…like the clickety clack of the train on the track, it’s got rhythm to spare...
On every continent, long-distance train travel has been a popular holiday of choice since the glorious beginnings of the Orient Express of Venice Simplon fame. Today we have The Blue Train, Rovos Rail, The Danube Express, The Northern Belle, The Eastern Orient Express, The American Orient Express, The Shongololo Express, Australian Rail and many more.
And who would have ever thought that we can now hop on a train from London to Paris, take in the cabaret at the Folies Bergère and return to London the same night? I am not so sure about these modern day speedsters though. I travelled from London to Manchester on one of these bullets and could hardly believe the speeds we achieved. Not a single moment to take in the views or even try to read the names of each little village we happened to be hurtling through, which I believe is part of the whole enchantment of train travel!
No, I like to spend the night and feel the magic. That rocking feeling as your carriage sways from side to side as it obediently follows where it surely must; that startling moment when, without warning, your train sweeps past another going in the opposite direction; that absolute quietness as your train stands patiently at some desolate station in the middle of the Karoo, in the dead of night, waiting for a train coming the other way… hopefully; that weird sensation of watching another train gently glide past your window in the opposite direction and for a split second you believe it is your train that is moving and your wife is off buying something from the shop! Panic! She has my wallet!
What about all those different sounds or ever-changing views through your window? Those unique smells and crisp fresh bedding. The glamour of the dining car or that first cup of coffee served from those massive kettles as the butler rattles your cabin door. This is what a train trip is all about. It is the journey itself that matters, not the destination at all. Nothing to beat it really.
I was very fortunate as a schoolboy as I had to travel by train from Francistown in Botswana to Pietersburg (Polokwane) in South Africa at least three times a year, both ways, to attend boarding school. The train I caught originated in Lusaka, Zambia, the day or so before it reached Francistown and completed its journey in Johannesburg, 24 hours later. I would then have to stop over for six hours and catch another overnight train from Johannesburg to Pietersburg. I would board the train at around 2pm on a Sunday and arrive at school at 7am on Tuesday morning! I did this for five years with my best school buddy, who stayed further down the tracks in Gaborone, which meant I was usually alone for the first 10 hours or so. We would pull into his station at around midnight and once he was in the compartment and we were on the move again, it was time for holiday stories, smoking up a storm and sipping on one of those tall Rogue beers that were on the market at that time! Glory days, I tell you.
Allow me to share one tale with you! Somewhere between Koster and Swartruggens some of the farmers grew their fruit trees very close to the line and it did not take us long to figure out a way to gather some of the harvest for ourselves. But time was always against us, as the opportunity lasted maybe only four or five minutes and we would be past those trees. Being the smaller of the two, and some may say the dumber, I would climb out of the window and with my buddy holding me by the legs I’d lean out as far as I could reach, armed with my lasso, which was secured at the other end to the railing in the corridor. We had worked out after many failed attempts that, to get the lasso on to a branch, we had to be really close to the trees. So, there I would hang, stretched outside the train, as we sped along at a fair pace, fruit trees flashing by in a blur, not to mention poles, railway information lights, hot specks of coal torching my face, ears and eyes, ready to toss the lasso and hope that luck (and a bit of skill of course) would secure us a branch! If we got a strike, my buddy would haul me back in moments before the simple laws of science jarred the rope taught. As a branch was ripped from its tree, we would both pull frantically on the rope, hauling the branch to the window and pick off any remaining fruits. In the beginning there were many failures but we never gave up, learning from our mistakes each year until we got it right. I clearly remember at least once sitting smugly in our compartment, chewing on hard green peaches! To those fruit farmers I say thank you and apologies!
So, whichever Express you choose around the world, the trains, routes, costs and standards may be different but the journey will still be romantic, enchanting, magical, unusual, something special actually, even if you don’t spend some of the time with some of your body hanging out of the window.
Enjoy and travel safe!
Mike Nunan is the General Manager of Jatinga Country Lodge and Restaurant, located on the outskirts of White River. He has decades of experience in the tourism industry, working in many game and country lodges in Botswana, Tanzania and South Africa, including private lodges in the Kruger National Park. He has travelled extensively around Africa and has a passion for the wild. He loves sharing his experiences, in writing or around a campfire. Mike has been sharing his stories since 2004 in various publications, purely as a hobby.
On every continent, long-distance train travel has been a popular holiday of choice since the glorious beginnings of the Orient Express of Venice Simplon fame. Today we have The Blue Train, Rovos Rail, The Danube Express, The Northern Belle, The Eastern Orient Express, The American Orient Express, The Shongololo Express, Australian Rail and many more.
And who would have ever thought that we can now hop on a train from London to Paris, take in the cabaret at the Folies Bergère and return to London the same night? I am not so sure about these modern day speedsters though. I travelled from London to Manchester on one of these bullets and could hardly believe the speeds we achieved. Not a single moment to take in the views or even try to read the names of each little village we happened to be hurtling through, which I believe is part of the whole enchantment of train travel!
No, I like to spend the night and feel the magic. That rocking feeling as your carriage sways from side to side as it obediently follows where it surely must; that startling moment when, without warning, your train sweeps past another going in the opposite direction; that absolute quietness as your train stands patiently at some desolate station in the middle of the Karoo, in the dead of night, waiting for a train coming the other way… hopefully; that weird sensation of watching another train gently glide past your window in the opposite direction and for a split second you believe it is your train that is moving and your wife is off buying something from the shop! Panic! She has my wallet!
What about all those different sounds or ever-changing views through your window? Those unique smells and crisp fresh bedding. The glamour of the dining car or that first cup of coffee served from those massive kettles as the butler rattles your cabin door. This is what a train trip is all about. It is the journey itself that matters, not the destination at all. Nothing to beat it really.
I was very fortunate as a schoolboy as I had to travel by train from Francistown in Botswana to Pietersburg (Polokwane) in South Africa at least three times a year, both ways, to attend boarding school. The train I caught originated in Lusaka, Zambia, the day or so before it reached Francistown and completed its journey in Johannesburg, 24 hours later. I would then have to stop over for six hours and catch another overnight train from Johannesburg to Pietersburg. I would board the train at around 2pm on a Sunday and arrive at school at 7am on Tuesday morning! I did this for five years with my best school buddy, who stayed further down the tracks in Gaborone, which meant I was usually alone for the first 10 hours or so. We would pull into his station at around midnight and once he was in the compartment and we were on the move again, it was time for holiday stories, smoking up a storm and sipping on one of those tall Rogue beers that were on the market at that time! Glory days, I tell you.
Allow me to share one tale with you! Somewhere between Koster and Swartruggens some of the farmers grew their fruit trees very close to the line and it did not take us long to figure out a way to gather some of the harvest for ourselves. But time was always against us, as the opportunity lasted maybe only four or five minutes and we would be past those trees. Being the smaller of the two, and some may say the dumber, I would climb out of the window and with my buddy holding me by the legs I’d lean out as far as I could reach, armed with my lasso, which was secured at the other end to the railing in the corridor. We had worked out after many failed attempts that, to get the lasso on to a branch, we had to be really close to the trees. So, there I would hang, stretched outside the train, as we sped along at a fair pace, fruit trees flashing by in a blur, not to mention poles, railway information lights, hot specks of coal torching my face, ears and eyes, ready to toss the lasso and hope that luck (and a bit of skill of course) would secure us a branch! If we got a strike, my buddy would haul me back in moments before the simple laws of science jarred the rope taught. As a branch was ripped from its tree, we would both pull frantically on the rope, hauling the branch to the window and pick off any remaining fruits. In the beginning there were many failures but we never gave up, learning from our mistakes each year until we got it right. I clearly remember at least once sitting smugly in our compartment, chewing on hard green peaches! To those fruit farmers I say thank you and apologies!
So, whichever Express you choose around the world, the trains, routes, costs and standards may be different but the journey will still be romantic, enchanting, magical, unusual, something special actually, even if you don’t spend some of the time with some of your body hanging out of the window.
Enjoy and travel safe!
Mike Nunan is the General Manager of Jatinga Country Lodge and Restaurant, located on the outskirts of White River. He has decades of experience in the tourism industry, working in many game and country lodges in Botswana, Tanzania and South Africa, including private lodges in the Kruger National Park. He has travelled extensively around Africa and has a passion for the wild. He loves sharing his experiences, in writing or around a campfire. Mike has been sharing his stories since 2004 in various publications, purely as a hobby.
