drivers have so little sense of direction.

Here is a typical conversation with a cab driver in Durban (and throughout South Africa):

Me: Do you know where this is (showing the driver our address)?

Driver: Errr..... Yes

Me: Are you sure?

Driver: Errr... Yes... I think so

Me: That doesn't sound to sure to me

Driver: Hold on. I call my friend

Something is then spoken which sounds like a mix of English and an Indian language (a lot of the drivers are of Indian descent in Durban).

Driver: OK

Me: OK, what?

Driver: OK. We now drive to a hotel.

Me: Our hotel?

Driver: Not quite.

Me: What do you mean 'Not quite?'

Driver: Don't worry. I just see my friend at another hotel who knows where your hotel is.

In the meantime the meter is continuously ticking over, making the journey even more expensive.

The driver smiles.

Then, on one particular occasion, we were told we had to get out of the taxi and into someone else's cab, without explanation.

Then we went through the same process once more.

We would always make it home - eventually - but at great cost.

What we lost in taxis, however, we made up with in astute purchases of sunglasses off some of the local entrepreneurs on the beach.

We all managed to pocket some designer sunglasses at just over two quid each. Now I know what you're thinking - they cannot have been genuine originals. Not only were they genuine, they even had the brand name 'Ray-Bums' inscribed on the glasses.

World Cup Diary - South Africa 2010

Sunday 27 June
As I woke I realised this was not just another day and began to think about what the players must be feeeling like at this moment. I dare say they stayed in a slightly more illustrious hotel than I did - a 20 quid a night hostel (they doubled the price for the World Cup) with shared bathroom facilities. Still, beer was less than a quid a bottle and we had a free breakfast - albeit just toast and coffee.

Next it was off to the airport to pick up the hire car for the four of us - two aussies from the hostel are coming too, along with my friend and I. They are without tickets but eventually pick some up for the same price we had paid.

The first glitch of the day comes from Budget (the car rental place). They claim that they do not accept Debit Cards or cash, only Credit Cards. When we vociferously complain that we reserved the booking under the premise of being able to use a Debit Card they retreat and accept our offer.

We asked about 20 different people how long it would take to get to Blomfontain for the game and we received 20 different answers, varying between two and six hours - quite a margin.

Nevertheless, we begin our journey with great gusto and, apart from a tiny mistake at the beginning of the trip when we miss a turn off, the drive is pretty smooth. The roads are much better than we had expected and, though there is plenty of football traffic, it is moving very quickly.

To be honest, I have never enjoyed driving as much as I did that Sunday morning. The sun was shining and there were thousands of flags and vuvuzelas, mostly in suport of England, particularly in evidence at each toll stop, as well as petrol stations. Even lorry drivers going in the opposite direction were hooting their horns in anticipation ahead of today's clash.As we reached the half-way stage we listened to the lunch-time news. We chuckled as a report comes in of a plane landing on the motorway - half-way between Johannesburg and Bloemfontein, which is exactly where we are in the moment we hear the news. Our curiosity is somewhat alleviated by the site of the plane at the roadside just minutes later.

This was proving to be a strange day indeed.

We arrived in Bloemfontein in good time, much better than expected, and found a car park close to the stadium very easily, with little traffic. Like a hot knife through butter. Incredible.A short hop, skip and a jump and we were outside the stadium. Unfortunately, I was the nominated driver and therefore had to go without beer. To be honest, this didn't bother me too much as I prefer to watch games sober so I can take in the full impact of the game. Something I would later regret.

I arrived at my seat about ten minutes prior to kick off. A couple of disappointments were noticeable early on - a small amount of booing during the German national anthem and that ghastly ten bombers World War II song.

Things got worse as the England defence capitulated and the mood in the crowd dampened.

Then we had that five minute spell where we thought we were back on track. Upson brought it back to 2-1 and then there was the Lampard 'goal'. From where I was sitting it was unclear as to whether it had crossed the line but from a flurry of texts and iphone updates it soon becomes apparent that we have been cheated.

As we eventually go on to lose 4-1 another sour moment rears its ugly head. A young England fan decides to chuck his plastic cup of beer over the railings on to the crowd below. An unnecessary act that is met with rightful criticism form other England fans.

As we filter out of the ground there is a sense of disappointment but we have been here many times before and there is a sense of we'll experience it again.

Needless to say, the journey back to Johannesburg is downbeat, in stark contrast to the excitement on the way to Bloemfontein earlier that day.

We make speedy progress and listen to Argentina - Mexico on the radio, the opponents that England would have been facing had they beaten the Germans.

As we approach Jo'burg International Airport to return the car we, like the English footballers, lose concentration and our way before going round in circles looking a bit stupid. We drop the car off and, again like Rooney, Gerrard et al, we head home.

World Cup Diary - South Africa 2010

Friday 25 June

With just an hours sleep after the previous evenings excursions, still celebrating England's 1-0 thrashing of the mighty Slovenia, we head to Heathrow in good spirits.

The first moment of panic arises when one of the check-in girls suggests I might not be able to board my flight due to an issue with my passport. The corner of the scanning page is slightly damaged and the lady says she will let me board but cannot guarantee my entrance into South Africa at the other end. Either way, she tells me that this should be my last trip on this passport. Understood.

My flight starts well, as I slip into a nice sleep only to be nudged by my fellow traveller, just as I nod off. He wants to know if I want to swap seats to which I respond tersely "no". My annoyance is increased as I cannot get back to sleep. This frustration continues as I am later awoken in similar circumstances as my companion wants to know how to work his tv. "Don't ask me. Do I look like I work for Kenya Airways?" I don't. Which is just as well. If I did I would have to deal with regular complaints about the entertainment system and the food, both of which are crap.

Eventually we land in Nairobi. Our layover is about eight hours but first I have to try and get out of the airport with my problematic passport. This I successfully manage - after 20 minutes of negotiations. The good thing about the Kenyans is they do everything with a smile. The bad thing is they tell you bad news with a smile so it gives you know indication of what is about to come.

Nevertheless, I leave the airport and make my way to Milimani backpackers which will be my home for the night. This journey from the airport turns into a lengthy one.

A kind lady on the plane said I could hop in with her, and her family, in their car, and they'd take me to the hostel. Great, I thought. Unfortunately, this meant leaving the car park which took over an hour because of a traffic jam.

Furthermore, I wasn't scared once whilst in the car. I was scared on 14 separate occasions as we careered through the traffic, miraculously avoiding all and sundry.

As for the hostel, it was pretty good apart from the fact that we just missed out on ribs and potatoes due to our late arrival. And the nearest pizza place had closed too. Chocolate and crisps had to be dinner.

Saturday 26 June

After three hours of sleep, my alarm goes, which, I have learned, is a sign to get up. The taxi journey and check-in are uneventful experiences, which comes as a welcome relief.

Then, comes the moment I'd been dreading. Customs at Johannesburg International Airport (O.R. Tambo). My heart was in my mouth but it proved to be an unnecessary moment of panic as it passed by without trouble. Now all we needed was an England victory tomorrow. Easy.

First up, I got myself a South African sim card for my phone. This was not the only thing I managed to pick up in the store, actually. A Serbian guy (careful!) said he had a ticket. We agreed a price, 1100 SA Rand (about 100 quid), which was face value. Job done.

Next we had to collect our tickets for the games. This was a new process compared to other years whereby you had to go to a ticket machine with the credit card used to purchase the match tickets. Very similar to the process of picking up train tickets. This was another painless procedure. What made it even more fun was the mayhem surrounding the machines as hundreds of people were buying/selling/exchanging their tickets.

All I needed to do now was sell my Argentina-Mexico ticket for the same day. I made myself a poster indicating my wishes and within seconds I had sold it to a nice chap from Mexico City. Got my money back. Job done.

Reserved a car at a reasonable price, 50 pounds (excluding fuel), for the following day so we were all set.

Got a free pick up from the airport from the backpackers we were staying at, Mufasa Backpackers, and settled down to watch South Korea-Uruguay. Uruguay won but still my mind was on the big game tomorrow.

Ordered a pizza, which was nice, but a bit weird. Can't really describe its weirdness. It was just weird. But for less than a fiver, I think a pizza is entitled to be a bit weird.

Watched Ghana beat the USA in extra time but still my mind was on England-Germany.

A nice twin room assisted my sleep but still my mind was on...