Zoom all the way out:
We had the leftover pizza for breakfast, along with a little biltong.
We missed that stuff, goddamm it gives beef jerky a run for it’s money. Since it’s just dried, not smoked, it lets the flavor of the meat shine through. Since African beef is so much more flavorful and gamey than American beef, you’re talking about really rich, meaty, spicy, chewy, everything you miss in that store bought bag, silica gel containing of Oberto.
Kenya friends, I will try to smuggle some in!
We headed back to Melville for some more internet, uploading photos and and drinking coffee, calling parents, and facebooking. We’ve realized how self serving social media is. Sure, we love keeping in contact with friends, family, you, our loyal readers. But there’s something almost guilt inducing about facebooking, when perhaps somewhere in that locked unconscious, you’re doing it cause you’re at the center of the action.
We were excited to comment on World Cup stuff just cause we were excited about the World Cup, or because we secretly wanted to brag a little about being here?
That’s a toughie, but if we’re being honest, it’s a little of both.
So even though we were happy to talk to all of you, we really couldn’t help bragging a little, you know?
The day got away from us as we busied ourselves with blogging, selecting and uploading photos, and getting back in touch.
We spent the rest of the evening watching our last bit of football in South Africa, our World Cup adventure coming to a close as there’d be no games until July, when we’re back in Kenya
It’s sombre, but it’s liberating. We did it. And you followed along here. Thanks for giving us the reason to document every day of it.
We woke feeling like we had been beaten up. Not only were we exhausted but we were tired and dirty. The hostel was lacking hot water and who wants to take a cold shower in the winter?
Apparently neither of us.
We managed to pull ourselves out of bed around 11:00, basically because we knew Mexican food was in our near future.
We called up Stormy and invited him to lunch at our new favorite joint, he showed up in know time and by Noon we were all enjoying frozen Margaritas chatting over the state of the US economy and the state of Africa.
Stormy had been to nine World Cup games already and was catching a plane back to DC around 19:00. We had stretched ourselves thin, going to two matches in one weekend, so we amazed that he managed to party for that long.
The Mexican food was excellent once again, and we dropped him off at the place he was assaying at near Randburg.
We returned to Melville to upload some of the words you’re reading right now, and called it as early a night as early gets at the hostel. We had some wonderful antipasto in Melville, and brought back some leftover pizza.
We were so tired we couldn’t even be bothered to watch Brazil kick the snot outta chile.
We went to bed early, only to be woken up by the local contingent of the Brazilian drum corp making a racket around 2:00 AM.
We could only groan and smile. World Cup Fever Side effect number two: sensitivity to loud noises.
We were exhausted from the prior day’s adventure. But it wasn’t stopping there. We had to get to our next big event, Match 52 at Soccer City, the biggest stadium on the African continent. Going on four or five hours of real sleep the last night, a couple hours the night before, and only the sedentary plane ride keeping us going the first day, we were in rough shape.
Still, the last thing we wanted to do was to stay at the ball n Kicka. We’d stayed in some pretty ridiculous places in our day, and this was something special.
We’d put off our World Cup accommodation for so long, as there were no real good options. We had some options with friends that had fallen through, Apartments 40 clicks outside of town, and we decided to go with the inner city hostel, student housing converted for the event.
There were no plugs in the room, no heating and no top sheets, but at least there were lights, right? Anyhow, we did all we could to stay outta the place.
We went back into Melville and came across Cafe Mexicho. Considering that we were going to the MEX vs, ARG game that night it only seemed fitting to indulge in some Mexican grub.
We had some nachos and Bacon and Cheese Jalepeño poppers.
Best hangover food ever.
The wonderful thing was that this was not just good mexican food for South Africa, it was good mexican food in general. Creamy citrusy guac, zest sour cream, crispy chips and a smoky chipotle flavor. We hadn’t had anything remotely like it since we were cooking back in Nairobi!
We spent the rest of the afternoon watching the GER vs. ENG game and preparing ourselves for our big game. We were a little nervous, as we’d be walking to the park and ride, and Joburg is notoriously dangerous.
The walk was no trouble, though! Constitution Hill was apparently a rough area a couple years back, but it seems like the city’s been transformed. Not necessarily in looks, the swaths of concrete architecture still adorn the skyline, but in terms of the safety. We never felt at risk. it’s incredible.
We met a couple mexicans in line, had some tequila with our brethren to the south, and cheers. One guy actually yelled, ‘Ariba Ariba!’
It was excellent.
The bus was about a 20 minute ride and just when we were getting a little antsy—there was no singing or competitive banter on this ride—a glowing copper mass arose on our left. The iconic, speckled stadium was right there, and we had tickets inside.
We’d entered the lottery for these tickets over a year ago, not knowing how we’d get to SA, or how who was playing. We just knew that with an event like this in Africa, we had no choice but to go.
That it was actually coming to fruition, that a year’s planning, months of traveling was culminating in this event was unbelievable. And it was nearly a capacity crowd, over 84,000 of the 89,000 seats taken, it really looked like every seat was filled, and it looked like they were all filled with blue and white.
So there we are at this massive stadium, and we run into Swisserator and Londonitis in the row behind us. And a facebook status from AllOver, with whom we went deep sea fishing in Mombasa a year ago alerted us that he was in the section behind us.
Apparently Africa’s biggest arena is still a small world.
The southern hemisphere’s commanding presence carried onto the field, the Hand of God himself, running around like a dark haired oompa loompa, and the mexican team fighting hard to win.
We zipped out early, needing to get back to the park and ride before the masses clogged the arteries. We managed to get back pretty early, and once again the walk back to the Ball N Kicka was just fine. We were some of the first folks back from the game, but eventually people started pouring in, and the Argentina drum troupe showed up, making it difficult for anyone to sleep that wanted.
We didn’t. We were out there, with people representing nearly every continent, drinking beer, laughing and talking about the amazing experience we were all having. Despite the fact this shitty little hostel was ripping us all off, we were all ecstatic to be there, cause it meant we could mix and meet interesting folk from all over the world.
We did retire earlier than the rest of the party, which was good.
Word Cup Fever is exhausting!
Sleep is a luxury afforded to the lucky.
We got to wake up late, but had been to bed way too late. combined with the Jetlag, and the hangover, it was too much to bear.
But we had to get a start on the day.
We had a few more errands to run, and we would not be eating at the hostel again. The food was too expensive, and terrible. With so many great options in Johannesburg, we weren’t going to stand for inedible food.
We made our way back to Melville to the Mugg & Bean for eggs benedict and some excellent coffee, twitching with excitement for the games to come. Although the eggs benny came on chewy scones rather than crispy english muffins, we plowed through them, having not eaten since the previous afternoon.
After breakfast we walked around Melville looking for accessories for the game, hats, facepaint, the usual.
As much paraphernalia as there was, there wasn’t much for the US.
With Algeria, Cameroon, Nigeria, and South Africa eliminated, this match was shaping up to be the United States of America vs. the United States of Africa.
Our Kenyan friends on facebook were commenting on our statuses with cheering on Ghana.
We found nothing, but eventually found some at the mall nearby. The morning clouds had gave way to bright, clear skies, and the sun was warm as we got out of our little rental and walked up to the hostel.
The yard we full of guys without shirts, tanning themselves on picnic benches.
There was an unsurprising dearth of women about, what with the Lilith tour going on again and all. Maybe they all went to see Sex and the City 2? Perhaps there was a sale somewhere?
No, it’s just that dudes come to this sort of thing way more than chicks. We managed to find a couple, the Swisserator and Londonitis. we’d been lucky this trek meeting so many wonderful couples, and believe it’s an essential to traveling with your significant other. Spending everyday in confined quarters is eased by going out and meeting new people, and couples traveling seem to be up for double dates.
Well, the Swisserator and Londonitis had only been traveling a little bit but they were ready to talk. They’d been around, we talked about China, Australia, and Africa.
It’s interesting to hear foreigners perception of Africa. These two had been to South Africa before and they waxed poetic about the poverty in Mozambique, and slums. We talked briefly about if the continent could move forward, and we talked about English and American soccer.
It was pleasant, and we had a couple beers in the sun, until we realized the buses was leaving for the game in a couple hours and we had to get ready. Faces had to be painted, and a few more beers had to be consumed.
In fact, the hostel decided they sell some cheap six packs to drink on the way.
Yeah. It may be South Africa, but it’s still Africa.
They were so generous, perhaps because there were so many of us. Three minibuses, each full, with 14 people each including the driver, nearly all of us Americans. Unbelievable considering we don’t really care that much about soccer. . .
Packed into the bus like eggs in a carton, we sat clutching our six packs, an cheered when got on the road.
Only to pull into a gas station 200 meters away.
Africa wins again.
It was a two and a half hour drive to Rustenburg normally, but on a game day it was a different story. We passed through the hinterlands of Johannesburg, a couple slums, and more than a couple buses of people going in the same direction.
We drank our beers, sang as many songs as we could. “My country tis of thee,” “America the beautiful,” and the star spangled banner.
Then we went on to rock hits from Bon Jovi, Springsteen, Billy Joel, and Britney Spears.
And of course, the theme from Team America, World Police. it worked out into a call and response sort of thing. America!” “Fuck yeah!”
As on hour got close to two, and there was need for a piss break, but Solomon, the driver did not know the way to stadium and wouldn’t stop without the bus ahead of him stopping. We had to speed up, pass the first bus (We were in third place) and then pull over.
We were wondering how the other buses lasted so long, but nevertheless they got to pee when we did.
Our bus, bus two, continued singing and drinking through an African sunset, as we turned into the lights of Rustenburg. Or perhaps, the brake lights of Rustenburg.
As far as we could tell, we were nearly 20 kilometers from the stadium, and traffic had stopped. No one was moving so a few people got out of the bus to take a leak, only for traffic to start up again, leaving them behind. We leaned out the windows and yelled at the guys to hurry up, laughing at them when they arrived at the sliding door huffing and puffing.
The park and ride was chaotic, but we found the bus, geolocated the spot, and started heading out towards the game. Some African fellow had ghana flags and vivizelas and said that Ghana would slaughter America. We returned with Ghana will get nuked by the US. It was all with smiles, and laughs, and we all agreed it would be a great game, regardless of the turn out.
The mood was jovial, convivial, and exciting. The night air was cold and invigorating, and we hopped on a bus with little trouble. An African guy standing at the front got the African fans singing. He sure sounded and looked South African, at least. In fact, we didn’t encounter too many Ghanians at all, really. It didn’t matter that the song they were singing was the bafana bafana fight song, as Ghana’s team was now Africa’s team.
The Americans countered back with the Star Spangled Banner, but it’s not the greatest fight song in the world.
The bus arrived and we piled out, the stadium’s lights stringing whitely iridescent cobwebs across the backdrop of night while the bustle of people streaked red white and blue on the ground leading up to it.
The place was full of Americans, and American supporters. Flags, hats, jerseys, facepaint, signs, and goofy hats were everywhere. The beer was Budweiser.
On our way in the stadium, Stormy, an old face from Juba popped out of nowhere and we just had to get a couple beers. We caught up, talked to as many people around us as we could, and painted a couple faces. cheerses were cheersed, chants were chanted, and laughs were laughed. Walking up to the stadium, we barely took in the atmosphere, as we were excited to get to our seats, as the game was only a couple minutes away.
Bright light poured in over the yellow seats as we entered the bowl of the arena. The cold air was heavy with the sound of voices. We found our way down to row H, right in the front, and climbed over the row of people already in their seats.
We sung the National Anthem again at the tops of our lungs, surrounded by fans dressed in the craziest of attire, and we couldn’t even tell you what the Ghanian anthem sounded like. This was an American evening.
It was the party of the decade and we were there at the center of it, ready to cheer our team on to victory.
Alas, it was not to be so. We’re not going to sit here and write a synopsis of the game, talking about the moves the coach made, the plays, the calls, the lack of penalties in our favor, or the unstoppable tending of the purple-clad Ghanian goal tender.
But that’s not was it was about at all. It was about being there. Experiencing it all. The exuberant jubilance when we scored that free kick, that we were so excited that we tied that we high fived all the ass holes around us who were yelling at us cause we were standing up in the cold night air. We jumped and hooted and waved our flags like we had just won the Superbowl.
The electricity of excitement was sucked out of the stadium before we left, no just by the loss, but by the fast exodus at the final whistle.
It was at least and hour back to our little mini bus, and we didn’t arrive back at the hostel in joburg until nearly 05:00. we were exhausted, but happy.
We were so lucky. We were so lucky to know Africa so well, to have lived here, not just to have been here.
So that we were there in Africa, at that game, with front row seats watching America play an African team was something special. That we were there after traveling thousands upon thousands of miles around the World was just incredible.
The kick off was one of those moments that stretches into infinity in your mind, where we recounted our most recent adventures, the great times and the difficulties that had led us here. It was slow motion on the field before our conscious snapped us back to the game at hand.
The African part of us was sort of happy to see a team from the continent make it on to the quarterfinals. The American in us was unhappy that it had to be us.
But in the end it mattered only that we were there.
All the tickets were handled by FIFA ticketing centers, so we had to get to Sandton, a nice suburb to pick up our match 52 tickets. But we had a bunch of stuff to take care of first.
We’d been a little cold in Australia, but that first night in Johannesburg was another story. We’d ditched cold weather gear all across northern Asia, and now we were back in the throes of winter.
Sure, it wasn’t Mongolia by any stretch, but it was chilly. So we headed straight to a mall to purchase some warmer clothes, opting for the cheapest hoodies we could find. We got some groceries to save on food costs, got data packages loaded on the phones, grabbed some breakfast, picked up some much needed toiletries and decided, that yeah, we’d try to go to the US Ghana game.
We returned to the Hostel before 11AM, our most productive morning in weeks, which our Australian cohorts can attest, and started texting and emailing everyone who had tickets for sale to the game.
And we decided to check craigslist.
The bastion of free classifieds in America was alive and kicking in Johannesburg, and all of a sudden we had three options for tickets.
But we had a couple hours, and the cold of last night was a distant memory when the early afternoon sun hit our faces. We saw TNT and grabbed some beers, and enjoyed the weather, chatted about games, about Africa, America, and about the match the next night.
TNT graciously gave us valuable information as he’d been to a bunch of matches and let us inspect his ticket stubs to ensure that we wouldn’t get fake tickets.
We weighed options on the tickets, category 1, 2 or 3, 80 bucks or a couple hundred, and decided to go with the least expensive option.
It was the smart thing to do.
We found a guy in Sandton who was selling tickets at face value and we had to go out there anyway, so we went with that option. Thanks once again to google maps on our iPhones, we were able to navigate around Joburg easily.
We found the hotel this guy was staying at, inspected water marks and the holograms, and noticed that they were category one and twice as expensive as we’d wanted to pay.
But we said screw it. How many times does one get to see their own country play in the knock out stage of the World Cup?
We headed right to the FIFA ticketing office, picked up our Match 52 tickets in a jiffy, stuffed our tickets in the glove box and headed straight out to the mall to get jerseys and face paint and were shocked by this mall.
Every store had flags and scarves and world cup paraphernalia. Shop full of carpets and furniture? Yep, they got the fever. Soap and candle shop? Get your vuvuzelas here.
South Africa had switched it’s economy into World Cup mode.
We scoured the mall and managed to find two jerseys. They were apparently a hot ticket.
From Sandton we headed out past Bryanston and into the suburbs of Johannesburg, to find a particular restaurant.
We saw the orange sign in the distance, and we couldn’t believe it when we rocked up.
There was a wait. There was a bouncer. There was and orange friction velvet rope.
We slipped a couple rand in the bouncer’s hand and he let us in the place which was packed to the walls with people.
Apparently South Africans don’t know that Hooters is not a classy place.
With flat screens hanging from the ceiling and adorning just about every wall this place was built for the World Cup.
We watched the end of the Portugal Brazil game.
The sun had set by the time we left, and we returned to the hostel just before the start of the Spain Chile game. A little soccered out, we opted instead to have a couple beers and meet some of the interesting folks also visiting the hostel.
The night went a bit too late and we went to bed, excited for the big day tomorrow.
Our time in Australia was the first real vacation we’d had. We were lucky enough to be housing up with relatives and friends. We zipped down to Bungendore to see the new cousin in-laws, over to Sydney to see a cousin, and to see a grandma.
Despite taking a number of trains and car rides, we spent most of our time in Moss Vale. We helped out where we could, helping clear brush and break rocks and move logs.
We promise, dearest Auntie that we’ll return in harvest season so we can really be of use. That being said, we can’t thank you enough for letting us stay and use every tool in the kitchen, make soufflés, cook tajine lamb, and talk your ears off.
All in all, we had one of the best times of our trip in Moss Vale, cause we didn’t have to do anything. We didn’t have to go anywhere. We did and went where we wanted. We read about 4 books apiece, cooked, and got to know our family better.
Sydney was wild, as we were out at the pubs with some young Aussies for the World Cup games, watching Australia and the US play at odd hours in the morning.
The build up to our African Adventure was increasing in pressure as more games past and even though we were in Australia for over two weeks, we were on a flight to Joburg before we knew it.
We thought there’d be an air of excitement on the plane.
But it was pretty normal. There was an announcement about the new PM in Australia, nothing about the tournament.
Perhaps cause AUS failed to qualify?
The flight, a direct 14 hour haul was as flights are. Too little space, too little entertainment and too little sleep.
Our legs creaked as we steped onto the skyway, expecting as well the airport to be alive with World Cup Fever.
Alas, it was not. It was just as it had been when we arrived here in february.
We collected our bags and strolled past customs into the arrival hall and saw jerseys everywhere. Guys walking around in sombreros, viking hats, you name it.
We got SIM cards working again, GPSed the hostel, got our rental car as we watched Italy lose, everyone in line rapt by the game.
Remembering back to our first time in SA and our initial fear of being car jacked was now gone. We knew where we were going and the roads were almost familiar.
We found our hostel with some difficulty, mostly because when we got to the location it was dark and silent and clearly deserted. We called the number from the website and they located us to their “other” location.
How convenient.
We made it in the end to a college campus that was on break for the Holidays. How lucky were we? It was like living in the dorms all over again, well not like, it was. We were staying in dorm rooms equipped with 16 bunk beds each.
We grabbed some beers, ordered some pies and watched the Netherlands vs. Cameroon and Japan vs. Denmark games and met TNT, our new buddy from maryland.
We pushed through the jetlag as hard as we could, but succumbed to the weariness before 10PM, and were in our frigid hostel beds, trying to stay warm.
We flew from Hanoi, to Ho Chi Minh, to Singapore to Darwin to Sydney.
We had to retrieve and check our bags on each stop over. That’s expected when you pay less than $900 for 2 people with JetStar. Even though it meant we could get some Hooters wings and a couple pitchers in Singapore.
It was a mess getting here, but it’s been worth it. Sure, we haven’t been writing that much, but we’ve needed a little break. We’re not sure, how prolific our little website has been, but we think it’s around 70,000 words,which is pretty much the length of your average NYT bestseller, and about 700 photos, which is way more than your average NYT bestseller.
If one of our more interested readers had the time to copy all posts into a single file and tell us, we’d be most grateful. In the meantime we’ll try to come up with an accurate figure.
So here we are in Australia, relaxing, hiking, eating well and getting to know family better than ever before.
