LETTER FROM SOUTH AFRICA:IT MAY be slightly apocryphal but the story goes that it is possible to purchase an AK-47 rifle for less then 100 Rand (€9) in Johannesburg. Guns are not the only thing that is cheap, life can be too as evidenced by daily newspaper headlines and the notoriety that accompanies a city where murder is commonplace.

The city’s inhabitants are looking to cast off that stigma, particularly ahead of next year’s soccer World Cup but it’s a difficult task to project a positive image. In the affluent areas of the city houses are protected by razor wire and armed response units, while in hotels warnings are emblazoned on notices about not walking anywhere at night. The list of “do nots” is quite exhaustive.

Based in the shopping/business district of Sandton, one of the media hotels is about a 15-minute walk from the Lions’ opulent den. In making the journey on foot, there’s a feeling of hyper-sensitivity to the surroundings and the people, trying to gauge the mood and intentions of every passer-by.

Is the danger overhyped? It didn’t feel like it, even in daylight, but nor was it as sinister as some of the written material suggested. I spoke to a black South African television sports journalist, whom I had met previously in Ireland.

He explained that nine times out of 10 nothing would happen to any tourists walking around in this part of the city during the day. However the hotels will not risk a single incident and so they encourage people to take taxis everywhere. The procedure in taking a taxi is to only get in official ones, which is not as easy as it sounds, because many don’t appear to have any markings and, none that I have been in, a meter. The fare appears arbitrary in some cases and doesn’t always reflect time or distance.

They are, though, appreciably cheap, a state of affairs that can be applied to eating and drinking and the living expenses in general.

Hiring a car for the day to attend a press conference yesterday in Rustenburg, a two-hour journey from Johannesburg, cost €30 for the day, including various waivers.

Driving is an experience in itself. Massive road construction clogs the arteries around the city but even with snatches of four-lane motorway, driving practices don’t always extend to indicating. Lane changes can occur on a whim and the fast lane is often disputed across the four.

In taking a more scenic route, unwittingly, to Rustenburg the main roads are nominally one lane each way with a hard shoulder that passes for the slower lane. The speed limit generally ranges from 60 to 75 miles per hour – there are no barriers to separate the traffic – and that is only loosely observed.

It often inspires impromptu games of “chicken”, and is definitely not for the faint-hearted. There is no public transport system for tourists. An inquiry about making the journey from Johannesburg to Rustenburg by train was greeted by howls of laughter. Everyone drives and that exacerbates the gridlock at rush hour.

Late at night a rolling procedure through red lights is often adopted; a case of slowing down and if there is nothing coming, going through.

Coming home from a reception on Wednesday night, having been given a lift, our driver butchered a right turn, forced to recalibrate the manoeuvre. Unfortunately this took place in close proximity to a stationary police car.

Ninety seconds later two policemen were shining torches in the faces of the three occupants and muttering about the smell of drink. The driver produced documentation but it was only when he said he was ferrying two Irish journalists back to their hotel that he was allowed to proceed. The culture would lean a little more towards drink driving than other countries according to locals.

A high-speed evasive manoeuvre in the fast lane narrowly averted another potential calamity en route from the airport, taxi driver and occupants, blessed that that there was a grassy knoll to the right of the fast lane.

One can buy a variety of merchandise at traffic lights from a Bulls jersey to telephone car chargers, oranges to avocados. There is no shortage of manpower everywhere, from petrol stations, where a red-clad team operate the pumps and take your money, to hotels and restaurants.

Everywhere seems overstaffed. One player said there was someone whose sole responsibility seemed to be to turn over the toast, having observed him for 20 minutes. Many workers rely heavily on tips to augment meagre salaries.

The people are polite and helpful but Johannesburg, even in rarefied Sandton, is claustrophobic, visitors corralled rather than encouraged to roam. It’s safer that way but unfulfilling.