South Africa

My quest to see the world continues…..

About a day and a half ago I commenced the long, long trek to South Africa to visit a friend of mine who is working there for the summer. And, of course, to engage in the hooplah and mayhem known as the 2010 FIFA World Cup.

The journey began with an overnight flight to London where I had a 12 hour stopover and a chance to see the city for the first time. Anyone who knows me is aware of my mild, ok, SERIOUS obsession over British accents. I can’t pinpoint precisely why, but I absolutely ADORE them. Everything said in that accent just sounds right. Think about it –picture a New Yorker who approaches you and says “1+1=4” –you'd call them an idiot and walk away right? But a British person who affectionately says “Dawling, stop scratchin your head about it, 1+1= 4” -but of course!

The city of London itself is beautiful, perhaps I lucked out by arriving on a gorgeous sunny day, but London is just so romantic. Cobblestone roads, ancient European architecture, double-decker buses and of course –friendly people who speak with lovely accents. Did I mention the accent? A facebook friend of mine acted as my tour guide and we walked around the city visiting Piccadilly Circus, Buckingham Palace, Big Ben, the Thames River and engaging in some fine outdoor dining in Covent Gardens. Not surprisingly, I fell in love with London. It was like a whirlwind romance that lasted 12 short hours before suddenly abandoning you, leaving you feeling heartbroken yet desperately yearning for more. (Sigh) I cannot wait to go back.

I returned to Heathrow airport to catch my connecting flight to Johannesburg. As I entered the boarding area, I was not prepared for the scene that appeared before me. Hundreds of men and a few women filled the boarding area decked out, I mean DECKED OUT head to toe in soccer gear. As I walked in I saw nothing but a sea of people wearing jerseys from England, France, Ghana, the US and more. Men had their faces painted with team colours, women and children carried flags representing the team they supported most. It was fanaticism at its finest.

I sat next to a loud group of London born Jamaicans who's banter had me trying to conceal my laughter as they went back and forth between their English accent and random bits of Jamaican patois. Ironically, we were seated together on the flight and spent the next 11 hours talking and sharing knowledge about history, culture and music. I’m the world’s #1 self professed lover of 80s music, and as the plane made its descent into Johannesburg, I switched my iPod to Toto’s classic hit “Africa”, while the Jamaican born Brits sat next to me singing the reggae hit “Hello Mama Africa, How Are You, I’m Feelin Fine and I Hope You’re Fine Too”. I shook my head and laughed.

It was 8:00 a.m. when we landed and the pilot reported a frigid temperature of 8 degrees celcius. The airport was freezing! I got my luggage and went through the gates where I was met by at least a dozen young women who screamed “Welcome to South Africa!” World Cup fever hit me instantly. Johannesburg welcomed the world with huge ribbons advertising the games. South Africans greeted their guests with warmth, offering FIFA welcome packages and tour guide information. The airport had massive displays of soccer nets and kids took turns practicing their best shots. It was clear that Joburg was ready to host the world.

In spite of not having slept in nearly a day, the buzz and excitement masked my fatigue. I dropped off my bags and my friend and I headed to Nelson Mandela square to watch the games live on the big screen in an open air fan park where hundreds and hundreds of locals and tourists gather to watch the games. The airport boarding area was nothing in comparison to the groups of fans in the square who not only had their faces painted, but sported curly afro clown wigs spray painted to represent their team’s colours. I even saw one woman wearing nothing but a large flag drapped around her! Considering that it was about 5 degrees celcius, I’m sure you can guess what part of her anatomy was uh, pointing outward –lol.

We kept the festivities going and by night we found ourselves at a club where the DJ played nothing but American crunk music, dancehall reggae and every song ever written by Toronto’s own Drake –the locals and tourists couldn’t seem to get enough of it and sang every line of every verse at the top of their lungs. Drake is a worldwide phenomenon.

Midway through the night I left Nessa to go to the restroom. When I returned, I realized that she had been accosted by a tall fair-skinned man with long dreadlocks. I made nothing of it, as she is very beautiful and I'm quite accustomed to hoards of men doting on her whenever we get together. She's a well educated young woman, proudly Jamaican (the only person who sports a Jamaican flag at FIFA events even though The Reggae Boyz didn't make it to this World Cup), and has lived and worked in over 10 countries around the world. She's the perfect marriage of brains and beauty -that's Nessa. Back to the story -when the tall dreaded man turned around I thought he looked vaguely familiar. Moments later another dreadlocked man approached us with a bottle of champagne and handed us glasses. Nessa toasted to hopes that The Reggae Boyz would make it to the next World Cup and we all said cheers. They then casually introduced themselves to me as Rohan and Ziggy, sons of the late great Bob Marley. Leave it to Nessa to attract the only other Caribbean blood in the club (something about that line sounds like a rap song, "Caribbean blood in the club").

I left Nessa and the Marleys and walked over to the lounge area where it was a little less packed and met a guy from California named Rico. He's a die hard soccer fan and has attended the past few World Cup games in South Korea, Japan, Germany and now, South Africa. As we were talking he indicated he was with his two friends who were clearly intoxicated and against the wall doing some hardcore grinding with a couple of South African women. In the middle of our conversation one of them started making out with his bump and grind partner, and he rushed over to stop them. When he returned, I asked him what was up with the "kissing prevention patrol" move, and he explained that although they are 3 young attractive single guys, someone has to be on watch. This isn’t Germany, South Africa has one of the world’s highest HIV rates and each night one of them has to be sober enough to stop the others from engaging in high-risk sexual behaviour. Before I even had a chance to respond Rico darted off again as his other friend was walking outside of the club holding his dance partner’s hand. I thought to myself, it takes a man to come to Africa to curb what would otherwise be a month-long trip full of one-night stands and other debauchery, wow.

It’s now 4:00 a.m. and I am exhausted and cold. Most South African homes are not insulated, so when indoors you have to dress in layers and keep a heater near the bed or sleep with an electric blanket to stay warm. Thank goodness I have both.

I have one rule about travel, I never leave home for colder weather. By coming to South Africa during their winter season I have clearly broken my one cardinal rule –but damnit it’s the 2010 World Cup, and so far, it’s been worth it ☺

Tomorrow –it’s Safari time –stay tuned!