Not a Train for Foreigners…

Well…I wanted you all to know about our journey via the train to Cape Town. Rather than retelling the story, I will let the wit and humor of my dear teammate Elizabeth Scaife tell the story…

”

We
have arrived! We’re in Cape Town, which I suppose you all knew by now
anyway. We got here by train on Monday evening, after a VERY long and
“cultural” journey through South Africa. We had hoped to get into the
sleeper cars on the Shosholoza Meyl, but found them to be sold out.
Stuck with the only option left, we purchased the very “affordable”
tickets in the Economy class�at a third of the price. The lady on the
phone said that we’d have no problem getting on because they never sold
out, so we should just show up at the train station an hour early to
buy tickets. She said although there was no restaurant car, a man
pushed a trolley of food down the aisle�and no, she didn’t know what
sort of food was on it. Yes, the train has heating�yes, its quite
safe�.and it arrives in Cape Town at 3:30pm.

**To
be fair, the website DID say that the Economy train is not recommended
for foreign visitors, for comfort reasons (which the kind lady
confirmed).

Well, we’re WORLD RACERS I told the team! We can take any mode of travel. We laugh in the face of Comfort!

So,
Sunday morning, we were off. We actually arrived 3 hours early, greeted
at the station by what seemed to be the entire population of
Johannesburg. Jessie and I set about finding the “line” for tickets and
discovered it stretched outside and around the bus station. (If Pastor
Brown saw it, he’d have thought it was the “Free Cheese” line judging
by just how many people were in it). We manned our place for a solid
hour before giving up and seeking out other places to get tickets. An
hour before departure, Brooke found a woman willing to sell us tickets.
She did inform us that the train was sold out. But, she put 8 tickets
in our hands (Red flag #1) and we asked no questions, but went straight
to our platform and waited. As I looked around, I noticed our fellow
passengers all had packed very thick blankets (Red flag #2). When we
heard the rumbling of an approaching train, people scrambled to grab
their things and tensed up with a look of determination on their faces,
ready to run at any given moment (Red flag #3). I began to contemplate
what we were about to endure. We quickly formed a plan to scramble for
8 seats, no man left behind. When the floodgates opened, it was a
stampede. Children cried, mothers screamed at one another, luggage was
abandoned in the rush to claim seats and the fight for survival was on.
We pushed forward in a mass of tangled appendages, with one goal in
mind. My cohorts reserved our 8 seats (despite the chaos that ensued),
and we watched with wide-eyed wonder at the scene unfolding around us,
hearts racing with adrenaline. In the end, a group of teens was left
without seats, and took to standing in the aisles around us. The train
departed and we breathed a sigh of relief, oblivious to what was in
store.

As
the day wore on, it became painfully obvious why this train is “not
recommended for foreign travelers”. There were enough kids in our car
to inspire us to throw down another Kids Camp right then, right there.
We debated on how we would separate them into age groups. It was
amusing. Then there were the 3 screaming infants in the seats next to
us. Cute kids�loud voices. The “man pushing the trolley” showed up
every 10 minutes or so�except that he wasn’t really a cute man in
striped suit like I had imagined, pushing a food cart down the aisle.
He was a stumbly old man carrying a basket of cokes, beer and hard
liquor (Red flag #4) in one hand, and a garbage bag of chips in the
other. His trip down the aisle every 10 minutes got more difficult as
every stop we made presented additional travelers to an overcrowded
car, standing in his way. We were kindly informed by a man seated near
us that the train was freezing cold at night. I also noticed that there
were no trashcans on the train, so every snackie – every chicken wing,
every drink jug, every crinkley bag o’ cheesy poofs– consumed in our
car ended up on the floor around us. (I think they swept our train 4
times when it was all said and done.) The pin-striped trolley man
selling liquor to the masses ended up in a tussle with some other guys
in the car next door because they didn’t like him passing through the
aisles so often.

We began to remind each other how “affordable” the tickets were.

Our
train made consistent scheduled stops, a couple of them taking over an
hour. It was most definitely cold all night. Those pesky teens laughed
in our ears until after midnight, when the guy with the liquor bottle
tucked in his sleeve danced down the aisle singing at the top of his
lungs. The 3 screaming kids screamed in turn� all night. The bathrooms
were so hideous, it was comical. By morning, our train was officially 3
hours behind schedule. Fearful of drinking the water on the train, and
with no projected arrival time, we had to ration what we had left in
our Nalgenes. Some attendants said we’d get there at 7pm, some said
11pm.

Jenny said we were in a level of purgatory yet undiscovered by man.

Despite
the details, it all began to feel worthwhile after we passed thru a
long tunnel to be greeted by rolling hills coupled with vineyards
stretching as far as the eye could see. We made it to wine country, and
not a moment too soon. Our last 3 hours were blessed with beautiful
views and wondrous landscapes. Pulling in to Cape Town was a glorious
affair, with us pointing and clapping. It couldn’t have been a more
appreciated arrival any other way.

In the end, I agree with the website. This is not a train for foreigners.