Posted from Huntly, Waikato, New Zealand.Camped on riverbank at about 710km, big day today just made it into Huntly on dark. Rest and refuelling dai in Huntly tomorrow.Posted from Huntly, Waikato, New Zealand.

Posted from Papakura, Auckland, New Zealand.Orewa 531km then bus through Auckland to Papakura 633km. Weather is hot and humid will be on road early to avoid heat.

Posted from Dome Valley, Auckland, New Zealand.Dome Valley 494 km.

Posted from Wellsford, Auckland, New Zealand.Celebrating New Years Eve in Wellford after road walking from Mangawai (had to leave track due to flooding).

Posted from Mangawhai Heads, Northland, New Zealand.Rest day in Mangawai Heads Raining…

Posted from Marsden Point, Northland, New Zealand.Waiting out storm in Marsden Point.

Posted from Kaitaia, Northland, New Zealand.Rumours that Greg may have had a toe injury and has been resting in Kaitaia for some days. /Webpage team Posted from Kaitaia, Northland, New Zealand.

Posted from Awanui, Northland, New Zealand.87 km completed. All good except sand causing major blisters. On beach tomorrow and the into hills.Posted from Awanui, Northland, New Zealand.

Posted from Wellington, Wellington, New Zealand.At 1617km. Reading maps and repacking. Damage: 1 paper cut. Weather: Fine

Posted from Wellington, Wellington, New Zealand.Current position: Work Comment: Surfing googlemaps and planning the trip. Damage: Nil Strength: 10 out of 10

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I can't figure out whether South Africans are delusional or unbeatable. On Sunday night, Spain won the World Cup, right? But then The Star newspaper covered their front page with the headline, "SA, Spain both champions." And another South African newspaper, the Sunday Times, wrote, "They came, they saw -- we conquered." Wait, who did South Africa conquer? "We proved all the doomsayers wrong," said a caller to a radio show. "They said we couldn't pull it off," said a newspaper article. “For years, many South Africans have been told that they are inferior.” In other words, South Africans felt they had beat the odds that outsiders had stacked against them. Before the start of the World Cup, doubts had been expressed overseas of whether the country could handle such a task. Crime would rise, stadiums wouldn't be ready, transportation wouldn't work, accommodation would run out. And by the end of the event South Africans were boasting in letters to the editor that they had defeated "the detractors abroad who willed us to fail." Advertisements popped up alongside the newspaper articles: "Take a bow, South Africa," said one from the Department of Sports and Recreation. And the cellphone company MTN took out an ad that read, "Together we have shown the world what we can do when we stand united." I had noticed unity, relatively speaking. Around the soccer games there had been more of it than I had ever felt in the country. Just the fact that whites were attending soccer matches in any number was surprising. Soccer was the black sport. My friend Garth, a white South African, gushed with pride to his wife when we returned from a World Cup match, "It was great to see all the different people together, blacks, whites, Indians, tourists." During the World Cup, South Africa felt happier, freer and healthier. A Zulu guy said to me during the exciting first week of games, "The country has only been like this once before, in 1994 (when Mandela was elected)." The World Cup's arrival had certainly made some temporary impact for the good. But as the event winded down the assessments of it become exaggerated. "Africa is the dark continent no longer," said a newspaper article. Another claimed: "South Africa is now the darling of the planet." That was amusing, but it didn't stop there. An ad by the state-owned telecommunications company, Telkom, stated: "We did it, flawlessly." Come on. You did it, yes, but flawlessly? There was a security guard strike and the police had to take over at Soccer City stadium. Hundreds of fans missed their semifinal match in Durban because the airport couldn't handle the amount of traffic. Japanese journalists were mugged. An American tourist was shot and robbed while walking to his accommodation on the very day he arrived in country. Yes, things mostly functioned, and crime was so much lighter than a normal month in South Africa, but flawlessly? The final was played, and Spain beat the Netherlands, and it was all over, but the host's self-congratulations were only getting started. An ad from ABSA bank: "South Africa now has 6.6 billion fans." A headline: "Vuvuzela rules world." It grew too much for me. I was tired of hearing it, and I drove off to a game reserve near Johannesburg to get a break. I stared at a herd of wildebeests, I listened to them crunch grass as they grazed, and I recalled the opening day of the World Cup. When I was riding a bus back from the stadium that night some Mexicans and some South Africans were discussing the match which had just ended as well as different team's prospects. A young South African said, "The World Cup trophy has come to African soil and it must stay here. Even if another team wins, it doesn't matter, we will steal it from them as they get on the plane." read more

When Lerato told me that someone in Tsoeneng had a television where I could watch the semifinal between Germany and Spain I jumped at the chance. The idea of watching two European powers play World Cup soccer from an African village that had no electricity was irresistible. I had experienced World Cup 2010 matches in a variety of places already. The opening match I spent surrounded by the 85,000 other lucky people in Johannesburg's Soccer City stadium. I watched Brazil lose to Holland from the stands of Port Elizabeth's cricket stadium, which had been set up with a giant screen down on the pitch. I listened to one Japan game on a Sesotho radio station while driving. I remember the announcer saying so many times two of the player's names as they passed each other the ball: Honda, Endo, Honda, Endo. But watching a World Cup game in Tsoeneng, the village where I once lived, promised to be a very different viewing environment. I arrived at dusk and then it got dark, really dark. I was shocked by the blackness of the night that enveloped us. How quickly I had forgot what it is like to live where there is no electricity, especially during the weeks when there is no moon. I knew that there were a hundred village houses around me, but I no longer saw them; I couldn't even see my feet. Lerato lit the ground with his cellphone, and I followed closely behind as we walked up the hill to his neighbor's house, to the television. read more

In South Africa's Sunday Times newspaper the Minister of Finance, Pravin Gordhan, said that the World Cup had created 130,000 jobs. I'm not sure if that figure includes new sex workers, but the influx of mostly male foreign tourists usually means increased demand for prostitutes. Across the border in Lesotho, however, ladies of the night seem more desperate for work than usual. One crocodile, as they're locally nicknamed, pulled some hard marketing on me the other night when I passed her corner. Even though I was driving my cheap KIA Picanto rental car, all three of the crocodiles began to hoot as I pulled up to the stop sign at the intersection of Kingsway and Pioneer roads in Maseru. Then the one ran up to my window. That there is a real hooker, I thought as she waved at me. And then, just as I looked down to notice that the door was unlocked, she opened it. She proceeded to sit down in the passenger seat, close the door and look ahead – ready to go. It was only 7:30 in the evening, but Maseru is a ghost town after dark. And there were no other cars on the road at that moment. I looked at the hooker and said, “No.” She smiled at me and replied, “Yes.” “No,” I said. “I don't want.” She smiled. She looked about 20 years old, and she was wearing black jeans and a green jacket. It was cold enough to see your breath that night. There was a scar on her right cheek. “Get out,” I said. She said, “Talking?” I don't know what that meant, but I pointed to the door and repeated slowly, “Get out.” Her colleagues were looking in on us, assessing the negotiations and giggling. How am I going to get this hooker out of my car? We both sat silent for a little while until a pair of headlights approached from behind and I said to her, “The police are coming! Watch out!” But she wasn't fooled. Or she hadn't understood what I said, because she only casually turned around, and then she turned back at me and smiled again. But she at last acknowledged that I wasn't moving the car with her in it, and the car behind us was going to lose patience soon. She opened the door and got out. I drove away to the sound of three young women laughing in the night. read more

After spending so much time in cities in South Africa, obsessed with soaking up as much World Cup action as possible, it was a relief to drive back into the mountains of Lesotho. The jagged ridges of Qacha's Nek surrounded me like a buffer, as did the yellow fields of corn and sorghum which were half-harvested. But for the hum of my car, it was a quiet scene as I cruised around another bend, and then down in the fields I saw a circle of men: In unison, they raised knobkerries and smashed them down, they raised the knobkerries again, stamped their feet, and together they smashed them down. I stopped the car. What were they smashing? I walked across the road, through part of a harvested sorghum field, and saw that they were standing on a tarp and threshing a pile of sorghum heads -- separating the small round grains from the stalk. Still in unison, they drew the wooden knobkerries high and brought them down. Smash. They also sang. A couple women and a handful of girls stood nearby also watching the men, so I asked one of the girls what the men were singing about. “It's not clear,” she said. Men in Lesotho working in the fields or herding animals always sang, and they always sang like that: deeply and in mumbles so you couldn't understand the words. They were in such a rhythm that they paid no attention to the foreigner now watching them. I stared at the pile of sorghum heads convulse under their knobkerrie blows, I looked at the faces of the men covered in masks and scarves, and I floated off into a zone where I recalled the pleasures of the simple rural life I had experienced in Tsoeneng, where you worked to create food, then you ate it, you worked to create more, and then you ate it. The cycle seemed like it would get monotonous, but it never had for me. I missed it, and I was happy to be surrounded by fields again. I continued to strain to hear the words of their song. Finally, I asked the girl next to me again, “I think I hear them say: 'Ua e bona hey, khosi ea Majeremane.'” She said that now she heard the same thing. The men put down their knobkerries for a rest and one of them said to me, “You see how we thresh sorghum with the knobkerries?” “Yes, and I like your song. Are the words: 'Do you see the king of the Germans?'” He laughed. “That's right. Today we are supporting Germany, as they have a game against Spain.” The nearest village was a mile or two away, and I doubted it even had electricity. “Where do you watch the soccer?” “In the village down there, there is a TV.” While I had watched their labor and fallen into nostalgia about the simple rural life of the Lesotho countryside, they had been singing in support of the Germans in the FIFA World Cup. This event knew no limits. read more

With multiple off days between games now, a World Cup traveler in South Africa could get restive. Luckily, I've been staying with friends (thanks Garth and Yvonne) in Jeffreys Bay, where out front there is a wave that is, well, decent.

Ghana and Uruguay were tied 1-1 and in the last seconds of extra time when a Ghana player kicked the ball at the Uruguay goal. Luis Suarez of Uruguay, standing on the goal line, with nothing but the net behind him, then put both hands up and slapped the ball out of the air. He was not the goalkeeper, however, which made touching the ball with his hands on purpose a clear act of cheating. Luis Suarez cheated. The Ghana kick was a sure goal. And when the referee approached to issue a red card, Suarez was walking away, then he gave the ref a double take and dropped his jaw like, “What? Me?” If Luis Suarez hadn't cheated, Ghana would have won. Africa would have won: The entire continent had taken the Black Stars as their own; they were the last African team left in the tournament. South Africans were particularly supporting the Ghanaians, referring to the team as Baghana Baghana. Nelson Mandela wrote a personal letter to the Black Stars to wish them well. But Luis Suarez struck again. Remember, this is the same guy who faked an injury against the South African goalkeeper during the group stage, getting the goalkeeper kicked out and breaking the spirit of the South Africans, basically ending their World Cup run. On the radio today people called in and were very careful to avoid making real threats toward Suarez. One person said: “Shame on you. That's twice you've been responsible for knocking out African teams.” And another vaguely said: “Suarez should be punished.” read more

The World Cup has felt like a juggernaut, an unceasing ball of games rolling downhill over the last three weeks. Everyday there has been so much soccer to watch and read and talk about. It all stopped on Wednesday, with two days respite before the start of the quarterfinals on Friday. And my life felt aimless. I considered which quarterfinal match promises to be the most interesting. My conclusion is that if there's a battle to watch tomorrow, it's the one between Germany and Argentina. For these two powers seem close to equal at soccer play, and they also met in the quarterfinals at the 2006 World Cup, where Germany won and the teams fought on the field afterward. So there is emotion and revenge involved for Argentina. Actually, a sort of revenge is involved for Germany as well. The most recent match between the countries was held in March of this year when they played in Munich. And Argentina won that one. But according to the way he acted after the game, the score doesn't seem to feel settled for the coach of Argentina, Diego Maradona. At the post-match press conference, Maradona had to share the podium with the young German striker, Thomas Mueller, who had made his international debut in the match that day. Maradona, the legend, refused to stand beside such an unknown and stormed off. He would return to the podium only when the German had left. Mueller is unknown no longer, that's for sure. So far in this World Cup he has made quite an impression, particularly in the minds of England, whom Germany played last week. In that game Mueller scored two goals in the second half. The sight of Maradona huffing and puffing at another press conference would be priceless if Mueller has a part in sending Argentina home in the quarterfinals again in this World Cup. read more

Nelson Mandela is very close to a god in South Africa. In other parts of the world he is a well-respected statesman, with honorary awards having been given to him by institutions from Harvard University on down, but in South Africa he is beyond a man. He is above reproach, omnipresent, and his wishes are command. In a country where racial tensions still make the headlines almost daily, here is a black man whom white South Africans seem to universally speak highly of. I have heard whites say negative things about other leaders, both black and white, and both in personal conversation and on the radio and in newspapers. But not once have I heard a white say a single negative thing about Mandela. He seems above race. He is simply the father of modern South Africa. As such, Mandela is everywhere one looks. His visage is found on the five rand coin. In bookstores these days, one finds three types of reading material prominently displayed at the entrances: South Africa country guides, World Cup books and Nelson Mandela books. In Cape Town, one can see a new opera called "African Songbook: A Tribute to the Life of Nelson Mandela." Mandela's name has taken over the country's sixth-largest city; what once was Port Elizabeth is now called Nelson Mandela Bay. And in every other city I've visited in South Africa I've seen at least one street named Mandela. Johannesburg, the country's heart, even has its Nelson Mandela Square, a ritzy shopping area centered around a giant statue of the man. The house where Mandela once lived in Johannesburg is now a museum. ESPN's prime broadcasting site in Nelson Mandela Square. It is hard to believe that someone so revered and honored is still alive. Usually the clouds of distant memory are required for such things. But Mandela is set to celebrate his 92nd birthday on July 18. And it seemed it would be the culmination of his time on earth on June 11, when he was supposed to welcome in person the world's biggest sporting event to the country he struggled to bring to democracy and respect. Mandela is frail and rarely makes public appearances anymore, but in the weeks prior he had gone through medical checkups and was given the green light to attend the opening ceremonies and soccer match between Bafana Bafana and Mexico. The crowd of 85,000 at Soccer City stadium was eager to see him. I was eager to try and spot him down on the field or up in a box in the stands or wherever he might appear. And when his absence was announced there was a collective and confused holding of breaths. Then a message from Mandela was relayed to us: Still, “the game must start and we should enjoy the game.” The crowd's vuvuzelas exploded in obeyance. But it was all for Mandela, and none for the man who was actually speaking the words to the stadium and the world. For at that moment, Jacob Zuma, the current South African president, standing at a podium down on the field and in front of the cameras seemed to be only a mouthpiece for a higher figure, like a mere prophet relaying messages from above. And indeed, as instructed, we did all enjoy the game. read more

At the game between Holland and Denmark on June 14 the Danish wore red, but they were far outnumbered by the orange of Holland fans. So I didn't notice that there were 34 young blonde women seated together near the field wearing identical orange dresses. Neither did I notice when they were surrounded by stewards and forcibly removed from the stadium for “ambush marketing.” Apparently, the dresses each bore a tiny logo of the Dutch beer company, Bavaria. read more

Garth said he would root for Uruguay against South Korea because Uruguay was also from the Southern Hemisphere. Then we watched on television England play Germany. “I'd like to see the Pommies lose,” he said. “Just because they take their football so seriously. I can imagine their faces in the pubs.” We can't just watch World Cup matches. We've got to root for one team or another. And we come to root for one team for so many different – and often very personal – reasons. I met a Canadian woman named Heather who told me she was riding a bus to the stadium for a match involving Algeria and she didn't know who she was going to pull for in the game. But then a group of Algerians on the bus had decorated themselves beautifully and began singing and they taught some words to others on the bus and got the whole pack of passengers singing with them. Heather was so struck by the passion and joy of the Algerians that she committed to cheering them on for the rest of the World Cup. Another woman named Christina, who was born and raised in Peru, found herself supporting Denmark in their game against Holland. She did so for her mother's sake, for her mother is from Denmark. Sometimes it's easier to decide to root against one team instead of for another. “Anyone but Brazil” is now Becky's motto. It's not because they've won so many times before. It's because they flop more than Vlade Divac – more than pink pajamas Uruguay maybe. Becky is a former Peace Corps volunteer, and it seems Americans like her are more turned off by the acting of soccer players than fans from other nations. If the US had to lose to anyone, I didn't mind it being Ghana because way back on the second day of the World Cup I had gone to a Fan Fest park in Johannesburg to watch the US game against England, and a Ghanaian guy named Peter accompanied me. He rooted for the US as loudly as I did. I came away with sympathies for Ghana, and I wasn't so irritated when they beat us the other day. Also in that first week of World Cup matches, I bought a late ticket for an Argentina game exclusively so I could attend with a guy named Leonardo. He was staying at the same hostel as me in Johannesburg, and I'd come to really appreciate his level of interest in the event. He was a 43-year old school teacher from Buenos Aires who was always half-shaven and wore the same jacket everyday, with only his fingertips poking out from the cuffs, and in one hand was always the World Cup fixture sheet he had picked up at McDonalds, where it had lined his lunch tray. Throughout the day, he unfolded the fixture sheet and updated the scores when each match finished. But each day he also dressed in a different Argentina jersey – some baby blue for the national team, some dark blue for his favorite soccer club team back home. We arrived hours early at the match at Soccer City stadium that day so he could string up a 9-meter long banner he had made showing the name of his favorite club team, Burzaco. How could I not also feel it for Leonardo's Argentina that day? Leonardo and I hold up the Burzaco banner. read more

The Onion has a nice and satirical introduction for those new to watching World Cup soccer, “because there's so much more to the game than not using one's hands.” read more

Port Elizabeth, or the city which the new government has renamed Nelson Mandela Bay, built a stadium just for the World Cup. It's a beautiful big bowl with a white canopy covering most of the seats. The paint is fresh and the plastic seats are unscratched. But it was half empty when the teams kicked off Saturday for the first match of the Round of 16. I noticed as I checked Fifa's website that this stadium has the most available tickets of any stadium, I said to my South African friend, Garth. “I'm not surprised. The Eastern Cape is the poorest province in the country. And people are just slow to do anything here. It's just a general lassitude,” he said. Garth lives just down the road in Jeffrey's Bay, and though he's not so into soccer he said he would enjoy accompanying me to the match. The row below our seats was empty, so we could rest our legs on the backs of those seats, and to my right there was no one, so I could set my notebook and a bar of chocolate there. I appreciated the relaxed atmosphere that came with a smaller crowd, just as a change of pace. My ears appreciated there being no vuvuzelas nearby; the day before on my drive down to the Eastern Cape they had suddenly lost half their hearing, and I wondered if it didn't have anything to do with the horn blowing they had endured over the past weeks. The stadium's look was half empty, the sound was mild, and there were fewer people around wearing South Africa's yellow Bafana Bafana jerseys. The country had truly seemed on fire for the World Cup before the home team lost out last week, but the air felt so tempered now. Bafana Bafana being out might also account for the Nelson Mandela Bay stadium being less than full. On the big screens the night's attendance was announced at 30,597. The stadium has a capacity of 46,082. So, two-thirds full. I hadn't seen anyone outside the stadium selling tickets. Fifa 's strict ticket regulations probably accounted for some of the lack of attendance too. Tickets can only be legally bought through Fifa-approved providers, they can only be resold through Fifa's website, and they cannot be legally resold at all if the buyer has already printed a hard copy of the ticket. Scalpers do exist outside stadiums, as I'd seen on other nights, but they risk arrest. Still, there were four blocks of fans down in the lower seats going wild to support their countries on this night. Two blocks wore all red for South Korea and two blocks flew blue flags for Uruguay. Ugh, I had to watch the pink pajamas play again, which I hadn't known when I purchased the tickets months ago. But Garth said he would root for them since they were also from the Southern Hemisphere. I went for the South Koreans of course; many of my English students back in San Diego are from South Korea.South Koreans cover up for their national anthem.Unfortunately, Uruguay went up 2-1 in the second half, and then the physical rain started. The white canopy protected us. Only light mist occasionally reached our upper level seats, but the players got soaked and so did the lower rows of fans. Soon the bottom 15 rows were nearly cleared out and the stadium looked even emptier. Two-thirds full and draining due to the downpour. When the referee blew his whistle at 93 minutes there was only light clapping for the Uruguayan whiners, I mean winners. I continued to think of reasons for why a World Cup match in soccer crazy South Africa would only be two-thirds packed, and I got another idea when we arrived back at Garth's house. His wife said his father had called while we were gone. She told his father that we had gone to the game, to which the father replied, “They went to East London?” For that was where a rugby match was being played that night. It didn't help to fill seats at a World Cup of soccer match that the people in South Africa who have the most disposable income, the whites, are mostly interested in any sport other than soccer. read more

Tim Howard, best goalkeeper in the USA. Kelly Slater, best surfer in the USA. read more

I have attended multiple games in Johannesburg, the supposed epicenter of World Cup 2010, where the flagship stadium, Soccer City, was built and where the final will be played on July 11. But the match between South Africa and France in Bloemfontein on Tuesday had a far better audience than any of the Joburg games. Directly after kickoff, vuvuzelas went quiet. And the crowd began to sing together. The first song was “Thiba ka bona, e bolaea ntja sena.” Or the Sesotho words sounded like that: Stop these killer dogs. I didn't ask if I'd heard correctly. I didn't care, really. I was just so happy to be doing something in the stands other than listen to incessant vuvuzela drone in my ears. And the fun didn't stop there. We then clapped in unison. Then we stomped as the wave toured the stadium and we stood up and sat down. When a Bafana Bafana player dribbled dangerously close to the French goal vuvuzelas lit up, or when there was a corner kick, or after South Africa scored their first goal, vuvuzelas lit up. But the crowd at Free State Stadium didn't keep their lips locked on their horns, tooting them endlessly and mindlessly as everyone did in the Johannesburg stadiums. It was an incredibly pleasant change. I actually enjoyed hearing the vuvus come up as something exciting was about to happen. And after South Africa scored their first goal the crowd chanted together the name of the scorer, “Khumalo, Bongani.” I'd always thought Bloemfontein was a dry town in the flat and boring center of the country, but it has the greatest soccer fans. It was right that Bafana Bafana bowed out of the tournament before the best crowd. read more

The team from North Korea has got to be the most intriguing of the 2010 World Cup. And a look at the roster of the team shows that many of its members play professionally for a soccer club back home called April 25. A date is a curious name for a sports team. It turns out, however, that this date for this sports team makes a lot of sense, for April 25 is Military Foundation Day in North Korea, and North Korea is the most militarized country in the world, with about 20% of all North Korean men being in the armed forces. Further, the professional soccer team April 25 is not only named after Military Foundation Day but also actually belongs to the Korean People's Army. read more

Word was that more Americans had bought World Cup tickets than any other nationality besides South Africans. But fans in red, white and blue were hard to find when the event opened in Johannesburg. Had they decided not to come after all, or were they dressed inconspicuously? Over the first week of the World Cup I did discover a few Americans, only after I heard them speak and pinpointed their accent. Few of them were dressed like the soccer fans I'd encountered from other countries. Leonardo, my roommate at the hostel, wore a different Argentina jersey everyday. Peter, from Ghana, had a jacket colored red, yellow and green like his homeland's flag. Some German students actually wrapped themselves in their flag even as they watched a match between other teams on the television. I didn't know if American fans were afraid of terrorist plots or if they just hadn't known where to buy the US soccer team goods. At the US vs. Slovenia match at Ellis Park in Johannesburg on Friday, however, American fans appeared in full regalia, as if they had been saving the show for the stadium. There was a guy dressed as Bill Clinton, a cowboy and an Indian. There was an Elvis. One couple wore matching stars and stripes aprons. Three US fans arrived in NASA astronaut costumes. The Americans were loud too. They sang songs: “Oh when the Yanks go marching in …” and even the Biz Markie classic, “Oh baby you, you got what I need, but you say he's just a friend.” But especially there were military-style chants of U-S-A! Unlike at the Argentina vs. South Korea match I attended before, US fans did not cover the railings with banners and flags. The stadium actually looked a little empty because of that. Nor did Americans sit in colored blocks, where a thousand fans would be seated together, all in baby blue for Argentina, or red for Korea. American fans were just sprinkled throughout the stands, begging a reference to the nation's reputation as individualistic. When that Argentina vs. South Korea match had ended, the Argentine players bolted off the field for the exit. It seemed almost disrespectful. But the South Koreans acknowledged their fans with appreciation. At Ellis Park on Friday, the American national team spent even more time than the South Koreans rounding the field and clapping up into the stands, more time than any other team I'd seen thus far. Soccer is not the national sport in the US that it is elsewhere, but the US national team seemed exceptionally grateful for every American who made the trip to the other end of the world to support them. read more

Sandton FIFA Fan FestNot everyone can afford tickets to games, and no one can actually fly around South Africa to attend every match, but Fan Fest parks have been set up which are supposed to mimick the feeling of being in a stadium. There is a giant screen broadcasting the match, a grassy area to watch from, and food and drink stands around. Every host city in South Africa has a Fan Fest park set up, except for Johannesburg. Being the heart of South African soccer and the 2010 World Cup, Joburg has two FIFA Fan Fests. One is in Sandton, the wealthy suburb north of Johannesburg, and the other is in Soweto, the township made famous during the apartheid struggle. read more

I've been keeping a pansy list. It includes players which, when an opponent gets close enough, throw their hands in the air, arch their backs, roll in the grass and then look at the referee with a soap opera face while grasping their shins for dear life. Portugal's Cristiano Ronaldo is on the pansy list, and so is Oezil from Germany. France and Ghana have some players on it too, but then last night's game between South Africa and Uruguay made the list obsolete. For Uruguay tops them all. Uruguay wears pink pajamas. They spent so much time on their knees in the grass, writhing in fake pain, that the referee eventually fell for one of the acting jobs and awarded them a foul which probably ended South Africa's World Cup. Uruguay was the better team, technically. They were up a goal, and they didn't need to cheat, but they did. A Uruguayan player and the South African goalie were both running at the ball when the goalie slid, the Uruguayan jumped, and the tip of one of the goalie's cleats kissed the tip of one of the Uruguayan player's cleats. Then the Uruguayan, Luis Suarez, twisted himself in the air, spread his arms out wide and looked to the referee begging. The referee kicked out Itumeleng Khune, the South African goalie. Uruguay got a penalty kick and went up 2-0. The stands were shocked. The entire country seemed deflated. The South Africans in the room with me were silent. The television announcer stuttered until he said, “People in the country are likely to lose interest in the World Cup now.” It wasn't that Bafana Bafana was going to lose the game 2-0; it was that they got ripped off. Soon enough, the stands began emptying. The likelihood that South Africa can now make it to the next round is paper thin. I hear no more vuvuzelas outside my window. Thanks, Uruguay. I hope you sleep well in your fuzzy wuzzy pansy pants. read more

Africans were feeling optimistic about the continent's chances of competing with the best of Europe and South America after the opening match saw South Africa tie the higher-ranked Mexico. An African man on the bus that night said to me, “An African team will win the World Cup! We want the trophy to stay in Africa. Even if another team wins we will take it from them when they're getting on the plane.” But now that each of the six African teams has played its opening game, it is looking like a trophy heist might be a necessary route to keeping the Cup on the continent. Algeria lost, Nigeria lost, Cameroon lost, and Cote d'Ivoire tied. The only African team to win was Ghana, who scored their only goal on a penalty kick. Enthusiasm around Johannesburg isn't dampened, however. Many are still on a high from South Africa's Siphiwe Tshabalala having scored the first goal of the tournament, indeed the first goal overall in the first World Cup in Africa. Local newspapers are not holding back in labeling him a hero either. His mug is on the television screen every night. I'd bet hospitals are seeing newborns named Siphiwe. Nevertheless, history presents a tough soccer nut to crack for the African teams. The World Cup has been running since 1930, yet the first sub-Saharan African team to qualify was Zaire (present-day Democratic Republic of Congo) in 1974. The farthest an African team has ever gotten in the World Cup is the quarterfinals, which Cameroon made in 1990. With regard to winning it all, that's a very exclusive club. In 80 years of World Cups only seven different countries have won. Still, the advantage of the home crowd is huge. Ask England, whose only World Cup win was in 1966 on home turf. And ask France, who won for the first time in Paris in 1998. South Africa is far from home for the European and South American powers. South Africa is completely behind every African team. Even visitors, when they watch a game between an African team and a team other than their own, they wholeheartedly cheer for the Africans. This time still for Africa? read more

Behind me at Soccer City stadium yesterday sat these fans. Their team beat Denmark 2-0, so why are they so confused? There are a number of possibilities. First, are they from Holland or the Netherlands? And whatever the answer to that question, why are they called Dutch and not Hollish or Netherlanders? Second, if their flag is red, white and blue (as is painted on their cheeks), then why does their soccer team wear all orange? The blonde woman above is obviously thinking about how these colors clash, which makes her both confused and embarrassed. Finally, they keep hearing people speak English and some African languages, which they expected, but then others are speaking this weird Dutch that sounds like their great grandparents. read more

At the opening match between South Africa and Mexico I was given free earplugs at the ticket gate. “For the vuvuzelas,” the man said. “Enjoy the match, sir.” Still three hours before kickoff time the stadium was afloat in the incessant buzz of vuvuzelas and I was already annoyed. Much of the blowing was coming from people learning to play the horns; I'd seen them buy their first vuvuzela for 150 rand (about $20) from the hawkers just outside the stadium. An Indian man in a yellow Bafana Bafana jersey seated in my row was getting mostly low fart noises out of his, but he kept practicing. An old man in a yellow Bafana Bafana shirt seated just below me had brought his own earmuffs. Not every South African likes to listen to vuvuzelas, and not every South African can play one. Yet we're being told that it's tradition.

Vuvuzela“It's a beautiful noise for the beautiful game,” says a World Cup advertisement. But I spent 2003 to 2007 in Lesotho, inside South Africa, where soccer traditions are the same and I rarely heard a vuvuzela being blown at a local soccer match. I always heard them when I listened to Orlando Pirates games on the radio, for that was where vuvuzelas were used: in the stadiums of the big South African professional teams. read more

Apparently, in a game of soccer, a tie with the Americans is considered a loss to the English. They really can't accept what happened on Saturday. Immediately after the match I overheard an English teenager talking to his friends, “The Americans did nothing! They had like two shots on goal. They did nothing to earn a draw!” On the drive home I heard a radio interview with an Englishman who was likewise disgusted, blaming the “loss” on the English goalkeeper: “Green is pathetic. My mother could have stopped that goal.” And the last night I met an Englishman at the hostel here in Johannesburg whose first words to me were, “You alright, yeah?” I said I was, however he meant it. “Where are you from?” I'm from the States. California. “Ah. Our goalie gave you one, yeah?” Then he took a swig of his quart of Black Label beer and tried to sell me some pins he had made showing the US and England flags and the date of Saturday's match. read more

The national soccer teams which are competing in the World Cup have names, like South Africa's Bafana Bafana – Zulu for Boys Boys. And the team names seem to fall into a couple of categories. Some are named for colors: Les Bleus of France, Oranje of Netherlands, La Roja of Chile, and The All Whites of New Zealand. There are animals: The Elephants of Ivory Coast, The Super Eagles of Nigeria, The Three Lions of England, and better than those are The Indomitable Lions of Cameroon. Some team names are helpful, like The Black Stars of Ghana. The flag of Ghana is easy to confuse with Cameroon, unless you remember that it has a black star in the middle whereas Cameroon has a yellow one. The award for the most ridiculous name has got to go to Australia, who call themselves The Socceroos. But America seems to be the only team without a name. Although one magazine I read referred to them as The Yanks, every American I've asked isn't aware of such a name. read more

The first time the US played England in a World Cup match was 1950. This was also the first time England blessed the world with its presence at a World Cup, even though the event had been taking place for two decades already at that point. The English invented the sport, and they strutted into Brazil like heirs to the World Cup crown, arriving only two days before their first match and staying in the touristy area of Copacabana. Then the U.S. beat them 1-0. This is still considered by many to be the biggest shocker in World Cup history.

Soccer City stadium in Soweto, Johannesburg, just before the World Cup was opened. I arrived at the stadium about five hours before kickoff time. This was the kickoff of the entire World Cup, the first World Cup in Africa, after all. It was cold, windy and hazy. This was Johannesburg in the winter. The stands were empty, but I met Collins. He is from the north of South Africa, Limpopo, where his first language is Sepedi, almost the same as Sesotho. He was going to work at a food stand during the game. I asked him how much they pay him, but he said it was just volunteer work. He would be working for a wage at Peter Mokaba stadium in Polokwane, where other World Cup matches would be played, but he was told to come down and work the opening match in Johannesburg just for practice. The food stands were pretty American. They served only Coca-Cola beverages, only Budweiser beer, and the only hot food was hot dogs – except what they called a chili dog, which was a hot dog with bits of hot peppers inside. You can keep Americans off soccer, but you can't keep American businesses from making a buck off it. I bought a chili dog and asked Collins who was going to win today's game between South Africa and Mexico. "South Africa will win 3-0," he said. "I had a dream last night, and my dreams always come true. I couldn't argue with that. Collins continued, "South Africa will also make it to the quarterfinal, definitely. My dream says that in the end there is Brazil, Portugal, Spain and Argentina who will be with the trophy, but I'm not sure which one. I will keep dreaming."I circled the stadium a few times to get a sense of the place. I heard mostly English and Spanish. And though it was still three hours before kickoff, the South Africans were already blowing their horns, called vuvuzelas, incessantly. When they blew them in the face of Mexicans, the Mexicans only smiled. Everyone was just happy to be at such a momentous event. The South Africans loved the sombreros and ponchos of the Mexicans and asked to take pictures together.

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Then I entered South Africa. I took a long distance taxi from the border of Lesotho to Johannesburg, and I was a little nervous along the way because the Johannesburg taxi rank has a bad reputation. Many a Peace Corps volunteer have been mugged there. After nearly five hours of driving, the taxi pulled the city, the epicenter of World Cup 2010. Littered, dirty streets amid worn down buildings. Africans everywhere, only Africans, which in South Africa means something because in a decent part of any city in the country you have a mix of races. This was definitely not a decent part of Johannesburg. The taxi pulled into a gated dirt lot between two buildings where it stopped and men flocked to the windows and doors. A man grabbed my bag and asked, “Where are you going?” The passenger next to me, whom I had told, said, Airport. My hostel was right near the airport. “Come,” said the man, and he took my other bag and gave it to his friend. I followed them but took my small bag back because my laptop was inside. “I can carry the small one myself, it's not heavy.” read more

“This is Africa's time!” You see the slogan all over. The 2010 World Cup is meant not only to benefit South Africa, but the entire continent, as the first time the event has ever been held on African soil. To this end, FIFA, the organizer of the World Cup, has for the first time allowed countries neighboring the host to accommodate some of the visiting national teams. So Zimbabwe long ago committed over $200 million to the widening of a highway to Johannesburg, plus renovating airports and hotels. Botswana built a new airport and soccer stadiums. But Lesotho is only now in the midst of revamping its national soccer stadium, Setsoto, as requested by a visiting FIFA delegation back in 2008. So the only country which is literally surrounded by South Africa and the World Cup action will also be the one entirely missing out on direct benefits. read more

When I got to the taxi rank for my ride down to Tsoeneng, the village I lived in for three years, a taxi driver recognized me. “Where have you been hiding yourself?” he asked. I recognized him, too. And the next thing ntate Nchebe asked is, “You're going to drive OK?” I used to enjoy getting behind the wheel of the taxis on the Tsoeneng route, and the passengers always thought it was entertaining when I drove, too. But I told ntate Nchebe I was tired. “I traveled a long way to get here. I'm just going to ride today.” Returning to Tsoeneng after being back in America for two years was something I had often thought about. I had received some news in America. I knew that the chief had passed away. And the owner of the village shop, Motsie, had also died. But who else will not be there? Who has since arrived? How much can a little village in Africa change in a few years? read more

After hearing what happened at the World Cup tune-up match between Nigeria and North Korea on Sunday, I learned a little about how to avoid getting trampled over the next month. 1. Dress for comfort and speed, not style. Wear closed toe shoes and pants. 2. Resist the temptation to try and get into the stadium first by gathering at the gate just before opening. 3. Go your own way. If you follow the others, you'll be battling. Better to take a different route if possible, maybe on the outer edge of the pack. Best of luck to me! read more

Passengers loading into a taxi named Ntate, or Father.

The most intimidating place in Lesotho has always been the Maseru taxi rank. It's where all of the public transportation starts and ends for destinations across the country. Especially in the late afternoons, when everyone is off work or out of school, it can be packed with people on the move, taxis and buses loading or unloading, and sellers of goods. The roads and alleyways often wind and dead end, making it difficult to navigate. Stores blast music to add to the din. Men get drunk and fight. Petty criminals roam. I'd never had the courage to photograph it. read more

Sign says: Do not pee here. It is against the law.I walked up behind a group of four women and then stepped onto Caledon Road to pass them. They were walking so slowly, balancing on one foot like a flamingo each time before putting the next one down. One woman carried a large sack on her head. Another turned to me as I came up beside them and said, “We are looking for work.” read more

From my house I walked to the road, and then I walked up the road to the shop. There I found a taxi. It would take me to Maseru, the capital. Taxis in Lesotho are white Toyota sixteen-seater vans. This one had "King of the Boys" painted on the front. After I sat down in the second row I saw a sticker on the first row's door: "Fat people are not wanted up front." I guess they must crowd the driver. Sure enough, two skinny men were sitting next to him. read more

Upon completion of my medical exam with the Peace Corps nurse, I was handed a form: Authorization for Payment of Medical Services. It read that the US government would pay a psychologist or psychiatrist for "three one hour sessions" once I returned to America. Below that it continued, "Problems/Symptoms: Lived in Africa for 3 years as a Peace Corps Volunteer."