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.
Showing posts with label Durban. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Durban. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
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.
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.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Casual Friday 2.0
JOHANNESBURG-- Friday was perhaps the longest day of my trip to date.
My day started in Durban at 4:45 a.m. and ended here a little before 2 a.m. In between I caught a flight, met a new friend, watched a tremendous soccer match at Ellis Park, got lost on the streets of Joburg and caught up with some Americans at my accommodation.
It was an incredible pace, but one that has made my adventures here in South Africa absolutely incredible so far.
After losing my cool at the airport, I ran into a woman from New York who was the most fun a person traveling could ask for. We went to the mall to buy warmer clothes, at lunch together and caught a taxi to Ellis Park for the US vs. Slovenia match.
Dominique and I were truly two Americans abroad. We laughed about our families, friends, and our love for the sights we have seen on our respective journeys.
As for the match, it was arguably the most exciting group match to date. Both teams attacked, both scored goals, there were crunching tackles, play acting from the Slovenians after being dispossessed, and an atmosphere that was unique to the World Cup.
Fortunately for me all the goals were scored on the north end. My seats were about 10 rows up on the East side of Ellis Park in an even line with the penalty area on the North end. (I was no more than 70 feet away from the pitch.)
With the United States in search of two second half goals, my perch was perfect for seeing the runs people were making off the ball, watching Jozy Altidore develop as a target striker and watch in pure euphoria when Michael Bradley scored the tying goal. (Had Altidore's goal counted, I would still be drenched in beer from the spraying that took place in my section!)
Unlike the game in Rustenburg, I didn't lose my voice after the match. I was too busy shooting pictures and videos to truly lose my voice this time. Plus, I was trying to watch my mouth because the referee from Mali was out of his depth in the match and it was evident to everyone in the stadium.
It took 90 minutes for me to set up my transport from the game out to my accommodation, but it allowed me to grab some food and speak with a few more South Africans. The longer I stay here, the more I think South Africans could be honorary southerners for all the hospitality they have shown me.
It would be fashionable to complain about the cold weather here, but I later found out that Johannesburg experienced record low temperatures during the first week of the World Cup. (For once, something here that FIFA had no control over, nor could they take the credit away from South Africa!)
Durban was billed as the "warmest place to watch the World Cup." It may have been a true statement, but the cold, dry air of Johannesburg is what got my blood going for a Friday unlike any other.
My day started in Durban at 4:45 a.m. and ended here a little before 2 a.m. In between I caught a flight, met a new friend, watched a tremendous soccer match at Ellis Park, got lost on the streets of Joburg and caught up with some Americans at my accommodation.
It was an incredible pace, but one that has made my adventures here in South Africa absolutely incredible so far.
After losing my cool at the airport, I ran into a woman from New York who was the most fun a person traveling could ask for. We went to the mall to buy warmer clothes, at lunch together and caught a taxi to Ellis Park for the US vs. Slovenia match.
Dominique and I were truly two Americans abroad. We laughed about our families, friends, and our love for the sights we have seen on our respective journeys.
As for the match, it was arguably the most exciting group match to date. Both teams attacked, both scored goals, there were crunching tackles, play acting from the Slovenians after being dispossessed, and an atmosphere that was unique to the World Cup.
Fortunately for me all the goals were scored on the north end. My seats were about 10 rows up on the East side of Ellis Park in an even line with the penalty area on the North end. (I was no more than 70 feet away from the pitch.)
With the United States in search of two second half goals, my perch was perfect for seeing the runs people were making off the ball, watching Jozy Altidore develop as a target striker and watch in pure euphoria when Michael Bradley scored the tying goal. (Had Altidore's goal counted, I would still be drenched in beer from the spraying that took place in my section!)
Unlike the game in Rustenburg, I didn't lose my voice after the match. I was too busy shooting pictures and videos to truly lose my voice this time. Plus, I was trying to watch my mouth because the referee from Mali was out of his depth in the match and it was evident to everyone in the stadium.
It took 90 minutes for me to set up my transport from the game out to my accommodation, but it allowed me to grab some food and speak with a few more South Africans. The longer I stay here, the more I think South Africans could be honorary southerners for all the hospitality they have shown me.
It would be fashionable to complain about the cold weather here, but I later found out that Johannesburg experienced record low temperatures during the first week of the World Cup. (For once, something here that FIFA had no control over, nor could they take the credit away from South Africa!)
Durban was billed as the "warmest place to watch the World Cup." It may have been a true statement, but the cold, dry air of Johannesburg is what got my blood going for a Friday unlike any other.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
The Youth of a Nation
Apartheid had devastating effects on all elements of South African life. Many people lost their rights, freedoms, livelihoods and even lives as they struggled to overthrow this divisive and racist form of governance.
One of the most telling such instances took place in Soweto on this date in 1976. Scores of youths, school-aged children, were killed as they protested apartheid and their requirement to learn Afrikaans. To remember their commitment to “the struggle” South Africa considers June 16 Youth Day.
It’s a holiday that caught many foreigners completely by surprise. But as President Jacob Zuma said in a nationally televised speech today, the World Cup allows the country to share this unique day in its history with the world.
Every country knows that its prosperity is tied up in the fortunes of its youth. For South Africa a country less than a generation into democratic rule the youth take on a broader significance to the health of the republic. People and politicians agree about this, more so the people than the politicos.
During breakfast Wednesday morning in Port Elizabeth Linda and Joe, a couple on holiday from Johannesburg, spoke about the importance of youth and how much South Africa has changed in just 16 years.
South Africa still has its issues, but the vacationing couple was insistent that so much has changed since democracy usurped divisiveness here. Maybe South Africans are playing nice for the tourists, but there is not as much readily apparent division here as there is in the United States. Linda and Joe buttressed that observation with their comments over omelets and toast.
Sports have brought this country together even more.
Sports always have a way of bringing people together, but this World Cup will likely have more of a lasting impact here, even if the Bafana Bafana don’t qualify for the knockout stages, than victory in the 1995 Rugby World Cup (think of the movie Invictus) or winning the 1996 African Cup of Nations on home soil.
So what does soccer, and its long history of inclusiveness, have to do with Youth Day?
Wednesday night in Durban a little boy, no older than four, was dancing and playing his vuvuzela. No one bothered to mention or care that he looked any different from them — with the exception his Bafana Bafana shirt was smaller.
One of the most telling such instances took place in Soweto on this date in 1976. Scores of youths, school-aged children, were killed as they protested apartheid and their requirement to learn Afrikaans. To remember their commitment to “the struggle” South Africa considers June 16 Youth Day.
It’s a holiday that caught many foreigners completely by surprise. But as President Jacob Zuma said in a nationally televised speech today, the World Cup allows the country to share this unique day in its history with the world.
Every country knows that its prosperity is tied up in the fortunes of its youth. For South Africa a country less than a generation into democratic rule the youth take on a broader significance to the health of the republic. People and politicians agree about this, more so the people than the politicos.
During breakfast Wednesday morning in Port Elizabeth Linda and Joe, a couple on holiday from Johannesburg, spoke about the importance of youth and how much South Africa has changed in just 16 years.
South Africa still has its issues, but the vacationing couple was insistent that so much has changed since democracy usurped divisiveness here. Maybe South Africans are playing nice for the tourists, but there is not as much readily apparent division here as there is in the United States. Linda and Joe buttressed that observation with their comments over omelets and toast.
Sports have brought this country together even more.
Sports always have a way of bringing people together, but this World Cup will likely have more of a lasting impact here, even if the Bafana Bafana don’t qualify for the knockout stages, than victory in the 1995 Rugby World Cup (think of the movie Invictus) or winning the 1996 African Cup of Nations on home soil.
So what does soccer, and its long history of inclusiveness, have to do with Youth Day?
Wednesday night in Durban a little boy, no older than four, was dancing and playing his vuvuzela. No one bothered to mention or care that he looked any different from them — with the exception his Bafana Bafana shirt was smaller.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
The prologue...to an upset stomach
Wednesday began with my stomach grumbling and concluded that way. All the excitement of going to South Africa was replaced with a timid faith that I would really be traveling 8,000 miles away to fulfill the most ambitious dream of my life.
My girlfriend and I drove to the airport unusually quiet. Both of us were nervous for totally different reasons. After waking up late, she was flying toward Jacksonville International Airport so I did not miss my flight.
Meanwhile, I was collecting my thoughts and internalizing my nerves.
We arrived with enough time to exhale, take a picture and give each other one final hug before I went through the security maze and over the cliff in the biggest test of faith in my life.
Moments before my 6:15 flight, I sent a text to the 10 tech-savvy people I am closest to. "The prologue: Jacksonville to New York."
Maybe, it's because I do not fly that frequently, but the precursor to my first international traveling was more accommodating than any domestic flight I had ever taken.
At John F. Kennedy, I truly acted like a tourist. From looking around, getting my bearings, to finding baggage claim, to wasting three trips--and 20 precious minutes--at the currency exchange to looking harried during the security checkpoint I was releasing all the habits I was warned not to exhibit in Johannesburg or Cape Town in the friendly confines of New York City.
The layover in New York was probably the best thing that could have happened to me. I have always had the stereotype that New Yorkers are not the type to pity, or tolerate, foolish people. The people at JFK were true to form.
I grabbed a quick breakfast just as my flight was going to board after giving final assurances to my girlfriend and my brother and his wife that I would be safe. It was obvious Emirates was making a killing off the World Cup, specifically my 11,469 kilometer flight from New York to Dubai.
On my flight I saw a handful of Argentina jerseys, a man wearing a Ji Sung Park jersey, a bunch of Mexico fans, someone who had the number 10 shaved on both sides of his head, two Cameroon fans, a man in a Bafana Bafana jersey and a few people in the U.S. track jacket that I wanted to buy but would have made me a walking target.
At 11 a.m. Wednesday my life changed forever when I walked into the gate and on my way to Africa. After 23 hours and 54 minutes I finally landed on African soil — albeit in Durban, not my final destination Johannesburg.
The flight to Johannesburg was quick. Finding my luggage was not. If I had not already purged half the food I ate on my three flights en route to the City of Gold, I would have done so when South African Airlines told me they could not locate my bag.
Eventually, my bag was located — with just a slight bit of stress. Hopefully my appetite and stomach will follow suit.
My girlfriend and I drove to the airport unusually quiet. Both of us were nervous for totally different reasons. After waking up late, she was flying toward Jacksonville International Airport so I did not miss my flight.
Meanwhile, I was collecting my thoughts and internalizing my nerves.
We arrived with enough time to exhale, take a picture and give each other one final hug before I went through the security maze and over the cliff in the biggest test of faith in my life.
Moments before my 6:15 flight, I sent a text to the 10 tech-savvy people I am closest to. "The prologue: Jacksonville to New York."
Maybe, it's because I do not fly that frequently, but the precursor to my first international traveling was more accommodating than any domestic flight I had ever taken.
At John F. Kennedy, I truly acted like a tourist. From looking around, getting my bearings, to finding baggage claim, to wasting three trips--and 20 precious minutes--at the currency exchange to looking harried during the security checkpoint I was releasing all the habits I was warned not to exhibit in Johannesburg or Cape Town in the friendly confines of New York City.
The layover in New York was probably the best thing that could have happened to me. I have always had the stereotype that New Yorkers are not the type to pity, or tolerate, foolish people. The people at JFK were true to form.
I grabbed a quick breakfast just as my flight was going to board after giving final assurances to my girlfriend and my brother and his wife that I would be safe. It was obvious Emirates was making a killing off the World Cup, specifically my 11,469 kilometer flight from New York to Dubai.
On my flight I saw a handful of Argentina jerseys, a man wearing a Ji Sung Park jersey, a bunch of Mexico fans, someone who had the number 10 shaved on both sides of his head, two Cameroon fans, a man in a Bafana Bafana jersey and a few people in the U.S. track jacket that I wanted to buy but would have made me a walking target.
At 11 a.m. Wednesday my life changed forever when I walked into the gate and on my way to Africa. After 23 hours and 54 minutes I finally landed on African soil — albeit in Durban, not my final destination Johannesburg.
The flight to Johannesburg was quick. Finding my luggage was not. If I had not already purged half the food I ate on my three flights en route to the City of Gold, I would have done so when South African Airlines told me they could not locate my bag.
Eventually, my bag was located — with just a slight bit of stress. Hopefully my appetite and stomach will follow suit.
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