Watching Germany thrash Argentina in the Johannesburg Newtown Fan Park was not all that different from watching Germany thrash my beloved England in Paddy O'Sheas in Sanlitun, Beijing, one week earlier. As one German expat had reminded me "Football is a simple game; 22 men chase a ball for 90 minutes and at the end, the Germans win." The quote was from Gary Lineker after loosing on penalties in the 1990 world cup semi-final but this game like the one a week earlier showed no signs of going to penalties. The Germans were totally in control in Cape Town and in Johannesburg a sprinkling of remnant fans were dancing and singing as they had in Paddy's a week earlier.

A child has his face painted with the Germany national flag. [D J Clark/chinadaily.com.cn]

Arriving to the South African winter is quite a shock coming from the heat wave in China. After dropping my bags I had 24 hours before my flight out and I wanted to make the best of my one-day in Joburg. I started, as all tourists should not, by going downtown. Straight into the heart of one of the world's most violent cities. The Chinese press had been full of crime stories and everyone I had spoken to before leaving had warned me to be extra careful. But I was curious. When I reached Hillsborough, the most notorious den of South African iniquity, my driver told me to hide the camera. The streets were buzzing with salesmen and shoppers and on every corner there were small groups of men that I imagined were about to pull a gun on me. Wandering the streets was a very different experience. South Africans are friendly and generous people. They stopped me in the street to ask where I was from and wish me fun for the day ahead. It's hard to feel threatened when everyone around you is so warmhearted.

I arrived fifteen minutes before the first game at the Newtown Fan Park downtown and felt disappointed at the turn out. When I had enquired at the World Cup booth in the airport on arrival I was told being at one of the many official fan parks scattered around the city was as good as being at the game but there was only around 200 people in a large mostly empty square. As the game started the numbers quickly swelled to about 1,000 and as the sun went down over the city behind the park, so the atmosphere started to warm. At halftime music blared across the square and Africans, as Africans do, started to dance. It's not difficult to spot a German fan in a crowd of South Africans but when they all start to dance the job becomes a whole lot easier. The party continued through to the end of the game as Germany netted another three goals.

I decided to celebrate the German win with a large sausage and sauerkraut and went out to talk to some of the gathered fans. The Spanish were there in force as a warm up to the later game at Ellis Park, I met Mongolians, very disappointed Argentineans, lots of Germans and a group from Thailand who had one spare ticket to the Spain V Paraguay quarter-final. They wanted US$300 and it seemed genuine but I had left my room that morning with only a few notes and no wallet, convinced that I was going to be robbed before the day was through. I could only manage US$75 so they moved on unimpressed at by bargaining skills.

The fan park was fun but it did not give me the sensation I had imagined while watching at home in Beijing. I wanted to feel the African vibe and there was only one place I could think to go – Soweto. Soccer City, the main stadium of the World Cup, was lit up as I passed it acting as a gate to South Africa's most famous township. I asked my taxi driver to take me past the house that Nelson Mandela grew up in and on the way we got lost in the back streets of Soweto. Large fancy houses are mixed with tin shacks. It's a strong metaphor for a country that has such an obvious imbalance between the rich and poor.

I asked around for the best place to watch the football and was guided to Panyaza, a courtyard based hangout. Security guards gave me a thorough search at the door after which I asked to meet the manager. Dumisani, a young and energetic man, welcomed me and set about giving me a tour of the premises. The world cup had been good for his business, with fans from all over the world having to watch games, eat, drink and dance. It was heaving with young people moving to the beats of local hip-hop. It was everything I imagined such a place should be.

Once again the warmth of the people overwhelmed, as they took my hand and shook it in complex movements as I passed. In the corner was a group of white South Africans, very drunk and dancing. Natasha, a photocopy machine saleswoman from the northern suburbs of Johannesburg, told me this was the first time she had been to Soweto and it was the world cup that gave her the courage to try.

As the match started, the music faded and the revelers sat to watch. Every shot on goal was celebrated with spontaneous dancing and the blowing of the ever-present vuvuzelas. At half time the place erupted much as it had in the fan park downtown but this time with ten times the energy. I left with my ears still ringing and my uncoordinated body prone to sudden outbursts of swinging to the music that I could not get out of my head. It had been a day to remember.