Last week, driving on the highway, attempting to violently overtake rude/loud/mole-woman from the supermarket aisle, a series of stationed police vehicles had me fervently hit the breaks.
The traffic slowed, and I watched on as a halo of blue lights ceremoniously escorted an intercape bus down the N2, and into Cape Town.
Taking a moment to snap out of my rude/loud/mole-woman-motivated animosity, it dawned on me – the World. Cup. Teams. Are. Arriving.
As cliche as it may be to read, it’s been nothing but humbling to see Cape Town officially catch the Fifa fever. A rudely enormous vuvuzela is perched on the end of one of our (unmistakably-Cape Town) unfinished bridges; The V&A Waterfront has become magically furnished with a ferris wheel overnight; Beefcakes is now serving take-away burgers in football-themed boxes and Somerset Road’s resident beggar has a little extra wind in his sails – now that a South African flag dances off the back of his wheelchair.
And my personal favourite: the vuvuzela-armed beggars, with signs that hilariously read, “will blow for bucks”.
Cape Town has armed itself with a free fan-walk (a treasure hunt of minstrel carnivals and grand parades, on the way to Greenpoint stadium) and the Cape Town International Airport has become a circus of football fanatic gear and camera flashes.
And in the wild West traffic it dawned on me, that The Mother City’s become all a-glow, since our small democracy opened it’s doors and laid out the red carpet to the world 🙂