A South African Vagabond

As the first week of my trip came to a close so did my one-night cameos. It was not until Durban that I slept in the same place for two consecutive nights.

The constant movement allowed me to see the interesting sections of a city and move on before that image could be sullied by potential burglars, poor service, the weather or anything else that organizers of the tournament feared would torment tourists during the World Cup.

Each accommodation and each city was a new learning experience. Not only was I learning about historical and cultural events, I was learning about myself.

Johannesburg was a lesson in discernment and trust, as well as a massive metropolis to find oneself lost physically or otherwise. Vereeniging and Rustenburg exemplified the kindness of others and the dismantling of any lingering stereotypes I had of South Africa and specifically Africans.

Cape Town was the most beautiful city I have ever seen. It also featured some of the ugliest reminders of apartheid. The paradox between those two was an African reminder that things are not as glossy as the surface appears. (To me that was different from not judging a book, or person, by its cover because I did not have any preconditioned thoughts about the edge of the Atlantic and Indian Oceans.)

Port Elizabeth is a sleepy city. No matter how beautiful the Nelson Mandela Bay Stadium may be, how much money the city spends on a shuttle service for the World Cup, how many flags fly from the Boardwalk and the condos along the beach, or the activity of its port PE still has the feel of a small town by the sea. Such intimacy was lost during my jet-setting, which is why perspective is a powerful tool when reviewing anything in life.

If there is one thing I was told about Durban was that it was warm and it was South Africa’s version of South Beach. Neither could accurately describe my two days there, as the strong winds made a 70 degree day feel cooler and the public debauchery — even on a Match Day — was more comparable to Daytona, not Miami.

The “warmest place to watch the World Cup” did not conclude my traveling. A dip in the Indian Ocean simply put cold water on my jet-fueled journey through South Africa.