It was the best of times (again), it was the worst of times (again), but what was the best in Durban was the worst in Rustenburg and what was the worst was the best.

The worst: we finally hit the Africa that people feared, the traffic snarls that were standstill tending to outright gridlock. There haven’t been too many TIA* moments on the trip, all in all things have gone relatively swimmingly, but getting into Rustenburg was definitely one. After the uber-relaxo we’re-all-at-the-beach-man vibe of Durban where we walked to the ground in an indulgent stroll, being beholden to the lack of a traffic management plan in the high velt was bad.

We had been warned of this breed of chaos affecting some of the grounds and as we sat there in the bus stressed that we were going to miss the kick off, frustrated by the incompetence and inefficiencies, by the cops milling around impotently, the thought that we were totally spoilt in Durban was not very comforting. Fortunately for us our tour guide cum cultural attaché cum saviour Carl aka The Jackal somehow wrangled us through the last stage blockade that was turning back the tide without exception and our bus made it all the way to the stadium ensuring that we were seated just before the anthems rang out.

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