TIA: This Is Africa

Every so often, I find myself embroiled in some sort of crazy situation in South Africa and think to myself: "This isn't really going to plan." Thankfully, however, such scenarios provide me plenty of bungled blog material.

The latest in a lengthening line of mishaps saw me last night arrive in Durban about as well-prepared as a raw, unseasoned steak. I am here to cover this evening's semi-final clash between Spain and Germany, but couldn't book any flights until my ticket was approved by Fifa's ticketing centre. The confirmation came through at 2pm, I booked the flight at 3pm and was in Durban by 8pm.

On arrival at King Shaka International Airport, I had neither a car, a map or a hotel - and I also had a lengthy preview of the match to file within a couple of hours. After making a few quick calls, I managed to secure a room in a place called the Fairwood Guesthouse in La Lucia; a beautiful B&B said to be near restaurants and cafes, as well as the stadium.

I also organised a rental car, but due to either my stingy Scottish heritage or a distinct desire to reduce The National's expense account, I declined the very reasonable priced BMW 320i and instead opted for a "special deal". What greeted me in the car park was part car, part van, part pick-up truck. It also only had one wing-mirror and no radio. Oh, and no GPS either.

It appears that all the Sat-Nav systems in Durban have been dished out to the 60,000-odd European fans that have floated into town for tonight's game, so I am riding solo. And, pretty much, riding around lost. And, courtesy of the one wing-mirror, half-blind.

But before I even tried to drive the beast, I had the little matter of a story to write. Thankfully, my landlord in Johannesburg has provided a mobile modem (a "mobem"?) so I can connect to the internet regardless of my location. The problem, however, is that the aerial needs to be pointing skywards, unrestricted by metal. Trying to file from inside the car was going to be an issue.

Sat in the driver's seat of this strange van-like car, I typed my piece up from memory. Whenever facts required to be checked, I stuck my hand out the window, held the aerial in the air, and logged online. By the time it came to filing the copy, my arm was aching and I was getting increasingly strange looks from passersby. I typed up an email one-handed and hit sent. Job done.

Next it was time to find my guesthouse. Can't be that hard, I thought, as I headed out on to the highway. It's near a place called Umhlanga, I remembered, so followed the signs but almost immediately arrived at a toll gate.

I have been having issues with my bank so pay for everything with Mastercard, but, problematically, few people are willing to swipe a credit card for a four rand fare (Dh2). The man at the gate refused to let me through until I paid, but I literally had no South African money on me.

My friend Moabi is always telling me about T.I.A. "This is Africa," he says flashing his big, warm smile. "Anything is possible."

I rummaged around in my laptop bag and found a note. On pulling it out I realised it was a nice turquoise Dh20 so I offered it to the gentleman. He accepted, opened the gate and told me how best to get to La Lucia before waving me off with a smile.

I, in contrast, drove off disheartened and ruing the fact I had paid 1000 per cent more than I should have had to. My tightfisted father would not be impressed.

On arrival at my guesthouse, I settled down, unpacked, and watched Holland book their place in the World Cup final with a 3-2 win over Uruguay. Now, as I hold the mobem aerial out the car window again and prepare to head half-blind to the stadium, it's time to discover who the Dutch will face come Sunday: Spain or Germany?