Ayoba!

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This year World Cup tourists were warned that travelling in South Africa was going to be extremely challenging. It was essential to book accommodation and transport in advance and, according to the locals, if you got a local minibus taxi then you'd lose your clothes and probably your life. When you spend many months travelling, however, you develop a trust in people and become a reasonable judge of the risks offered by your surroundings. And so there I was, on 9th June, in a well-driven minibus heading towards Rustenburg without any accommodation or transport booked for my entire stay in South Africa. Just me and my Chinese army-issue rucksack. Despite having planned the next month for years, I had changed my plans at the last minute, persuaded by friends to sell my tickets to games involving the likes of Nigeria and South Korea in preference for following England around. That night I found a place to sleep. I still had all my clothes and was alive.

The place I found to sleep was situated in the very cold Magaliesburg mountains just south of Rustenburg, where England would face USA in their opening World Cup game. I got a real culture shock walking into the bar there equivalent to the one I got jumping into the quite literally freezing swimming pool adjacent to the campsite. Having spent the past months of my life chatting with fellow backpackers, normally young and worldy, here I was walking into an atmosphere typical of any pub in England. I chatted to Sid, short, fat, bald and covered in Leeds United tattoos, and to Greg, who hasn't missed an England game (home or away) in seven years. It was the first indication that my travelling experience was going to change. Indeed it did. It became something of a 30-day booze up, an enormous party ruined only by the incapability of the English football team and coaches. As a consequence of the wealth of Castles and Springboks (peppermint liquor with amarula cream) I drunk through the following weeks my memory is hazy and I'll rely on pictures to tell the story more than ever.

I can remember my second day in South Africa. I was at Sun City, a complex of casinos, shops, waterparks and golf courses, when I got wind of the fact the England team were playing golf there. A long with some friends and 50 other England fans we watched about half of the squad finish off their rounds. Guess what. They were rubbish. As each player headed to the clubhouse the fans would mob them so I chose to focus my attention on Peter Crouch, a QPR fan I've met once before, who was more than happy to pose alongside me with that delightful instrument, the vuvuzela. That night, whilst my friends and I mused over the inabilty of Ashley Cole to play a simple pitching wedge shot I ate one of the best meals of my life: a 500g T-Bone steak costing 70 Rand, the equivalent of about £6.50.

And so the football began. I watched the opening game between South Africa and Mexico in the fan park in Rustenburg, basically a field with a giant big-screen showing the match. It was also the location of the biggest beer tent in the whole of Africa. Nice. The place was maybe 80% South Africans and the remainder tourists. Prior to the game they boomed out Nkosi Sikelel iAfrica, the national anthem of their country sung in a variety of languages to reflect the 'rainbow' nation. It was a spine-tingling moment but nothing compared to that when Siphiwe Tshabalala scored the opening goal of the tournament...for South Africa. Pandamonium. Beer was thrown everywhere and so began an evening of dancing with strangers. Ayoba!

England 1-1 USA. Thr Royal Bafokeng stadium was a bowl of Engerland. As with all the forthcoming England games, I neglected a decent sitting position in favour of standing with the hardcore behind the goal, close to the famous England band. We all know what happened in the game.

Johannesburg was next. We stayed there just two nights in order to watch Holland 2-0 Denmark. It took place at the Soccer City stadium, the venue for the final the next month. A magnificent stadium, it was a sea of orange and we had an incredible view from almost the very back row. Johannesburg has a bad name but I'm not qualified to pass judgement having spent only a small amount of time though. One observation, however, is that the walls are higher and barbed wire thicker there than anywhere else I visited in South Africa.

The bus journey to Cape Town was a long one, 19 hours. Entertainment and aromas came in the form of the poor lad, Ryan, who was sitting next to me. He'd eaten something that had disagreed with him and it was coming out of both ends. He was wearing a sanitary towel. Enough said?!

England 0-0 Algeria. More on Cape Town later, as this visit was not a touristic, or enjoyable one. It should have been had the England players and coaches turned up. We all know what happened in the game. Absolutely nothing.

The next destination was Port Elizabeth, a beautiful bus journey a long the garden route. I broke the journey up by stoping at Storms River, sight of the Bloukran Bridge bungee jump, the highest in the world. That's right: in the world. The next day I was one of 23 Englishmen throwing ourselves off the 216m bridge, freefalling for six seconds reaching speeds of 120km/h. Ayoba!

England 1-0 Slovenia. A combination of England's victory a long with South Africa's demolition of the French meant good times. Jermaine Defoe's goal was memorable for the fact that I ended up celebrating his goal three rows further forward than where I had started, on my back, stuck between two seats, looking up at English jubilation and the stars. Rather adorably, Fatboy Slim put on free gigs at the cricket stadium to keep the England fans out of trouble.

I was lucky to receive a free lift with a friend to Bloemfontein for the next match. Bloemfontein was the only place I visited where there appeared to be a genuine accommodation shortage. The first night we arrived my friend and I shared a bed whilst two Englishmen and a German slept on the tiled floor, poor things. The day before the game I was at the Waterfront, a shopping centre, with some friends to collect the tickets I had ordered through my contact in the FA. The place was awash with press and famous people alike. I took the opportunity to get a photo (not a good one) with Chris Hollins, the BBC Breakfast sports presenter and Strictly Come Dancing champion. A hero of both me and my sisters, he was as nice as pie and we chatted for about ten minutes about his travels, my travels, QPR and dancing.

England 1-4 Germany. The Germans were really good value and fully indulged in the pre-match banter, even reacting well to the popular song about shooting German bombers out of the sky. We all know what happened in the game.

The following day my friend, Emily, was plastered all over the South African and English newspapers. I had been standing next to her and was in the shot that had been used in the papers but for some reason had been cut out. I can't imagine why.

Relief at last...the past couple of weeks supporting England had become something of a chore, it was difficult not to feel personally let down by the players and coaches. From hereon in we were all on holiday and were determined to enjoy ourselves. I returned to Cape Town and washed my clothes for the first time in a couple of months. When I gave my bag of dirty washing to the girl I thought she was going to cry. I climbed the 1000m Table Mountain and visited Robben Island, the place where Nelson Mandela was incarcerated for 18 years of his life. We also spent time on the beach, eating fish and chips and taking on local township lads at beach football. We saw penguins at Simon's Town, where two crowds had gathered: one to look at the penguins and another to look at Leonardo di Caprio. We went to Stellenbosch, some 40km outside Cape Town, to a wine festival where we drank far too much incredible wine and feasted on cheese, biltong and chocolate. It was in Stellenbosch that I had kudu loin for the first time. It was cooked very rare and, similar in taste to beef, was the most juicy steak 've ever eaten. It surpassed Rustenburg's T-Bone as the most tasty thing I'd eaten on the trip and, perhaps, ever.

Long Street and the Waterfront in Cape Town offered fantastic places to drink and party but, a long with a couple of others, we decided to watch the World Cup final at a bar in Gugulethu, a Cape Town township. We headed there in a minibus, armed only with Bafana Bafana shirts and vuvuzelas and we had one of the best afternoons of our lives. The nearby butchers supplied meat that was cooked for you on a braai and a DJ started his set at lunchtime. By kick-off spirits were extremely high and by the end of an extended game we were singing and dancing with the locals. It was typical of the way the South African people embraced the international fans and vice versa.

Spain 1-0 Holland. 84,490 fans or fouls?

I flew home from the incredible and beautiful Cape Town the following day with a bag full of wine, biltong and vuvuzelas. I was hideously hung over and infinitely grateful to the in-flight entertainment system offered by Emirates which provided me with multiple episodes of Gavin and Stacey, The Mighty Boosh and Outnumbered.

I've had an amazing time away and can't really believe it's all over. Now home, I feel exhausted. No worries though, I've realised exactly what I need: a holiday. I'm sure I'll see you all soon. Ayoba!

('Ayoba' is a slang term used by South Africans to express amazement. It was originally meant as an approval/appreciation of good dancing, although the exact origins of the phrase are unknown. It is thought to have roots in Johannesburg township culture. It is, however, uniquely South African and expresses delight, excitement, agreement and approval.)

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Photos

Holland in Soccer City
After about 20 minutes of the game Janine, the girl in the photo, turned to me and said (this is not a joke): "Chris, what colour do Holland play in?"

Mandela and Sisulu
The only picture Mandela permitted to be taken of himself detained on Robben Island

Leonardo di Caprio taking photos of penguins
You may have to look closely, he's wearing a cap.

Cape Town
I was sad to leave. It really is an amazing place.

Forget about England
This is what really matters

Comments

[Tris]

Legend! sounds top drawer mate. shame about the QPR references/photos I've had to endure for the past few months reading this....almost ruined it...almost

[Ant Clark]

You and that guy aint pointing to the badge, you're pointing to my name on his shirt!!! :) U go all that way and still cant get away from me!