South African Odyssey - Week 1
Credit: Extratime Team (ETPhotos)
Week 1- Johannesburg/Pretoria.
Landing at Oliver R. Tambo International Airport, affectionately known as ORTIA by Johannesburgers, is the first taste that this is a special time for Africa. Stories ring around our heads about the dangers of Jo’burg, how if you dare to drive yourself you have a strong chance of being car-jacked, that you will surely be mugged or worse if you walk down the streets, that the place is an absolute dive. I must confess to being more than wary, apprehensive to say the least. But pretty quickly, the smiling faces and helpful people put us at our ease. A welcome pack from Coca-Cola, a tourist pack from Gauteng Province and a steward at your arm to bring you to collect your tickets is a pretty gentle introduction to the three weary travellers.
But then comes the hit - the astronomical price of taxis in a city almost totally bereft of public transport. This will become a feature of our stay in Johannesburg. We spend an absolute fortune on cabs and you have no choice but to do it. FIFA in all their generosity have arranged accommodation, while of excellent standard, which ismiles from everything. This is one of the real bugbears we encounter during our stay in RSA if I may digress slightly for the minute.
Back in Autumn when everyone started to plan trips, all websites were almost completely bereft of accommodation in South African host cities because FIFA bought it all up. Even travel agents at home had nothing as all their usual hotels were completely bought out by FIFA for the whole tournament. This forced everyone who was by this time panicking to use FIFA to obtain a place to stay, and boy did they charge for it. The prices paid through FIFA included a 50% mark up on the actual hotels rate.
A combination of fear of South Africa and its perceived lack of security, the recession and the sheer distance involved resulted in a huge shortfall in the expected levels of visitors, as much as 25% on initial projections. This saw FIFA drop most of the hotels they had reserved only a few weeks before the tournament started. The hoteliers were up in arms as they could have sold the rooms themselves over the 9 months since FIFA held the reservations, people like me were up in arms due to the prices we were charged. And another thing, FIFA allegedly promised each B&B and hotel that a pick up service would operate for all guests booked through them to bring them to and from games. Of course nothing like that has materialised and guesthouses are full of irate punters who have to pay taxis through the nose to get around.
“It’s a disgrace,” fumes our taxi driver from the airport who ‘only’ charges us 450 rand (about 50 euro) to take us from the airport compared to some of his more unscrupulous rival who want 950 for the half hour journey.
“People won’t come back here if we rip them off like that,” he rails, proud of his city and deeply concerned about the image it is projecting to the world. He tells us that he is a former freedom fighter with ANC membership, “These crooks have no patriotism," (he is shouting at this stage). "They need to help our country. It’s no use all these people coming for the World Cup but not coming back because they are being ripped off, and telling their friends this so no one will come. Our country has enough problems and we need the tourists. We are trying to fix the image foreigners have of South Africa and Africa in general and we need to act more responsibly.”
This pride and passion is to become a feature of the trip. He spends the rest of the journey telling us not to be afraid of places like Soweto and the city centre so long as we are not foolish and behave responsibly. It’s a great intro to the city and the country.
But enough of all that, though I know that’s what people want to read about – problems! The transport issue is a pain but it was surmountable and in the end everyone must make the best of it.
So back to the football and two days after our arrival it’s time for our first match, a trip to Soccer City to see eventual finalists Holland open their campaign with a 2-0 win over Denmark. The game is nothing to write home about but we stare agog at the sheer size and indeed majesty of Soccer City. The stadium, designed like a traditional African cooking pot, is magnificent. The sun beats down and the locals make every effort to engage tourists in conversation, each of them proud of the stadium their country has built and who are delighted to hear the compliments of these three Irishmen.
The exterior shell of the stadium is pock marked by small holes or gaps in the steel which offer nice views of neighbouring Soweto but one hapless supporter of a country not far from this one expresses his disgust that the stadium is only a few months old and already the locals have broken it. I kid you not.
There were 83,500 there that day but with the ease of access and exit it feels like about a tenth of that. The racket made by the Vuvuzelas is astonishing though. We met Andy Townsend later in the holiday in Cape Town where he was working with ITV and his colleagues told us there was a complaint made every second in the UK over the Vuvuzelas. I am not surprised but when there are about 40,000 people blowing them at the same time, well you at home haven’t got a clue! To be honest though, they are so constant that you tend to tune them out after a while.
In an exercise in total contrast to new and pristine Soccer City, we hit Ellis Park the following evening to watch Brazil and North Korea. Ellis Park for those who don’t know is where South Africa won the 1995 Rugby World Cup beating New Zealand. It’s where Mandela had his finest hour since his release uniting his country like never before through sport, where he wore the previously hated Springbok jersey, a symbol for black South Africans of all the oppression brought by apartheid. It’s a privilege to be here but my God it is in a rough area right in the heart of central Jo’burg where all the guide books tell you not to go.
It lies right in the centre between Yeoville and Hillbrow, two districts even the police don’t go to lightly. The lanes around the stadium look like a scene from Black Hawk Down without the bullets with dingy alleys where Tony Soprano might dump a body. It’s safe though as the place is lined with police and stewards but I wouldn’t want to be there when there’s no match. Even our taxi driver tells us that in 11 years living in Jo’burg he has never walked these streets, only driven them!
It is absolutely freezing by the way, the coldest night of the year in Johannesburg, about 1 degree. It’s warm by day here but because you are so high up it gets bloody cold at night. The locals are in some state but to three hardy Irishmen wrapped in a tricolour, it’s not so bad. Especially when you are watching Brazil and that wonderful near post rocket from Maicon.
We also try ‘Biltong’ the staple diet of South African sports folk. Dried strips of game meat in a packet, a little like pork scratchings in the UK. It’s strong stuff but we are threatened by the locals that if we don’t try it we will not be experiencing South African culture at all!
We are back in Ellis Park again a day or two later to see the USA come from two down to beat Slovenia 2-2, I say beat because they have a perfectly good winning goal disallowed and the place goes absolutely mental. The Americans have bought more tickets for this World Cup than any other nation outside of South Africa and I think every one of those supporters is on his or her feet at the moment the referee signals a free out.
I realise that I have not heard the true power of the Vuvuzela until now as just about all the 62,000 in the ground start parping with primitive indignant abandon.
We also see the Argentinian Rolls Royce in action in Soccer City as a Gonzalo Higuain hat trick and a Lionel Messi masterclass put a pretty plucky South Korean side to the sword. The Argies put the Brazilians to shame with the banners, the songs, the ticker tape and streamers and the fact that they absolutely will not even for one moment sit down lest it curtails their ability to dance and leap about the place without a care in the world. They won’t win it though, they have no coach.
Back at Soccer City for Brazil and the Ivory Coast we bump into RTE’s Karl Spain. He chats away with us for about an hour or so, this time not looking for a woman as he was on the telly but looking for some goals. Brazil have flattered to deceive up to this point but boy do they cut loose this evening. Fabiano hits two wonder strikes, Elano scores a beauty. Drogba gets one back but the samba dancing does not stop for the whole game and maybe I have to eat a little humble pie over what I said about the Argentinians putting them to shame.
Later in the tournament we do come back to Soccer City for a fourth and final game, the infamous Argentina and Mexico second round game when Carlos Tevez’s clearly offside goal is replayed on the big screen and the Mexicans go absolutely crazy. It’s the second boo boo on the day as Frank Lampard’s crossbar episode is fresh in everyone’s mind from that afternoon. From this day on, that’s the last time any replays of any sort are shown in the stadiums, even of perfectly good goals.
We take in a game too at Pretoria’s Loftus Versfeld another famous old stadium more renowned for Springbok TriNations heroics. “You have to see Loftus,” even the Jo’burgers tell us, most unusual praise for a neighbouring city.
Pretoria is, well… pretty. It is the seat of government, houses most of the civil service as well as a university and several posh schools. The whole city is green, genteel and well kept to the extent that every lawn and grass verge seems to be lovingly manicured with a scissors. It’s leafy and upmarket but all the parks remind me a little of Belfield. The city feels like a University campus. The atmosphere in and around the Loftus Versfeld has to be experienced to be believed.
We see our first African team that night as Cameroon take on Denmark and it definitely wins the award for noisiest game of the tour. The Cameroon fans are swelled by every South African person in the ground and around us there are people from Ghana, Mozambique, Zambia and Malawi all roaring their hearts our for Africa’s ‘Indomitable Lions’ as Samuel Eto and the lads are called. “We’re Africans first and foremost,” explains one local, again showing that pride so obvious to us from our first day back in Johannesburg.
There’s a witchdoctor type fella behind us praying, shaking a stick, burning something that sends out gentle wisps of smoke and doing a strange tribal dance. Doesn’t work though. Nicolas Bendtner and Dennis Rommedahl cancel out Eto’s opener and Cameroon are going home.
Of course, no visit to Gauteng as the area is now called (formerly the Transvaal) would be complete without a visit to Soweto. It’s convenient actually as FIFA have marooned us in a guesthouse pretty close to it. We find a nice bar and wander the main thoroughfare with ease and comfort. It’s an eye opener though to see the shacks, the galvanised steel for walls, the ramshackle huts and the ad hoc cafes cooking their meat over barrels of fire.
But you know something; the less people have the more generous they are. They are astonishingly friendly, humble and anxious to learn all about Ireland. One girl asks if we really have leprechauns and asks if Irish people really think that they could walk down any street in South Africa and a see a lion cross the road ahead of them! Great bars though, and they sell buckets of Castle lager for 50 rand (less than €6). Happy days and a perfect way to close out our time in Johannesburg.
Landing at Oliver R. Tambo International Airport, affectionately known as ORTIA by Johannesburgers, is the first taste that this is a special time for Africa. Stories ring around our heads about the dangers of Jo’burg, how if you dare to drive yourself you have a strong chance of being car-jacked, that you will surely be mugged or worse if you walk down the streets, that the place is an absolute dive. I must confess to being more than wary, apprehensive to say the least. But pretty quickly, the smiling faces and helpful people put us at our ease. A welcome pack from Coca-Cola, a tourist pack from Gauteng Province and a steward at your arm to bring you to collect your tickets is a pretty gentle introduction to the three weary travellers.
But then comes the hit - the astronomical price of taxis in a city almost totally bereft of public transport. This will become a feature of our stay in Johannesburg. We spend an absolute fortune on cabs and you have no choice but to do it. FIFA in all their generosity have arranged accommodation, while of excellent standard, which ismiles from everything. This is one of the real bugbears we encounter during our stay in RSA if I may digress slightly for the minute.
Back in Autumn when everyone started to plan trips, all websites were almost completely bereft of accommodation in South African host cities because FIFA bought it all up. Even travel agents at home had nothing as all their usual hotels were completely bought out by FIFA for the whole tournament. This forced everyone who was by this time panicking to use FIFA to obtain a place to stay, and boy did they charge for it. The prices paid through FIFA included a 50% mark up on the actual hotels rate.
A combination of fear of South Africa and its perceived lack of security, the recession and the sheer distance involved resulted in a huge shortfall in the expected levels of visitors, as much as 25% on initial projections. This saw FIFA drop most of the hotels they had reserved only a few weeks before the tournament started. The hoteliers were up in arms as they could have sold the rooms themselves over the 9 months since FIFA held the reservations, people like me were up in arms due to the prices we were charged. And another thing, FIFA allegedly promised each B&B and hotel that a pick up service would operate for all guests booked through them to bring them to and from games. Of course nothing like that has materialised and guesthouses are full of irate punters who have to pay taxis through the nose to get around.
“It’s a disgrace,” fumes our taxi driver from the airport who ‘only’ charges us 450 rand (about 50 euro) to take us from the airport compared to some of his more unscrupulous rival who want 950 for the half hour journey.
“People won’t come back here if we rip them off like that,” he rails, proud of his city and deeply concerned about the image it is projecting to the world. He tells us that he is a former freedom fighter with ANC membership, “These crooks have no patriotism," (he is shouting at this stage). "They need to help our country. It’s no use all these people coming for the World Cup but not coming back because they are being ripped off, and telling their friends this so no one will come. Our country has enough problems and we need the tourists. We are trying to fix the image foreigners have of South Africa and Africa in general and we need to act more responsibly.”
This pride and passion is to become a feature of the trip. He spends the rest of the journey telling us not to be afraid of places like Soweto and the city centre so long as we are not foolish and behave responsibly. It’s a great intro to the city and the country.
But enough of all that, though I know that’s what people want to read about – problems! The transport issue is a pain but it was surmountable and in the end everyone must make the best of it.
So back to the football and two days after our arrival it’s time for our first match, a trip to Soccer City to see eventual finalists Holland open their campaign with a 2-0 win over Denmark. The game is nothing to write home about but we stare agog at the sheer size and indeed majesty of Soccer City. The stadium, designed like a traditional African cooking pot, is magnificent. The sun beats down and the locals make every effort to engage tourists in conversation, each of them proud of the stadium their country has built and who are delighted to hear the compliments of these three Irishmen.
The exterior shell of the stadium is pock marked by small holes or gaps in the steel which offer nice views of neighbouring Soweto but one hapless supporter of a country not far from this one expresses his disgust that the stadium is only a few months old and already the locals have broken it. I kid you not.
There were 83,500 there that day but with the ease of access and exit it feels like about a tenth of that. The racket made by the Vuvuzelas is astonishing though. We met Andy Townsend later in the holiday in Cape Town where he was working with ITV and his colleagues told us there was a complaint made every second in the UK over the Vuvuzelas. I am not surprised but when there are about 40,000 people blowing them at the same time, well you at home haven’t got a clue! To be honest though, they are so constant that you tend to tune them out after a while.
In an exercise in total contrast to new and pristine Soccer City, we hit Ellis Park the following evening to watch Brazil and North Korea. Ellis Park for those who don’t know is where South Africa won the 1995 Rugby World Cup beating New Zealand. It’s where Mandela had his finest hour since his release uniting his country like never before through sport, where he wore the previously hated Springbok jersey, a symbol for black South Africans of all the oppression brought by apartheid. It’s a privilege to be here but my God it is in a rough area right in the heart of central Jo’burg where all the guide books tell you not to go.
It lies right in the centre between Yeoville and Hillbrow, two districts even the police don’t go to lightly. The lanes around the stadium look like a scene from Black Hawk Down without the bullets with dingy alleys where Tony Soprano might dump a body. It’s safe though as the place is lined with police and stewards but I wouldn’t want to be there when there’s no match. Even our taxi driver tells us that in 11 years living in Jo’burg he has never walked these streets, only driven them!
It is absolutely freezing by the way, the coldest night of the year in Johannesburg, about 1 degree. It’s warm by day here but because you are so high up it gets bloody cold at night. The locals are in some state but to three hardy Irishmen wrapped in a tricolour, it’s not so bad. Especially when you are watching Brazil and that wonderful near post rocket from Maicon.
We also try ‘Biltong’ the staple diet of South African sports folk. Dried strips of game meat in a packet, a little like pork scratchings in the UK. It’s strong stuff but we are threatened by the locals that if we don’t try it we will not be experiencing South African culture at all!
We are back in Ellis Park again a day or two later to see the USA come from two down to beat Slovenia 2-2, I say beat because they have a perfectly good winning goal disallowed and the place goes absolutely mental. The Americans have bought more tickets for this World Cup than any other nation outside of South Africa and I think every one of those supporters is on his or her feet at the moment the referee signals a free out.
I realise that I have not heard the true power of the Vuvuzela until now as just about all the 62,000 in the ground start parping with primitive indignant abandon.
We also see the Argentinian Rolls Royce in action in Soccer City as a Gonzalo Higuain hat trick and a Lionel Messi masterclass put a pretty plucky South Korean side to the sword. The Argies put the Brazilians to shame with the banners, the songs, the ticker tape and streamers and the fact that they absolutely will not even for one moment sit down lest it curtails their ability to dance and leap about the place without a care in the world. They won’t win it though, they have no coach.
Back at Soccer City for Brazil and the Ivory Coast we bump into RTE’s Karl Spain. He chats away with us for about an hour or so, this time not looking for a woman as he was on the telly but looking for some goals. Brazil have flattered to deceive up to this point but boy do they cut loose this evening. Fabiano hits two wonder strikes, Elano scores a beauty. Drogba gets one back but the samba dancing does not stop for the whole game and maybe I have to eat a little humble pie over what I said about the Argentinians putting them to shame.
Later in the tournament we do come back to Soccer City for a fourth and final game, the infamous Argentina and Mexico second round game when Carlos Tevez’s clearly offside goal is replayed on the big screen and the Mexicans go absolutely crazy. It’s the second boo boo on the day as Frank Lampard’s crossbar episode is fresh in everyone’s mind from that afternoon. From this day on, that’s the last time any replays of any sort are shown in the stadiums, even of perfectly good goals.
We take in a game too at Pretoria’s Loftus Versfeld another famous old stadium more renowned for Springbok TriNations heroics. “You have to see Loftus,” even the Jo’burgers tell us, most unusual praise for a neighbouring city.
Pretoria is, well… pretty. It is the seat of government, houses most of the civil service as well as a university and several posh schools. The whole city is green, genteel and well kept to the extent that every lawn and grass verge seems to be lovingly manicured with a scissors. It’s leafy and upmarket but all the parks remind me a little of Belfield. The city feels like a University campus. The atmosphere in and around the Loftus Versfeld has to be experienced to be believed.
We see our first African team that night as Cameroon take on Denmark and it definitely wins the award for noisiest game of the tour. The Cameroon fans are swelled by every South African person in the ground and around us there are people from Ghana, Mozambique, Zambia and Malawi all roaring their hearts our for Africa’s ‘Indomitable Lions’ as Samuel Eto and the lads are called. “We’re Africans first and foremost,” explains one local, again showing that pride so obvious to us from our first day back in Johannesburg.
There’s a witchdoctor type fella behind us praying, shaking a stick, burning something that sends out gentle wisps of smoke and doing a strange tribal dance. Doesn’t work though. Nicolas Bendtner and Dennis Rommedahl cancel out Eto’s opener and Cameroon are going home.
Of course, no visit to Gauteng as the area is now called (formerly the Transvaal) would be complete without a visit to Soweto. It’s convenient actually as FIFA have marooned us in a guesthouse pretty close to it. We find a nice bar and wander the main thoroughfare with ease and comfort. It’s an eye opener though to see the shacks, the galvanised steel for walls, the ramshackle huts and the ad hoc cafes cooking their meat over barrels of fire.
But you know something; the less people have the more generous they are. They are astonishingly friendly, humble and anxious to learn all about Ireland. One girl asks if we really have leprechauns and asks if Irish people really think that they could walk down any street in South Africa and a see a lion cross the road ahead of them! Great bars though, and they sell buckets of Castle lager for 50 rand (less than €6). Happy days and a perfect way to close out our time in Johannesburg.
