South Africa's status as the Rainbow Nation is down to the diversity of its people, but for the visitor, the place has a broad range of experiences it can push you through too.
The first place I'm staying in, the building has a colonial-gothic edge to it. Inside, the vibe is abandoned mental asylum, replete with the kind of elevator where you shut the door and a metal grille slides across, plus corridors out of Stanley Kubrick's The Shining, and over-large bathrooms that look like they belong to a facility in which people have been lobotomised.
Three days later I move to the much fancier Palace, an establishment that offers spectacular views of Durban's South Beach and the much-used Rachel Finlayson pool. This sounds like a dream, but we are in South Africa, a place in which surprises are heaped on surprises. Though during the day South Beach is as conventionally Instagrammable as any city beach in the world, at night it transforms.
After working at the match that day, I set my ride-hail-app destination to the supermarket closest to the hotel. The driver is extremely watchful as he nears my stop, yells at me that this is a pickpocketing hotspot, and tries to drive off before I can so much as shut the passenger door. After I do my shopping, and walk roughly 300 metres to a nearby liquor shop, the people in the store tell me, essentially, to run home, because "South Beach is very dangerous." I'd say the place is not as bad as the warning suggests, since I got back to where I was staying without incident. But as mine is a short walk, I don't think I have the data.
A couple of days after that, I'm on a panel with colleague Firdose Moonda, and good friend plus ESPNcricinfo contributor Niren Tolsi, at the launch of Niren's new book, Writing Around the Wicket. We talk about how politics intersects with sportswriting, which I learn through the course of the conversation, is a ridiculous framing for both Niren and Firdose. They both grew up during apartheid, in homes in which SACOS (the sports wing of the anti-apartheid movement) was a significant influence. There is no "intersection" between sport and politics. Politics has always forced its way into sport in this country, and writers of colour have had no choice but to be acutely aware of this.
That evening we roll up to an establishment that serves one of the greatest South African dishes: the bunny chow. This is a south-Indian style meat curry (as is often the case, mutton is the most delicious variation) served in a hollowed-out white-bread loaf. No one will call it healthy eating. But it is a more-ish delight. It can only be effectively eaten with your fingers.
While we are gorging ourselves, the restaurant hosts a watch party for the Liverpool Supporters Club in Durban. "There are only two kinds of intelligent football fans," says the man who gives a speech ahead of this match. "Those who support Liverpool, and those who hate Manchester." Most of the people in the Liverpool Supporters Club are people of colour, and sing pro-Liverpool, or anti-Manchester songs through the evening. The Indian restaurant at which we are eating is called Britannia.
If colonialism broke Sri Lanka, apartheid shattered South Africa. In its piecing itself back together, South Africa offers all sorts of extraordinary mosaics.
The next day, because one bunny chow is never enough, I'm in a different establishment, in an industrial neighbourhood of Durban, going to town on another half-loaf of bread filled with mutton curry. This one is even better, because not only is the curry more complex, the meat is softer.
But this restaurant has photos of Ryan Giggs, Roy Keane, and Wayne Rooney on the walls. It is a Manchester United sort of joint.