Viva Vuvuzela -- Sportswriter fulfills a dream with pilgrimage to South Africa

Upon my return from South Africa my newspaper asked me to write a feature story about my big trip. Now that it can no longer be accessed on our Web site I am posting this July 11 feature in the Tallahassee Democrat onto my blog.

By Will Brown

It may have taken a soccer tournament to illuminate the world's perceptions of a continent.

Hundreds of thousands of tourists flooded South Africa over the past month to watch the World Cup. Action concludes today when Spain and the Netherlands meet in Johannesburg for the final at 2:30 p.m. on ABC.

The world's largest sporting event has allowed both the country and the continent to shed some misconceptions — chiefly, that it is a dark continent where depravity and despair dominate.

Americans made the journey more than fans and tourists from any other nation. To residents in the proud nation of 49 million people, it's those same Americans who are responsible for the stereotypes and connotations that are as much a part of the country's past as apartheid.

From Johannesburg to Durban to Cape Town, and in the many cities in between, South Africa is a country that definitely has its warts. That is undeniable, and its residents are up-front about them.

Across the country, South Africans possessed a genuine interest in having visitors go home with an accurate picture of their country — which is an incredibly diverse one with 11 official languages, a culture that tightropes between being Western and serving as the beating heart of Africa, and the only place where a visitor can see one World Heritage site after another.

Going solo to South Africa

Afraid I was going to be trounced playing the American version of football, my parents introduced me to soccer when I was 4 years old. They expressed a similar trepidation when I told them I wanted to travel to South Africa in June for the World Cup — alone.

After being challenged by a college professor to read Nelson Mandela's autobiography in 2007, I was determined to see the beautiful veld for myself during the World Cup. Reading Mandela's potent, yet simple, words empowered me to look beyond the surface and thus enter his country with a clean slate of opinions waiting to be freshly colored.

Years of saving and months of planning paid off when I touched down, without a hitch, in Johannesburg. The humbling thought of being on the African continent, especially as an African-American, was surreal. So much time was spent soaking up everything in front of me that I didn't even think about a World Cup tournament favorite when I stepped off the plane June 10.

Cape of cold

Cape Town is the city by the sea that instantly commands the attention of tourists with its spectacular views from atop Table Mountain, the historic District Six neighborhood that was leveled during apartheid, a vibrant nightlife scene and proximity to world-class wineries.

Cape Town turned out to be more exciting than residents had promised.

My sole reason for traveling to the city nicknamed "The Cape of Storms" was to see Robben Island, one of eight World Heritage sites in South Africa. Mandela was housed there for more than a quarter century because he had the audacity and courage to espouse the belief that South Africans should all be treated equally by a representative government.

Robben Island is 10 kilometers, or 6.2 miles, off the coast. Visiting this site is completely weather-dependent, as storms, especially in the winter, can whip up seas reaching 30 feet. The seas are actually warmer in the winter, as the swirling winds from the Indian and Atlantic Oceans push the summer waters out to sea.

Persistent rainfall and strong winds made visiting Robben Island an impossibility for me, but it did provide an opportunity to take a two-hour bus trip around the city and its nearby beaches.

The two-hour drive took visitors up to Table Mountain to view the unique and exotic flora that can be found nowhere else in the world. We were told there are more unique species of plants and trees in the Table Mountain National Park than in the entire British Isles.

Images from atop Table Mountain provided a reminder that whatever method one takes to get into Cape Town, it's always a good idea to have a camera in hand.

Any flight into the city will take travelers over the breathtaking landscape at a low enough altitude to appreciate the metropolis tucked between the mountains and the sea. Those traveling via car will have the great visual privilege of taking the scenic Garden Route.

The Garden Route, like the Autobahn in Germany or the Pacific Coast Highway in California, is one of those must-do-before-you-die drives. It's not one that can be made at night, however, as there are few interruptions, and fewer lights, along the road that took me from Cape Town to Port Elizabeth. Had I known about the Garden Route before I visited Cape Town, I would have scheduled my bus trip during the day.

Up the coast

Coastal cities such as Cape Town, Port Elizabeth and Durban have a more relaxed vibe than the rest of the country.

Port Elizabeth is colloquially called PE by residents and is the breeziest of the three. The busy port city along the Indian Ocean is the fifth-largest city in South Africa, but it retains the atmosphere of a cozy beach-side town.

Nelson Mandela Bay, which Port Elizabeth neighbors, is just as majestic as its namesake. The calm, clear waters extend beyond the horizon. Though not as popular with professional photographers as Cape Town beaches, the amateurs that filled the pier and braved biting winds to walk the beaches left with spectacular pictures.

Durban, a city of nearly5 million residents, billed itself as the "warmest place to watch the Word Cup." Residents and fellow tourists billed it South Africa's alternative to South Beach. The truth was somewhere in the middle, as this Indian-influenced city was warmer than the nine other host cities, and not nearly as flamboyant as Miami.

Winter did not deter people from getting into the water, where waves ran as high as 12 feet. The surf at Durban's multiple beaches was choppier than that at Port Elizabeth, but the trade-off was the fact that the water was warmer.

Nearly a fifth of Durban's residents are of East Indian descent. A century ago, the city was home to a young lawyer who returned to India to be the change he wished to see in the world. Mohandas K. Gandhi honed his legal skills in Durban, fighting injustice and racism before returning to India in 1915.

Perception versus reality

Durbanites are quite proud of their city and were very eager to show it off to the tourists from Spain, Brazil, the Netherlands and other soccer powers that were in town to watch their teams play.

Only Johannesburg residents were more vocal in correcting American opinions about such notions as wildlife roaming free in the streets, whether Africa was a "civilized" continent and safety in South Africa being substandard to other countries.

Johannesburg is like New York, London, Rio de Janerio, Jakarta, Tokyo or any other metropolis that's also the country's financial center. There are areas that are affluent and others where it's nothing short of stupid to walk alone flouting anything of value.

Tallahasseeans would appreciate the sheer amount of trees liberally scattered throughout the "City of Gold." Johannesburg has the largest urban forest in the world — the city has hundreds of parks and open spaces filled with jacaranda, oak, palm and pepper trees.

Home to the biggest soccer stadium in Africa, Johannesburg is also home to a wealth of cultural opportunities.

The Apartheid Museum in the Gold Reef City section of Johannesburg is a must for any visitor to South Africa. Taking photographs inside the museum is strictly prohibited, but the damning videos, pictures, propaganda and artifacts from that era of segregation and subsequent racial division will engrave images on the mind's eye more vivid than a 35-millimeter camera could capture.

Visitors should also take a township tour through Soweto. On the southwestern outskirts of the city, Soweto has been exploited by foreign media outlets for years to illustrate the depths of despair and depravity that many falsely presume exists throughout the entire country.

Soweto will never be confused with the upper class Sandton suburb, but it's a township that is not much different than some inner city or working class neighborhoods in the U.S.

This township of 4 million people features the best and worst of Johannesburg — and any description of the city that lacks both is decidedly inaccurate. There are some incredibly poor families that live in shanties, and there are others that live in brick homes with immaculate lawns.

Fitting conclusion

It's appropriate that the first World Cup held in Africa will also crown a new champion, as neither the Dutch nor the Spanish have won the tournament, after decades of fielding teams with the talent to do so. The orange of the Netherlands and the red of Spain that instantly come to mind whenever I saw someone from either country will stick with me.

When people were not attending soccer matches, they were watching them in bars, hostels, hotel lobbies or in the designated Fan Fest areas FIFA set up in the 10 host cities. During my 16 days in South Africa, only two did not include watching a match — as I even found a way to catch the Spain-Honduras match while out on a safari.

Watching Argentina demolish South Korea while flat on my back on a Durban beach under the bright sun and perfect weather was a highlight. As raucous as the atmosphere was at the first three U.S. matches I attended, the tranquility of enjoying a warm day, soccer and the beach was more than this native Floridian could have asked from a trip abroad.

Being in Pretoria for the American's dramatic — though completely unnecessary, if their matches had had competent refereeing — comeback against Algeria was a perfect conclusion to four distinct game atmospheres that surpassed my grandest expectations.

Fair or not, Africa's reputation was on the line at this World Cup. Soccer broadcasters would routinely speak of the South African squad and the five other African teams in the tournament as a collective.

If that is the method of judgment for the hosts of the 2010 World Cup, they surpassed all expectations and were a unique, and appropriate, host for the world's largest sporting event — vuvuzelas included.

Contact reporter Will Brown at 599-2172 or wbrown@Tallahassee.com.

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.

Cape of Storms lives up to billing. (36 Hours in Cape Town part II)

Sunday night was spent writing and learning more about South Africa. Since it’s pretty easy for South Africans to spot an American abroad, I chose to exploit being a Westerner. I asked the staff at the Backpack and Travel Center a handful of probing questions about Cape Town, South Africa and perceptions of both.

South Africa is a beautiful combination of cosmopolitan cities like here and Johannesburg as well as the rural bush too many people think is prevalent here. Before I left I knew the Big Five did not roam the streets of any city, but my conversation with Melanie, Caroline and Brandon in Cape Town ensured any lingering perceptions akin to that were complete rubbish.

Unfortunately it was during my conversation with Brandon that my hopes of going to Robben Island were dashed. He told me that when it rains in Cape Town the Atlantic Ocean swells to as high as 30 feet—making it impossible and unsafe for a ferry to carry people 10 kilometers into the sea.

I called my girlfriend to see if we could organize a return trip to the Western Cape during my final two days in South Africa. We looked up flights, accommodations, whether there was a game here and the availability of everything before I resigned myself to the fact I was not going to Robben Island—on this trip.

Monday, I slept in. In search of a museum or something colorful I was told about a sightseeing bus that would take me through Cape Town and the surrounding beaches for R120.

This bus took people up Table Mountain for the pictures of a lifetime. Then through the suburban beaches that are popular with photographers—of the personal and professional variety. Finally my two-hour tour concluded with a jaunt through the heart of the city.

Driving by the white building that created, then dismantled apartheid was surreal. To add to the mix of emotions was driving past the District 6 neighborhood, which is less than a quarter mile from the origin of South African bigotry.

District 6 was a predominately black neighborhood that was razed in the 60s because the government wanted to redevelop this part of Cape Town. Our guide told us 85 percent of District 6 remains uninhabited. More than 40 years later there are still patches of land that are little more than grass and weeds—quiet symbols of the once vibrant community that had homesteads here.

(I couldn’t help but think of New Orleans and the Lower Ninth Ward as I snapped pictures of District 6. It wasn’t until days later that my mind allowed me to realize that District 6 was completely a man-made wasteland.)

I took the sightseeing tour twice, once to see the city and a second time to avoid having to pay a taxi to take me from my hostel to the bus station. With the Italy-Paraguay game kicking off later Monday evening traffic downtown was as thick as a stereotypical Italian defense.

Eventually, I caught my bus for the 12-hour trip up to Port Elizabeth. My 36 hours in Cape Town were over. My adventures battling the rain, wind and cold were just beginning.

36 Hours in Cape Town (pt. I)

THE GARDEN ROUTE--The problem is where to begin when describing a city that has world-class beaches, infamous landmarks, scenic beauty, an underreported history, a uniquely South African vibe and incredible people.

That is what comprises the greater Cape Town area and also what makes it irresistible to visitors. This city did not need the World Cup to highlight its winter, but the folks at FIFA are not as foolish to neglect South Africa’s third largest city and home to some stunning man-made and natural images.

The dichotomy between man and nature is visible from the Cape Town Stadium, which will host eight games during the World Cup. Visitors can easily see Table Mountain rising above the city in the background. In the foreground, one a clear day, they can also see the inhumanity that was Robben Island 10 kilometers off the shore.

Robben Island is where the apartheid government banished Nelson Mandela for 27 years for his acts of non-violent political dissent. It was also my sole reason for seeing this city—at least before I touched down.

Unfortunately, my timing was as impeccable as a Robert Green blunder. My flight from Johannesburg just happened to be on the coldest day of the winter to date. When the seas get choppy the ferries out to Robben Island are closed because the waves can reach as high as 30 feet.

At least the weather cooperated long enough for me to take in the city’s picturesque sights as we approached the Cape Town International Airport. The pilot flew across this metropolitan area of 5 million people, into the Atlantic Ocean for a low profile view of the turquoise-blue waters, before landing just after 10 a.m. Sunday morning.

My hostel, The Backpack and Travel Center, is one of the best in Africa and HostelWorld.com has previously named it one of the ten best on the planet. It certainly lived up to its billing. (Writer’s note, don’t be surprised if you see that sentence again, but in a different contest.)

The goal was to update my blog, book a trip to Robben Island for Monday and go see the city. Little did I know how much my supposedly intricate plans depended on the weather.

Packed and prepared to go on a mini-adventure, I started watching a soccer match. Originally, I was going to stay 10 minutes...then until halftime...then until the first goal before resigning to waiting until the end of the match.

The lure of the Ghana-Serbia match is what allowed me to catch up with a handful of Americans who were also at The Backpack and Travel Center. We all ate, shared which matches we were attending and where we were from. Later, we found out that our hostel usually doesn’t have so many Americans there at one point, but it was a welcome change of pace.

We made plans to eat, but the Germany-Australia match was coming on, so three dozen people watched the game on two screens and cheered that the World Cup finally had a back-and-forth contest that produced goals.

You can’t spell globalization with out “Gooaal!”

Like so many boys I wanted to play our version of football. I saw the gladiators pummel each other on the television. The sport that taught me how to multiple by three and by seven was captivating.

Unfortunately, my parents feared I was too small to play football. Their belief was I was not big enough and didn’t display an aptitude for hitting people or being hit.

It was the summertime and they were looking for a fall sport for me to play. Then they asked me the seven words that started my obsession and are the root for my upcoming adventure: “Well, William, do you want to play soccer?”

That was 1989. Well before I knew what a World Cup was and why so many people are borderline lunatics around a simple game with even simpler rules.

Mike Shannon was my first coach and the one who convinced me that a game could be played without our hands. We wore blue jerseys with black shorts and played at a field across from the Sarasota-Bradenton International Airport that has since been turned into a Par-3 golf course.

Even as a four year old, I loved everything about the game. Thanks to Coach Shannon, I was even excited to go to practice!

Most of those days playing at Airport Field are a blur, but it was hard not to think of them as the 2010 FIFA World Cup kicks off June 11 in Johannesburg.

I will be there, in South Africa, in part because of people like my parents, Mike Shannon, Skip Arrich, my girlfriend and so many others who encouraged a love for soccer that never left — though my skills as an outfield player eventually did.

There is little questioning that Tallahassee is a football and a baseball town. What I was surprised to find out once I arrived her for college is this place has a soccer undercurrent that will sweep you up, whether one is looking for it or not.

Gadsden County’s obsession is worse than anything here in Tallahassee. The Sunday League games have a cult-like following in part because the word on the street is those are the most competitive games within 50 miles of here.

It has been said countless times that soccer will become the next big thing in America. I have gone from the clueless four-year old, to the indifferent pre-teen to the pudgy goalkeeper as an adolescent, continual bench warmer at the varsity level and weekend warrior as an adult and have yet to see the sport take off in the “mainstream” like some would hope.

It may make for an interesting conversation with my editor when I return, but I have always surmised there have been two glaring reasons why the sport has never become as covered as football, baseball and basketball.

Soccer is not a sport Americans created or dominate, at least at the men’s level. Since hands are not used for scoring—unless you are Thierry Henry—it will never compare with the big three sporting behemoths in this country.

But the game is not why I am going to Johannesburg and Cape Town. Soccer is about the cultural experience that has stopped civil wars (Cote d Ivoire), been a one-finger salute to a fascist (Spain), made national pride acceptable again (Germany) and healed a country like South Africa after years of decades of blatant racism.

Of course the sport has its seedy elements, hooligans, prissy players, uber-capitalistic carnivores and issues with refereeing — “Google Thierry Henry handball” and the hubbub over a perfect game in baseball will seem minute — yet it’s all part of the imperfect beauty of the football.

Many weekends in the fall are still spent following, covering and reading about America’s version of football. But those who know me well know which football has always been my sport.