Letting the train take the strain

Back in the land of Braai and Biltong after a 2 month Indian interlude and very happy to be, I decided to take the train all the way from Joburg to Cape Town. It doesn't look too far on the map, but the reality is around 1500 Km or 27 hours in an ageing carriage.

The train starts at Joburg's Park Station, itself safe enough, although the streets outside can be quite intimidating. Carriages in Tourist Class are of the convertible "couchette" type, with pull down beds.  Just along the corridor is a restaurant car and the sleeper coaches have a shower next to the usual W.C. Food is pretty much standard South African fare, superb meat as always, ubiquitous french fries and for the daring," French" salad, which turned out to be a lettuce and tomato combo, drenched in sweet vinegar.  Booze is readily available, which is probably a good thing. 

I was quite lucky in my travelling companions. One was a quiet black guy, who looked as though he could be a jazz trumpet or sax player.  He just had that indefinable air, along with sharp clothes and a dashing trilby hat.  Another, and this a real bonus: a young, friendly and intrepid pro photographer, on his way to a friend's wedding in Cape Town. During the long journey, we were to strike up a friendly relationship and his freely passed on photographic tips and wicked sense of humour made the time pass pleasantly indeed.

As we rolled on through the afternoon and night, I made a point of getting down at even the smallest wayside station, mostly for the change of scene the break afforded, but also to have quick chats with fellow travellers whilst they satisfied their nicotine addiction. Cigarettes are ridiculously cheap in S.A.

Our 4 seater compartment had a vacant place all the way to Beaufort West, which we reached at 6 in the morning.  Once there, an old chap was incorporated into our happy band.  A few minutes later, the unmistakable smell of wee-wee became noticeable.  My new friend promptly christened the interloper "Jimmy Riddle" and we adjourned to the dining car, huddled long over coffee. 

The next 9 hours was enlivened by a succession of unwanted drinks and snacks, anything to avoid Jimmy, who was compartment bound and well into his sneaky stash of Cape brandy; along with an on train shower, my first. It was surreal, the Karroo rolling past my open window, as I rinsed off the suds.

After what seemed like a justification for the existence of purgatory, our train rolled into Cape Town station, just over 90 minutes late, compounded by a completely unnecessary and officious ticket check on exit from the platform.