In search of a good beer and a McDonald's

Rustenburg Travel Blog

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                The glow of my watch indicates that it is 3:30 am and that I am now in the early hours of Monday, June 13, 2010.  I press the “Indiglo” button again hoping that maybe this time it can tell me how I became stranded in a driverless minibus taxi along Rustenburg’s Nelson Mandela Drive.  A wishful glance at my wrist only informs me that it is now 3:32 am, still Monday and still stuck, sandwiched between two passed out English football fans.   I’m also minus the American that I went out with.  The view out the van’s window shows me that the cause of our traffic delay has made it a couple blocks—on foot—while our wheels remained motionless.  A drunken British guy and an irate South African driver have taken their payment dispute to the streets, yelling at each other in a language the other doesn’t comprehend.  Less than 24 hours earlier, I was rising from a comfortable bed in Cape Town.  Now, I am a mere 6 blocks from a drink, a bed and that warm, fuzzy feeling that being safe could bring. 

                “Seriously, how did I end up here?  More importantly, how the hell did I lose Alex?”

June 12, 2010

Cape Town, South Africa, 6:30 am

                I’m fairly alert despite the odds.  I’ve been awake for two hours, following only a few hours of sleep since attending my first World Cup match at Green Point Stadium the night before.  I had watched France and Uruguay play to a boring 0-0 draw and am excited to see the US play England tonight.  All I have to do is catch a two hour flight to Johannesburg, rent a car, drive on the wrong side of the road for 200 kilometers and I’ll be there.  Sounds easy.

Johannesburg, South Africa

9:30 am

                The line to the Budget Rental Car counter is ridiculously long.  By my estimate, 90% of the customers-to-be are either British or American and on their way to Rustenburg for tonight’s match.  Good thing for me, I’ve already met up with Alex, a fellow American who answered my rideshare post on Couchsurfing.com.  We’re still waiting on two more passengers, but decided to get in line now before it stretches into tomorrow.  So far Alex seems pretty cool—increasing the odds of him being a good passenger to keep me on the left, and thus, the right side of the road.  Finally have keys to car in hand, along with a British and Canadian girl to fill out the Audi A4. This road trip will start as soon as I figure out how to get keyless key to start the car.  It’s been 5 minutes and I still haven’t managed to get out of the parking lot.  My passengers look worried.

Somewhere on the R24, South Africa

12:00 pm

                Oh crap, a cop behind me just turned on his lights.  I glance at the speedometer—I’m going 120 KM—I have no idea how fast that is or even what the speed limit is.  I don’t know if I should pull over to the right, or cross lanes and pull over on the left shoulder.  Do I even have enough Rand in cash on me to pay the cop off if it comes to that?  Amidst my rising panic, one of the girls tells me to get into the left lane—the cop only turned his lights on because I’m driving too slowly.  One speed limit sign later, I realize that even though I was speeding slightly, I was too slow by South African standards.  I’m learning a lot on the drive.  In South Africa, the slow drivers need to keep to the left lane, not the right as I am used to.  Those vehicles that are driving slower than the speed limit will drive along the shoulder so others can pass at ease.  If you take one these drivers up on their passing offer, you’re supposed to flash your hazards as a thank you.  Where were these lessons in all the guide books I read?

Rustenburg , South Africa

2:00 pm

                I’m still patting myself on the back.  I might give myself a standing “O” later on—haven’t quite decided on that one yet.  I’ve been at the Traveler’s Inn for almost an hour and arrived without a scratch on me, my passengers and most importantly, the car.  My 3 co-pilots have ended their search for a bed.  There really aren’t any hotels in Rustenburg and finding lodging was proving more difficult than they imagined.  I think they plan to sleep in the car, which is fine by me.  I booked my bed a couple months ago and am thankful not to be in their situation.  The four of us are already a couple beers into our stay.  The Inn has a very laid-back atmosphere and bar.  By the time we arrived, the place was already packed with people going to the match and we’re doing our best to catch up to them.  I meet up with Jeff, who sold me his extra ticket –per another Couchsurfing arrangement we made a month earlier.  The owner thinks that the transaction merits shots—some disgusting, cough syrup tasting purple liquid later—we agree never to drink that again. 

6:00 pm

                T-minus 2.5 hours before game time.  The outside of the stadium is filling up with rivalry induced chants:  “Johannesburg, Rustenburg, Pretoria and Durban, if it weren’t for US, you’d be speaking German,”  “God save the Queen….”  I can’t say I understand this supposed rivalry with England.  For starters, we’re allies, so most of our time together has been spent on the same side of the line.  We rarely play each other in sports, so really, no competition there.  I guess if you want to get technical and go back to the Revolutionary War, then yes, we’re enemies and yes, the United States is dominating this rivalry.  If I’m going to throw my 2 cents into the mix, I think I’m going to need another beer. 

5 minutes later…

                What do you mean the only beer I can get is Budweiser?  Thank you Anheuser-Busch for being the official sponsor of the World Cup and limiting me to drinking a beer that tastes like it came from the Mississippi River.  I suck it up and pay the 6 Rand for the beer.  A few minutes later I begin debating with the enemy if we’re going to be watching a soccer match or a football match.  You know what, debates are a lot more fun when there’s cool accents involved.  I might let this guy win the argument because of that—maybe, but probably not.

9:10 pm

                Ugh, we’re down 1-0 and Clint Dempsey just took another half-assed attempt at the goal.  England’s goalie Robert Green has already jumped on it.

Still 9:10 pm

                Wait a minute! Is that ball rolling into the back of the net?  I thought Green had the ball.  That counts as a goal right?  Holy crap, we just tied the game 1-all.  I seriously wish that the scoreboard in this stadium worked so I could see the replay.  Doesn’t matter though, the PA just announced the goal, so Robert Green’s gaff turns into our gain.  God might be able to save the Queen, but I don’t know if he’ll be able to save Green from the wrath of England tomorrow.

11:00 pm

                Alex and I head out to the bus stand to catch a ride back to the park and ride so we can catch a cab back to the Inn.  We had to go about 10 busses down before we’re able to squeeze into one.  I’m beginning to have a new-found appreciation for what sardines have to go through.  At least they’re put out of their misery before being canned.  The driver lets us know that it’ll be at least two hours before we get out of the stadium parking lot.  Alex and I decide to get off and head to the pub at the end of the street.  We figure we can stand for two hours smelling the people around us or we can spend two hours drinking beer.  It was surprisingly easy choice for us to make.

June 13, 2010

Rustenburg, South Africa, 2:30 am

                Man, I haven’t had this much fun in a long time.  I was a little upset that the only beer the bar hadn’t run out of was Miller Genuine Draft, but I met a nice British guy willing to give me the last of his Carling Black Labels.  Nothing against MGD, but I didn’t fly half way around the world to be forced to drink Budweiser in the stadiums and then MGD, a beer from my home state, at the pubs. 

This bar is packed with Americans and Brits looking for another beer and locals looking for a foreigner to pay their bills.  I’ve had a long conversation with one lady and her husband who decided it was best for her to hit on the British guys.  After all, the US economy isn’t the greatest at the moment.  They did consider Alex as a potential buyer since he was the one flashing his money around the most.  He’s already bought every local a beer, but they still think they’ll have better luck with the British guys.  There’s also a DJ outside and a dance party that is beginning to wrap up.  I’ve had my camera out for the past two hours taking pictures and finally am forced to put it away.  A majority of the locals think I’m a journalist and will be putting them on TV.  I’ve endured a lot of grabs by people asking the “Camera Lady” to take their picture.  It was fun to start with, but now I’m beginning to feel uncomfortable.   I wonder where Alex is?

2:35 am

                I can’t find Alex anywhere.  In fact, all that’s left here are 3 drunk and 2 high British guys.  I’m the only non-local girl left and my drinking partner in crime is missing in action.  I decide quickly that my best bet is to team up with the 3 drunken British guys to try to find my way back to the Inn in Rustenburg.  The guys agree with calculations and we head off to figure a way out. 

2:45 am

                The guys and I get pretty lucky when a minibus taxi stops outside the bar.  We quickly run over and ask the driver if he can get us to where we’re staying.  The guy in the passenger seat assures us he can get us to our destinations.  No matter the fact that the driver doesn’t speak English and his translator doesn’t exactly understand where we’re going.  I look at the Brits and let them know that even if they’re only going a couple minutes away, I’m getting dropped off first.  No way that I’m being left alone in the van in the middle of the night.  We agree to get into the van and just take it from there. 

                We’re ushered in by a British guy, who I namedl Joe, sitting in the 2nd row of the van.  According to Joe, he’s been in this van for over an hour trying to find a McDonald’s.  So far no luck, but he’s got a good feeling about this next go at it.  The driver says that this ride will cost us 450 Rand.  The four of us don’t agree on the price and we decide to get out.  Now Joe is screaming at us to stay in the van so he can get to a McDonald’s.  The driver quickly drops his price down to 150 Rand for the lot of us.  We agree to stay along for the ride.

3:15 am

                This has got to be the longest cab ride ever.  I don’t get it.  The driver stops every 20 feet to pick up whoever is walking alongside the road.  Guys get in and 10 feet later, they get out.  Joe continues to voice his displeasure over being in the van and more importantly, still no Happy Meal in his hand.  I now have two of the Brits passed out on my shoulders—one drooling and one snoring.  To top it off, I can’t stop worrying about Alex.  I told him he was an idiot for spending his money so openly.  I’m picturing him in a ditch sans his wallet.  If I only I had decided to leave earlier, we’d probably be together back at the Inn reveling in the US’s non-loss that night. 

3:30 am

                I’m finally able to get the driver to turn onto Nelson Mandela Drive.  I now know where I am and for the first time in an hour feel confident that I’m going to make it back to my bed in one piece.  I estimate that we have about 6 blocks to go, when the driver suddenly stops the van in the middle of the street.  The co-pilot turns around and informs Joe, “You know what, I don’t think there is a McDonald’s around here.”  I’m not lying when I say smoke started to come out of Joe’s ears.  He slides open the door and starts to make a run for it.  The driver must have anticipated this, because he jumped out the same time Joe did and started chasing him.  I was the only person in the van fazed by this.  Thing 1 and Thing 2 are still passed out on my shoulders. 

“Seriously, how did I end up here?  More importantly, how the hell did I lose Alex?”

3:45 am

The driver gave up his chase on Joe and decided to cut his losses.  I’m now back at the Inn being let in the gate by the owner.  He senses my trouble and offers me a free drink at the still-packed bar.  I take him up on his offer and let him know that I left without Alex.  He suggests I finish my drink, head to bed and in the morning if Alex hasn’t turned up we’ll call the cops.  I reluctantly agree to go to bed, but I don’t think I’m going to sleep.

6:00 am

I wake up to discover Alex passed out on the couch in my room.  True to my warnings, he had been robbed at knife point by some of the locals.  He had a false sense of security that they were enjoying each others' company, when he agreed to head to another pub with them.  He might be out some money, but at least he was safe. 

I start the process of packing up and preparing to leave.  I still have the British and the Canadian girls’ things in my rental car.  I haven’t seen them since the day before when we headed to the match in separate groups.  Great, one search finally ends and another one begins…

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Rustenburg
photo by: kiwicarol