Our World Cup odyssey began on Sunday night with Brazil's entertaining 3-1 victory against Ivory Coast at the magnificent Soccer City stadium in Soweto.

I SAID OUR WORLD CUP ODYSSEY . . .

Sorry. Vuvuzelas.

Soccer City held nearly 85,000 spectators on Sunday, and the vuvuzelas were full on. The racket started two hours before kick-off, and was still going when we left the area an hour after the match.

Truth is, the noise was a low drone for much of the match, and after a few minutes it was easy to ignore. But when a goal was scored, a free kick was awarded in a dangerous area, or a shot flashed just wide, the vuvuzelas kicked up a notch. At times like that, it was nearly impossible to have a conversation. "Loud vuvuzelas," I said to the person seated next to me. "What?"

This being Africa, there was a 'call and response' element, too, with a lone vuvuzela quickly responded to in kind. At other times, the rhythm of the vuvuzela was similar to rhythmic hand-clapping except that, while the hand-clapping gets faster and faster, the vuvuzelas get louder and louder.

The horns are mostly made out of cheap plastic, but some 'designer vuvuzelas' are around, too, made out of hollowed out driftwood reclaimed from South African beaches and painted in the colours of the Bafana Bafana. The plastic variety came into common use at South African football matches about 10 years ago. And they're no doubt coming to a stadium near you.

On the pitch, Brazil defended stoutly, put on a one-touch football clinic – and soundly defeated perhaps the best African team in the tournament. That means Brazil are through to the second round – we will see them again next Monday or Tuesday.

The match ended a long day that saw our group arrive at Oliver R. Tambo Airport, some 30 minutes from our guest house in the Johannesburg suburb of Sandton, at 12.15 p.m. after a 10-hour flight from Madrid.

Unlike previous World Cups, organisers did not send out tickets by courier prior to the competition; tickets could only be picked up at ticket kiosks, including several at the airport. Sure enough, I inserted my credit card into the slot – and 28 tickets were printed out in a little over a minute. This was to be the sign of things to come as everything – from our car service pick-ups to our guest house arrangements, ran very smoothly.

Our car service dropped us off at Constitution Hill, which overlooks the inner city of Johannesburg. Conhill, as it is called here, is the site of the 19th century Old Fort prison, where protesters of apartheid were taken to be brutalised. Both Nelson Mandela and Mahatma Gandhi were held there.

We boarded a bus for the 20-minute trip to Soccer City.

We passed through two security checkpoints outside the ground. At the first, we showed our tickets, and then were patted down. At the second, our ticket was passed under a scanner to test authenticity. Our seats were in the top deck, up from the corner flag at the end where Luis Fabiano opened the scoring, and where Didier Drogba finished it.

The warnings about danger lurking around every corner are widespread, but we never felt in any peril at all. Still, the signs of a community being affected by the high rate of violence surrounded us.

Our guest house is in a northern suburb of Johannesburg widely regarded as one of the wealthiest areas of the city. On the street where we are staying, and the surrounding roads, houses are protected by high walls. Many are topped with razor wire – and several had a sign warning that the razor wire was electrified. Our guest house, a peaceful oasis where our rooms open on a central courtyard with pool, is surrounded by just such a wall, eight feet high, with razor wire. Access to the driveway is through an eight-foot metal gate.

When the match in Soweto – that's South Western Township, the area that black residents were re-located to in 1930 when the white rulers of South Africa became concerned about a growing population of blacks living near white suburbs – ended, we got back on the bus and it wound its way back to the staging point. The bus cut through the inner city to take us back to Conhill, and in some 20 minutes there was hardly a soul to be seen out on the streets. As we drove past an intersection, we saw the odd person crossing the street in the distance, but that was it – downtown Jozi is clearly a no-go zone at night.

Our car service picked us up at the bus, and 30 minutes later we were slipping through the metal gate and into the driveway of our temporary home.

One match down. Four goals scored. And many, many vuvuzelas. For us, the World Cup is off to a cracking start.

Veteran World Cup observer Duncan Hall is reporting exclusively from South Africa for The Royal Gazette.