If you want to see life, taking the metro is one way to do so. I don't mean Life, as in jet setting, bungi jumping, Big 5, scuba diving, sushi and 5 star cabernet. I just mean life, with a small "l".
This morning, I took up my usual seat by the window. I say window, but you have to understand that the perspex is so scratched and/or graffiti'd that they might as well replace it with masonite. Well, at least it lets some light in. The benches in the "old carriages" (they are all antediluvian, but some are just older than others) are arranged as three-seaters and two-seaters, facing one another in pairs. Not the most efficient seating pattern but there you are. I normally opt for a two-seater as they tend to be less of a crush, but the two-seater where I was, was downwind of the window, and the window didn't shut properly, so I went for the larger one. When we got to Muizenberg a man got in and sat beside me. He was so large (in all directions - very tall but also very fat) that he took up both seats. He wore shorts and a large teeshirt, strecthed tight over his somewhat pendulous gut. I tried not to stare in case he took offense and decided to throw me out the broken window - he looked as though he could easily have done so. I waited in interest to see what would happen. As normally happens, the train filled up fast at Steenberg and Retreat stations. Soon there was standing room only and the spaces next to the doors were overcrowded. Folk were standing in the passageway as well. Yet noone tried to edge into the third seat on our three-seater bench. I guess they felt they might be smothered, or else that a man so large must surely be sweaty and malodorous. Or maybe they thought that about me! He eventually decided to get off - at Mowbray I think - and I was delighted to see two people take up the space that he vacated. One often hears jokes told along those lines, but this was for real - he gave up his seat to two ladies.
Coming home I was treated to something different. I was in one of the "new" carriages - they have the seating arranged longitudinally along the sides, with more space in the middle. I found a seat near the end of the carriage and was getting out my headphones and Blackberry, planning on listening to a podcast or audiobook, when my ears were accosted by music. Of sorts. Three people were edging their way sideways down the center of the carriage, two of them holding hands. I think one, maybe two, of them were blind, and being led by the third. One had an electronic keyboard strung around his neck on which he was plonking out what we would call a "three chord wonder" - tonic major, sub-dominant major, tonic major, dominant seventh, repeated ad nauseam. The other two were singing - one an octave below the other, in unison. I know not what - it sounded like a scripture song or hymn, but I didn't recognize it. What was interesting was that there was little or no relation between the key being played in on the keyboard and the key the singers were belting forth in. They were in tune with each other, but not with the instrument. I expected it to correct, but it never did. They simply sidled their way into the next carriage and I didn't see them again. I should mention that such performances are not uncommon, although I haven't heard one quite this bad before. We quite often have duets - a blind woman led by a sighted man or vice versa. Some of them are quite good, even harmonizing. The lyrics seem invariably to be fairly simple three liners, sometimes in English, sometimes in isiXhosa, sometimes in a mix of the two. It makes a nice change to the usual hum of the wheels on the rails, the conversation and the occasional unwanted juke box. If I have some small change I am happy to throw it into the tin when it comes round.
Metro trains are by and large fairly reliable, even given what everyone says about them. At least that is my take. It may have something to do with the particular train I take or the line which I use - I gather the "central lines" are far less reliable than the "southern line". But all trains have problems now and then. I have been stuck on the London underground and the Washington metro more than once. So it was that at the end of a one hour trip on a hot afternoon we trundled out of Kalk Bay, past Clovelly, and crossed over the Silvermine River and then ... stopped. About 100m from Fish Hoek station, which was the terminus. And so we sat .. and sat .. and sat. In think for about 10 minutes. Now in London or DC when this happens the driver is very quick to get on the PA and tell everyone not to worry and what the problem is. Cape Town metro trains do not have such a facility. They have a PA at the stations but nothing on the trains. So you have no way of knowing whether you are waiting for a train to come past, or whether the engine is broken and in no hope of recovery. To make it worse, the doors are locked, pushing the emergency button does nothing (I didn't try but someone else did), and the windows are too small to get out. You could conceivably jump off from the gap between the carriages, but it looked decidedly unsafe and foolhardy and was almost certainly illegal. So we sat. Most of us, being on our way home, were not too stressed. We found another track to listen to on the iPod or simply carried on reading our books. There were however, two young ladies - they looked about 19 - who were incensed by what had happened. One in particular looked in the mood to commit murder. It was she who tried the emergency button. When nothing happened she stuck her head out the window and shouted very loudly, "Hey, driver, drive this f**king train, already!". Of course no one responded. She then threatened to do the jump, but her friend persuaded her not to. So she did the only thing she could - phoned her mother, and had a long and loud conversation with her about how useless Metrorail was and what an idiot the driver was. We were all very glad when the train eventually lurched forward again. I was still home by 6.30, in time for dinner.
Then there are the vendors. They hang out at Cape Town station - I haven't seen them anywhere else. They sell anything from newspapers to cold drinks, to sweets and chips. They move rapidly from carriage to carriage during the five to ten minutes before a train is about to leave, plying their wares, telling everybody what they are selling and at what price in a language which roughly approximates English. I haven't quite worked out how they manage to get onto the platform - normally one needs a valid ticket. There must be some sort of special dispensation for them. They perform a valuable service, but I do wonder what happens to all the litter. On the DC metro one is not allowed to eat or drink at all. In London one is. I like to munch an apple or banana when I am on the train, specially in the morning, but getting rid of the core or skin is problematic, and I usually have to take it with me when I get off.
For all the problems - torn seats, graffiti, dirty floors, dirty walls, dirty windows, lack of air-conditioning, breakdowns, cancelled trains, cable theft, and I could go on ... rail travel has a charm which even these have not robbed it of, and for now I am happy to be a rail commuter. It is definitely much greener, definitely much cheaper, and generally more convenient when it comes to parking and the like. I have now read 300 pages of Armstrong's "Holy War" and listened to a half a dozen podcasts as well. I am walking 15km a week just to and from the stations. Where is the argument then? And now we hear that our government plans to spend some vast sum of money of rail upgrades over the next 5 years, partly to create jobs. Wonderful, say I. Oil is about to run out, petrol prices can only go up, we don't yet have an affordable hybrid car, let alone an electric one. I'm all for it.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Becoming a rail commuting civil servant (again)
So this week I started a new job as a civil servant. I was one for the first 10 years of my professional life - 13 years if you count the army and my internship, which I guess you should - and then I worked in academia and for an NGO for another 11+ years. And from that you can probably work out that I am round about 50. In time I shall likely write a blog or two on the job itself, but suffice to say at this stage that I am reeling from the culture shock and having to adjust to what appears to be an extremely inflexible, intolerant and dehumanising environment. Perhaps if I had never left I wouldn't find it strange - but nearly a dozen years of doing things differently has made it difficult. Anyway, enough of that for now. Early days. Maybe they are having as much trouble adjusting to me as I am to them.
What I thought I would write about is some of the other aspects of this change. Bear with me.
My new office is in the centre of Cape Town, quite close to the central railway station. Road traffic into and parking within the CBD is a nightmare. If you can get parking, it is expensive. Years ago (12 to be exact), I used to take the train. I generally got the 6.30 out of Fish Hoek, which was an "express", as I recall - missing out a good few stations along the way, and taking just 50 minutes to get to Cape Town station. The monthly ticket for "Metro Plus" (1st class), cost about R230 I remember. That allowed one to use the train as many times a day as one needed to, get on get off, and so on. No question about it, the cheapest way to travel. Once in a while there would be glitches - trains not arriving, or just stopping in-between two stations for minutes on end, no explanations given, but these occurrences were fairly infrequent.
My first pleasant surprise was when I went along to my local station last Saturday to buy a ticket for the month of February. MetroPlus Fish Hoek - Cape Town monthly. Guess what? R240! I couldn't believe my ears. I asked the lady who sold it to me what time the earliest train was. "Oh," she said, "they start around 4.30!" I explained that I had somewhere around 6 in mind and she advised me that I would probably be best getting the 6.10. The next thing that happened was that I read an article in our local magazine, the Full Circle, about Metrorail. It was by Colin Jones, who I think used to be the Dean of St George's Cathedral. It appears he now lives in Lakeside and commutes daily to Woodstock. It made for depressing reading - clearly he was not enjoying being a rail commuter. But being of Scottish descent, I was not about to waste my R240 ticket so resolved to give it a try anyway.
I have had to adjust my waking hours. On my first day I was awake at 5 and out the door by 5.45. I don't think herself knew what had hit her. She offered me a lift to the station, but as it is only 1km (exactly - I measured it) and it wasn't raining, I said I would walk. I activated Endomondo (got to get all the mileage I can out of this) and then an audiobook through the Blackberry headset, and set off at what I thought was a respectable pace. My train was waiting for me, pulled up alongside platform 3 - I think it may in fact park there overnight. I found the three MetroPlus carriages - they are always the ones closer to Cape Town and got onto the second from the front. There was only one other person on board. I found a seat as far from the door as I could, close to a window and settled down - put on my specs, checked emails on the Blackberry, wrote one or two, and then got out my book, which currently happens to be one on the Crusades, by Karen Armstrong, called "Holy War". At 6.10 there was the sound of a whistle, a jolt or two and we slowly trundled out of the station headed northwards.
The first 5km of the trip takes you along the False Bay coast. The railway track runs between the Main Road and the sea, and it really is glorious. Unfortunately, the windows are so scratched or so dirty that it is difficult to see anything - I think they replaced all the old glass ones with perspex or plastic because of the vandalism. But on a good day you can open them a little and still see the blue waters and the rocks and, best of all, smell the sea. The trains could best be described as grimy and run down. I don't know how often they are washed or cleaned, but to me they don't look well cared for. Doubtless Metrorail would say they don't have the money or the staff, or they might argue that there is no point when the trains are constantly being vandalized - which is sad.
The trip takes 60 minutes, barring stoppages, which means one is doing an average of about 35 kph. Not exactly burning up the tracks, but if you took a car it would take as long or longer. The advantage of the train is that it is a lot cheaper, that you can read for an hour, and that it is definitely greener. As you get to Steenberg, Retreat, Plumstead and Wynberg, the train fills up. Soon there are no seats to be had, and often very little standing space.I suspect that my father, in the same situation, would have offered his seat to the first woman he saw standing. I am afraid I don't - not unless she is old or pregnant. I find it very difficult to read standing up, and I am taking the train so that I can read. QED. Go figure.
At the Cape Town end it is mild mayhem. In the bad old days there were two exits from the platform - on the West side was the exit for Europeans and on the East side for non-Europeans. They were entirely separate, in line with the apartheid philosophy. Nearly everyone was happy to see the end of that. Now we have one exit - the East exit is closed. So everyone bundles out and then careens along to try and get out first, bumping into people selling ticket holders, cokes, chips, passengers waiting to get on, security officials - the human wave just washes right over them. You can hang back for a while and it becomes a little more civilized - if you have time. Once you are through the ticket check and across the great concourse (which itself is an education - a bit like driving across the main road in the middle of Maputo - go one space, stop, go one space, stop ...), you get out into a large courtyard which borders Adderley Street and from there it is relatively free flowing. Cape Town pedestrians are of course famous for never obeying any traffic lights or traffic signs - in fact it is probably true to say that in the CBD pedestrians rule and motorists simply have to make a plan. I have never seen a pedestrian fined - where would they start?
I survived my first day. At four o'clock sharp the entire office simply emptied, which was an odd feeling. I remember this being a problem from my previous stint as a civil servant. I used to work on the 22nd floor of a building in Dorp Street. There were, as I recall, 6 lifts on each side of the building, 24 floors, and I don't know how many hundred civil servants working there. The majority of them left work at 4 sharp. The result was that if you were in the top half of the building, the lift never came, and you ended up taking the stairs - down 22 floors. Fortunately the reverse did not apply in the mornings. Anyway, at 4.30 I looked around and could not see a soul in the whole place. I very nearly could not get out, but eventually figured it out. Imagine having to spend the night in a government office!
Back at the station I found a train and a seat - the advantages of getting on at the terminus - and performed my ritual with the Blackberry and the book. The carriage filled up and soon we were on our way. This time our journey was enlivened by the musical talents of a blind person and her guide - they wandered up and down the carriage singing Jesus songs - the kind one sang in Sunday School all those years ago. In tune, quite nice harmonies, but I knew I didn't have any change in my wallet, and even if I did was not too keen to take it out of my bag. We haven't had any itinerant preachers yet - I recall them being rather trying. Talk about a captive audience. There are always the earphones if it gets unbearable.
So the reverse journey progressed and little by little the train disgorged its load, whilst picking up one or two extras here and there. The names all came back - Woodstock, Salt River, Observatory, Mowbray, Rosebank, Robdebosch, Newlands, Claremont, Harfield Road, Kenilworth, Wynberg, Wittebome, Plumstead ... I remembered them not only from those years as a civil servant but from my days as a medical student. It is summer right now and quite hot most days, although the south easter does cool things down. The trains are not air-conditioned and the only cooling option available is opening the windows. What is interesting, and quite pleasant, is the way the temperature gradually drops as one goes south, until by the time you get to Muizenberg you are starting to feel more comfortable - and of course there is that wonderful whiff of the sea again. Of course, it is helped by the fact that the trains empties, but it isn't only that - there is definitely as gradient. Retreat, Steenberg, Lakeside, False Bay, Muizenberg, St James, Kalk Bay, Clovelly ... we round the last corner with a screech of metal and Fish Hoek station is in sight. Another rugby scrum getting through the ticket check and under the subway. Endomondo on, Audiobook on and the final 1km walk home. At my door by 5.30 - remarkable - don't know when that last happened. In time for a run before supper. Half hearted attempt to watch some TV and do some work thereafter and then in bed by 9.30. Maybe I could get used to this...
What I thought I would write about is some of the other aspects of this change. Bear with me.
My new office is in the centre of Cape Town, quite close to the central railway station. Road traffic into and parking within the CBD is a nightmare. If you can get parking, it is expensive. Years ago (12 to be exact), I used to take the train. I generally got the 6.30 out of Fish Hoek, which was an "express", as I recall - missing out a good few stations along the way, and taking just 50 minutes to get to Cape Town station. The monthly ticket for "Metro Plus" (1st class), cost about R230 I remember. That allowed one to use the train as many times a day as one needed to, get on get off, and so on. No question about it, the cheapest way to travel. Once in a while there would be glitches - trains not arriving, or just stopping in-between two stations for minutes on end, no explanations given, but these occurrences were fairly infrequent.
My first pleasant surprise was when I went along to my local station last Saturday to buy a ticket for the month of February. MetroPlus Fish Hoek - Cape Town monthly. Guess what? R240! I couldn't believe my ears. I asked the lady who sold it to me what time the earliest train was. "Oh," she said, "they start around 4.30!" I explained that I had somewhere around 6 in mind and she advised me that I would probably be best getting the 6.10. The next thing that happened was that I read an article in our local magazine, the Full Circle, about Metrorail. It was by Colin Jones, who I think used to be the Dean of St George's Cathedral. It appears he now lives in Lakeside and commutes daily to Woodstock. It made for depressing reading - clearly he was not enjoying being a rail commuter. But being of Scottish descent, I was not about to waste my R240 ticket so resolved to give it a try anyway.
I have had to adjust my waking hours. On my first day I was awake at 5 and out the door by 5.45. I don't think herself knew what had hit her. She offered me a lift to the station, but as it is only 1km (exactly - I measured it) and it wasn't raining, I said I would walk. I activated Endomondo (got to get all the mileage I can out of this) and then an audiobook through the Blackberry headset, and set off at what I thought was a respectable pace. My train was waiting for me, pulled up alongside platform 3 - I think it may in fact park there overnight. I found the three MetroPlus carriages - they are always the ones closer to Cape Town and got onto the second from the front. There was only one other person on board. I found a seat as far from the door as I could, close to a window and settled down - put on my specs, checked emails on the Blackberry, wrote one or two, and then got out my book, which currently happens to be one on the Crusades, by Karen Armstrong, called "Holy War". At 6.10 there was the sound of a whistle, a jolt or two and we slowly trundled out of the station headed northwards.
The first 5km of the trip takes you along the False Bay coast. The railway track runs between the Main Road and the sea, and it really is glorious. Unfortunately, the windows are so scratched or so dirty that it is difficult to see anything - I think they replaced all the old glass ones with perspex or plastic because of the vandalism. But on a good day you can open them a little and still see the blue waters and the rocks and, best of all, smell the sea. The trains could best be described as grimy and run down. I don't know how often they are washed or cleaned, but to me they don't look well cared for. Doubtless Metrorail would say they don't have the money or the staff, or they might argue that there is no point when the trains are constantly being vandalized - which is sad.
The trip takes 60 minutes, barring stoppages, which means one is doing an average of about 35 kph. Not exactly burning up the tracks, but if you took a car it would take as long or longer. The advantage of the train is that it is a lot cheaper, that you can read for an hour, and that it is definitely greener. As you get to Steenberg, Retreat, Plumstead and Wynberg, the train fills up. Soon there are no seats to be had, and often very little standing space.I suspect that my father, in the same situation, would have offered his seat to the first woman he saw standing. I am afraid I don't - not unless she is old or pregnant. I find it very difficult to read standing up, and I am taking the train so that I can read. QED. Go figure.
At the Cape Town end it is mild mayhem. In the bad old days there were two exits from the platform - on the West side was the exit for Europeans and on the East side for non-Europeans. They were entirely separate, in line with the apartheid philosophy. Nearly everyone was happy to see the end of that. Now we have one exit - the East exit is closed. So everyone bundles out and then careens along to try and get out first, bumping into people selling ticket holders, cokes, chips, passengers waiting to get on, security officials - the human wave just washes right over them. You can hang back for a while and it becomes a little more civilized - if you have time. Once you are through the ticket check and across the great concourse (which itself is an education - a bit like driving across the main road in the middle of Maputo - go one space, stop, go one space, stop ...), you get out into a large courtyard which borders Adderley Street and from there it is relatively free flowing. Cape Town pedestrians are of course famous for never obeying any traffic lights or traffic signs - in fact it is probably true to say that in the CBD pedestrians rule and motorists simply have to make a plan. I have never seen a pedestrian fined - where would they start?
I survived my first day. At four o'clock sharp the entire office simply emptied, which was an odd feeling. I remember this being a problem from my previous stint as a civil servant. I used to work on the 22nd floor of a building in Dorp Street. There were, as I recall, 6 lifts on each side of the building, 24 floors, and I don't know how many hundred civil servants working there. The majority of them left work at 4 sharp. The result was that if you were in the top half of the building, the lift never came, and you ended up taking the stairs - down 22 floors. Fortunately the reverse did not apply in the mornings. Anyway, at 4.30 I looked around and could not see a soul in the whole place. I very nearly could not get out, but eventually figured it out. Imagine having to spend the night in a government office!
Back at the station I found a train and a seat - the advantages of getting on at the terminus - and performed my ritual with the Blackberry and the book. The carriage filled up and soon we were on our way. This time our journey was enlivened by the musical talents of a blind person and her guide - they wandered up and down the carriage singing Jesus songs - the kind one sang in Sunday School all those years ago. In tune, quite nice harmonies, but I knew I didn't have any change in my wallet, and even if I did was not too keen to take it out of my bag. We haven't had any itinerant preachers yet - I recall them being rather trying. Talk about a captive audience. There are always the earphones if it gets unbearable.
So the reverse journey progressed and little by little the train disgorged its load, whilst picking up one or two extras here and there. The names all came back - Woodstock, Salt River, Observatory, Mowbray, Rosebank, Robdebosch, Newlands, Claremont, Harfield Road, Kenilworth, Wynberg, Wittebome, Plumstead ... I remembered them not only from those years as a civil servant but from my days as a medical student. It is summer right now and quite hot most days, although the south easter does cool things down. The trains are not air-conditioned and the only cooling option available is opening the windows. What is interesting, and quite pleasant, is the way the temperature gradually drops as one goes south, until by the time you get to Muizenberg you are starting to feel more comfortable - and of course there is that wonderful whiff of the sea again. Of course, it is helped by the fact that the trains empties, but it isn't only that - there is definitely as gradient. Retreat, Steenberg, Lakeside, False Bay, Muizenberg, St James, Kalk Bay, Clovelly ... we round the last corner with a screech of metal and Fish Hoek station is in sight. Another rugby scrum getting through the ticket check and under the subway. Endomondo on, Audiobook on and the final 1km walk home. At my door by 5.30 - remarkable - don't know when that last happened. In time for a run before supper. Half hearted attempt to watch some TV and do some work thereafter and then in bed by 9.30. Maybe I could get used to this...
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