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.
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.
No comments:
Post a Comment