Thursday 1 July
Time to leave Durban and but not without one more taxi hic-cup. After waiting one and a half hours for our cab to the airport, depsite the company insisting it would be just ten minutes, Marsh, one of the hotel's proprietor's, volunteered to take us to the airport. Thank goodness.
We pick up our hire car and head towards Johannesburg. However, we decide to spend the night in place a called Drakensberg, about half-way between Durban and Joburg.
The setting is both eerie and beautiful. These feelings are exacerbated by our accommodation - BergVenture. Venture is appropriate. We have three beds and the window is huge, massive, and looks out onto the landscape of fields and mountains. The ambience, as well as the temperature, is cool. Furthermore, we are the only people staying here.
Next is the pub and after taking up the challenge of downing ten shots in a row, in a respectable 16 seconds, the locals, who'd initially looked like something out of The Hills Have Eyes, suddenly appear more friendly.
Friday 2 July
The next morning, headache in check, we head for the Rainbow Nation's capital. The only things in our way en route are a scattering of monkeys and the fear of running out of fuel.
Having not seen a filling station for nearly 200 kilometres and the car beginning to chug, much to our relief, we find a petrol station.
Car dropped off and checked in at our hotel, we make way towards the stadium, Socer City. Tonight is Ghana - Uruguay in the quarter-finals but we want to watch the Holland-Brazil game beforehand.
Johannesburg is a nightmare to get around. We get a cab from our hotel to the station. Then we get a bus to Kempton Park before being informed we are at the wrong station. Once there we seek the advice of some people who have t-shirts emblazoned with 'We are here to help'. They look at us blankly when we ask for it. Thankfully someone does come to our rescue and tells us not to get onto the next train to the city centre for our own safety. We take heed and get on the 'business' train which is slow, yet we are safe, thanks largely to the fact we have a carriage all to ourselves.
Nevertheless, this carriage is reminiscent of a prison transportation vehicle as we sit on benches at either side.
Now at the main station in downtown Johannesburg we find a populated bar and watch the last 30 minutes of Holland's victory over Brazil before heading to the stadium.
The train journey proves memorable for all the right reasons, apart from the snail's pace. The Ghanaians, at least those who pupported to be from Ghana, gave the trip an increased temperature with singing and dancing all the way to the stadium.
The whole of Africa, in fact anyone who wasn't Uruguayan, watched this epic match swing one way, and then the other, only to see Ghana go out through the painful exit mode that is penalties.
Some kind locals offer us a lift home which we galdly accept, anything to avoid public transport now that the cheeriness of the African fans has dissipated.
We are held up slightly, however, as the kind South Africans offering us transport have their car boxed in. The guys supposedly looking after the car have some of their pay docked and we are on our merry way to the hotel for some much needed sleep after a 30 minute delay.
Saturday 3 July
Mass panic is caused once more by an unreliable taxi driver and I just catch my flight to Cape Town. Bastard!
On the flight I meet a delightful Zambian who makes the blog (I'm sure he's overwhelmed) not just for being so bloody nice but also because of his name - Kafula Mwiche. He gives me his business card and tells me to get in touch if I am ever in his homeland.
I land and meet up with my colleagues who were on a different flight to me and head straight to the Green Point Stadium to see Germany-Argentina.
For all that is bad about Johannesburg is more than made up by Cape Town, starting with the consummate ease of transport to the stadium.
The bars and restaurants that line the street from the city centre to the stadium are a delight to behold, though I gather the iron fence in place between the path and the road was introduced after England played Algeria here a couple of weeks ago. Ah, the English.
Anyway, we watch a masterclass from the Germans as they dispatch with their Argentinian rivals and move irrepressibly onto the semis. Ah, the Germans.
Our hostel (Salty Crax) turns out to be the only disappointment in Cape Town. The lack of a tv to watch Spain-Paraguay, the irritatingly far from town location and the dog shit lying around everywhere cause a great amount of frustration that is overcome quickly by the city itself, and I cannot give higher praise than that.
