I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I’ll chose the former. Life is indeed what happens to you when you are busy making plans.
I love trains. I love traveling on them because you can move around and stretch your legs. There is more leg room than on a plane. I love the fact you can walk to a buffet car and that you never know who is going to sit next to you (after today, however, this is now, no longer a reason why I like trains, in fact quite the reverse), and very often you have a choice of three fellow passengers (one next to you and two in front) to choose whom to chat to, if so inclined. I love watching the changing scenery go by, the absence of seat belts and turbulence to restrain you and not having to go through all those annoying security checks and passport controls, that have made traveling by plane so unglamorous nowadays. I love working on trains, musing on trains, reading on trains and sleeping on trains. I know that if there is an accident, your survival chances are much greater than several km up in the air.
That’s some background. Traveling by train is a metaphor for the journey of life and I always get excited before a long train trip. Following today, possibly my enthusiasm might be tempered a bit.
The Tranzalpine train from Greymouth to Christchurch is supposed to be one of the world’s most scenic rail trips. Up there in the top 5. According to the Bible, Lonely Planet, it’s a must do. I have planned my whole trip, done everything anti clockwise, so I could include this train trip in my itinerary. In fact I only roughly planned the first week in NZ and booked this train ticket for a month later, the time I thought it would take me to leisurely get to Greymouth. It just so happens that one month from the day I arrive in NZ, falls on St. Valentine’s day, a fact I only realized two days ago. Now, I also just happen to be reading a book which starts off with a long romantic conversation between two people on a train. The book was not originally on my reading list but fell onto my ‘lap’ if you like, in a ‘serendipitious’ manner that I’ve already described in a previous post. Not that I’m setting myself up for anything (he lies) , but I’m warming up to the ‘romantic ‘ leitmotif going on here.
I begin the morning of the 14th serenely enough. Well not quite - my back is killing me. All that rowing yesterday and being slammed about in a raft which we also have to lift into and outta the river. I head off to the beach to do some stretching and begin reflecting about the significance of the date and my ambivalent stance with a FB Valentine post, urging everyone to give themselves a loving hug. Little did I know how many hugs I would have to give myself later on in the eve. Talk about taking your own medicine, walking the walk.
I continue my morning trying to pack a month of chaos, strewn around every surface of the rental car which I have to return today.
I don’t understand where I have to return the car to. It turns out that they also weigh luggage on the train!!! This is a first, Non-plussed. Lucky for me, they let my exploding backpack, day pack, carry on luggage and bucket with all my kitchen utensils on, even though I’m well over the limit whatever that is. Well, I hide the day pack out of sight and cheat. The train I’m informed is delayed by an hour. Later upon boarding, the ‘driver’ (is that what he’s called?) informs us that the delay was caused because the previous train driver had infringed some (probably petty) regulation and they had to wait until he was replaced. I know this should reassure me, as it would most people about to entrust their lives into somebody else’s hands, but I’m skeptical. I must say NZ’s obsession with health and safety is starting to irritate me. Everything is so fastidiously PC that I’m beginning to feel that sometimes they miss the wood for the trees. But so far I’m calm. I’ve noticed a brewery across the road and although I’ve already had an excellent veggie breakfast stack( halloumi, fried eggs, hash browns, mushrooms and roast tomatoes piled upon each other and skewered in place) followed by an almond and cinnamon cappuccino and then a flat white (is this a compressed cappuccino? (A. Jackie, sorry I still don’t get this beverage) followed by a caramel slice (yaz, I’ve succumbed. Not to the ubiquitous custard square yet though) at the kind of cafe I wish we had back home. However as I was about to say, but then digressed as is my want (..you know food) anytime is good for a beer, especially if there’s a perfectly legit reason for it. I while away the hour at the micro brewery and return to the platform at the appointed hour.
I overhear an exchange: some chitchat between one of these generic British, recently retired-couples (who seem to form the bulk of holiday makers now the Chinese are not being allowed in) and this guy who seems to put a dampener on whatever the couple say. Something along the lines of “oh yes you say that, but, it will probably rain when you get there”. I write him off as one of these loud mouthed, self opinionated people who like the sound of their own voice and are the main reason why they are lonely. I just clock the exchange, but am on my mobile, so give it no further notice.
The train self announces itself finally, I’m trying to locate my ticket, to see where I’m seated. As usual, even though I’ve only been handed it just five minutes earlier, I’ve already forgotten where I've placed it. Thus I’m a bit flustered when I get on the train and am disappointed to note I’m not near the window ( a blessing in retrospect. I always book an aisle seat in a plane but on a train I like to press my forehead against the window pane). I’m too busy unpacking my mobile lead which needs charging, my seaweed and trail mix snacks, my water and reads, to give any thought to who might be sitting next to me. I’d utterly forgotten this bit.
I hear a grumpy voice behind me. “When you’re done, you might give a thought to us back here”. I apologize as the voice wants to get to his window seat and although I’m not blocking the aisle, he has to get past me. I apologize. If he had just stated “Excuse me,” I would have dropped everything and let him insert himself. This does not turn out to be an easy affair. He is very obese and it’s a tight squeeze. Fortunately after five weeks on the road, eating healthily and all that trekking, I’ve shed most of my own beer belly. Otherwise it would have been battle of the wrong bulges. Nevertheless, I still manage to drop all my things on the floor. I fumble around on the floor, under his seat, trying to plug the power charger of my mobile whilst retrieving my specs which makes him even more irritated. Not a good start. Then it dawns on me..shit this is my traveling companion. All the 14th of February romance scenarios come crashing down. You have probably guessed by now it’s the same guy I had eavesdropped on the platform. Trust my luck.
Still I settle down. This is a happy day I remind myself and I booked the scenery not fiction.
The train eventually chugs off. The audio commentary comes over in fits and starts just like the bleeps of my on-again off-again charger.
Every time my neighbour moves he disconnects the cable and in the end I don’t bother anymore. In order to regulate the volume I have to reach under his love handles which have spilled over my side of the controls. He takes up a huge chunk of my vista, but what I can still see out of the window is scenic enough.
I figure out I haven’t even opened the LP chapter on Christchurch so I get as comfy as I can and settle down to read.
Someone is munching crisps loudly. I miss crisps dreadfully but because of my blood pressure they are not allowed. Munch, crunch, crisp, scrunch, slurp, munch..it sounds like the man behind us is gargling his crisps. I have to turn back and look. “For Christ’s sake!” My neighbour exclaims, “Incredible!”. I decide not to tuck into my trail mix.
The commentary goes on about some Chinese settlers. My seatmate who has been silent suddenly shouts out “Yuk!” And tugs on his orange beard, sticking his tongue out in distaste. He makes me jump. What was yuk? Was he referencing the Chinese? I hope not.
The train which has been proceeding at ant’s pace, suddenly picks up speed and the scenery changes to wide plains ringed by towering mountains. It’s breathtaking. I recall seeing an open viewing platform at the back of the train. I need to use the loo and so I kill two birds with one stone. Upon my return I kill a third, and sit down for some Pringles (I’m so suggestible), a sandwich and a coffee in the dining wagon. I decide to prolong my stay there, preferring being alone on a seat with nobody next to me. The lady opposite me seems to enjoy her food as much as I do. She even licks the aluminium lid of the hot meal she has ordered after she’s done.
After a while I decide to return to my seat as my food is finished and other passengers may want to take my place.
Somehow I forget where my carriage is and I end up in the engine carriage, if that’s what you call it. A very tall lady with Maori features and long frizzy black hair, sitting across the aisle from me beckons me back, saying “I thought that guy looks familiar, where’s he heading?”I thank her and as an ice breaker ask my neighbour who also comments on where I was directed, what he is reading.
In brief he is reading a biography about the black prince. He is into medieval history. Only into medieval history but no novels for him, or damned Tudors thank you very much. Do not mention Edward the second, he has no time for him. His son is ok though. “Shame about the useless father. All he was interested in is playing around in trenches.” For a second I think he’s got his timelines mixed up. Edward the second wasn’t around in the First World War. Maybe it’s an obtuse reference to the medieval monarch’s alleged homosexuality? Most likely, I’m reading to much into this and drop it. Mr Likes the sound of his own voice has enough money (I think I’m very lucky not to have to work, don’t you think so?) he informs me and spends his life traveling around the world. Every year he visits Europe (but not France, a pity I tell him because there’s a lot of medieval architecture he would be interested in there. Yes but France has French people, I don’t do the French...oh) and Cuba where he has bought a house for his godson. He hails from Adelaide, thinks Trump is the best thing that happened to America and thinks Jacinta is a waste of space. Europe is the way it is because of that stupid woman Merkel. It’s all her fault. He will not drink Pepsi because Michael Jackson promoted it. He does not have a mobile because he would rather talk to people. Yes, I want to add, only if they are white, right wing and not French.
“Do you know what that woman was reading?”, he turns round to me whispering in a conspiratorial tone, “when you were away?” “Which woman?”. “That...that woman with the long funny hair, he nods towards the Maori lady.” “What?” I ask uninterestedly. I am already planning my next, longer escape. This much longed for trip is beginning to turn into an anti-valentine’s day. “A mormon bible, I’m sure. She’s one of them he winks at me. I knew there was something strange about her, I knew it.”
Oh dear. I’m beginning to really dislike this man.
I take out my iPad and begin reading a novel. He doesn’t seem to get the message, but I keep on reading, inspite of his frequent interruptions.
Just then the monologue is interrupted by another announcement from the train driver. He has some bad news and takes an age spitting it out.
Apparently a coal train further up the line has been derailed.
We have to stop for longer than planned at Arthur’s Pass.
The driver suggests we exit the train and stretch our legs.
I’ve excused myself to my neighbour before the announcement has finished. Providence. But how long can you walk up and down on a platform for?. I go back to the dining car. The queue is too long.
Go back to my seat. My neighbour has disappeared. Another announcement comes on. Unfortunately the train cannot proceed any longer, we have to wait for two hours before two buses can leave Christchurch to come and collect us. They offer free water and coffees. I’m very disappointed but what can you do. A further two coaches will arrive 30 mins on from the first two and priority will be given to those who have flights to catch.
My neighbour returns laden with beef sandwiches and a beef wrap. “Shit he says as he squeezes past me again, I won’t be able to buy coke (this is where the Pepsi bit comes in , because if they only have Pepsi he’ll be screwed as he doesn’t drink that crap) for my bourbon which is in my luggage, or food, as the stores will be closed by the time I get there.” I nod absentmindedly. I get out my mobile. I need to inform my hotel that I will be arriving much later than the arrival time I had given them. They had sent an email urging guests to inform them if arriving later than 10pm as the front doors and reception would be closed. Luckily we have some reception. Now earlier in my holiday in my haste to get to a screening of a film, I had dropped my mobile on hard gravel, which despite having a glass screen protector, still managed to crack the , because of the angle at which it fell. Until now it had functioned ok. It’s just that sometimes (only when using messenger) the keys would get stuck and you had to wait a few seconds before they released.
Now my neighbour had made a mess of his beard and the triple chin piste to his woolen ,whilst eating. He started flicking flakes of dandruff (which were there to begin with) and crumbs off his sweater onto the table in front of him. Inevitably some descended on me. In irritation I jabbed the screen on one of the cracks, impatient for the bloody letter ‘p’ to become unstuck . The display cracks and it implodes. My screen was suddenly technicolor and useless. Big big shit.
I had guests checking in and out of my flat on Gozo and I needed to contact them and of course my hotel. Also I could not top up my revolut card which was linked to my phone. Double shit. Oh I’ve forgotten to mention that whilst waiting for my coffee part of a tooth filling which I had got filled days before leaving Gozo decided to just fall out. I hadn’t even been eating anything. Really this day was going from shit to shitter to shitier in degrees. The morning had been sooo promising and given my morning post it was proving to be
Soo ironic.
Ok you’ve been indulging me too much. I’m gonna fast forward.
The buses arrives much later than promised.
There is a stampede for the first two buses.
Somehow I listen to my intuition and not wait for the second two buses.
I grab one of the last seats on the bus. In the scuffle I lose all my vitamins which fall out of my bag. Doesn’t matter I lose something everyday anyway, I can’t help it, I try, I do my best, I get frustrated, I give up.
Anyway the trip back to Christchurch is harrowing.
I do get some intimation of the absolute natural beauty I’m missing in the dusk. The scenery is spectacular and dramatic. One lake shrouded secretively in mist, which I crane my neck back to see, will forever be etched in my memory.
But that mountain pass...oh God. A dense fog landed as we ascended. We had to go at snail’s pace, the road wound and wound, higher and higher up and I just don’t know how the driver could see anything. As we swerved round each precipice I flattened my face to the coach window as if my doing so would be able to add more weight to that side. The journey home was never ending. We were all cramped with the luggage which would not fit into the hold, piled on top of us. The man in front of me got up to check if the cubicle behind us was a toilet. It wasn’t. “What are you going to do?” His wife asked. “I don’t know just squeeze my legs”he replied. “Oh don’t” I said to myself. Please let me not need to go. We were surrounded by water, lakes, rivers, waterfalls. It’s so hard to hold it in in NZ.
Eventually 4 hours later than scheduled we get into Christchurch. It’s now 10.20pm. I manage to haul my 4 bags up a flight of church into the train station. I’m busting now. After relieving myself as per usual I discover there is no WiFi in the station. What am I gonna do?
So to cut a long story short.
All the taxis are taken, how do I call one?
I wait in the taxi rink
Luckily a taxi eventually arrives.
The Indian driver is very helpful even though we don’t understand each other at first. Indian +kiwi accent meets Malteser accent..we eventually catch on to the fact we are both speaking English. Well he had to, I kind of figured if he was working here.
He tries to contact the hotel for me. They are not answering,
In the end we wake up a disgruntled night duty watchwoman.
The taxi driver only accepts cash. I don’t have enough. NZ is normally a cashless society.
He waives the amount I owe.
I drop all the contents of one bag into the street.
I’m tired, I’m embarrassed, I’m fed up.
I’m checked in unceremoniously.
There is no lift.
The hotel is a bloody warren of stairs and half landings and I get lost.
I find my room after now kicking my luggage down flights and dragging it up others.
I’m tired, I’m fed up.
I get to my room. There is no key in the envelope I’ve been given.
Eventually I sink onto my bed.
There is an extractor fan outside my window.
I put on earplugs.
I hug myself repeatedly.
Fast forward to next morning
I spend my first morning in Christchurch in diff mobile shops.
I buy a mobile.
I pass another helpful Indian in a repair shop adjacent to the outlet where I’ve just purchased my mobile, I ask anyway. He says he can fix the screen.
I take the newly purchased mobile back and they refund the money,
Now I just need to find a chemist for some temporary poly filler.
I’m restarting my Christchurch experience.
Now for some coffee.
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