charlie-sunshine

Photos: Gillian Chambers

A rasta and a Bergie (mountaineer, vagrant) climb onto a train...(waiting for the punch line, aren't you?) deep in conversation the rasta uncharacteristically timid, warns the bergie that his imaginary ticket is not even valid for first class and he'd be safer catching a free ride undetected in the third class carriages. The bergie looks him dead straight in the eye and says wryly,"There's no first class in heaven." True story.

That's what you can expect with our public transport system-thinly veiled chaos that just about works. Much like our mountaineer friend; stumble drunk and totally pickled for the last decade, but spitting words of wisdom.

I carry a torch for travelling with public transport, I've travelled this Peninsula up and down with nothing more than my two pins and a pocket full of change. Partly because I quite adamantly refuse to make the final plunge into adulthood and get my driver's license. It, in my opinion would be fiercely negligent for any government to allow me to operate anything more dangerous than a toaster. Logic will always prevail (and so will my endless bag filled with excuses).

My favourite journeys are always on the train, filled with young couples stealing kisses at the back of the carriage to the tired dad coming off the construction site, his blue overalls stinking of cement. This gruff man places his chubby little girl next to him with utmost care, opens her bag and takes out Gloria's preschool message book and reviews attentively. He smiles. Good job, Gloria! The journey always manages to shove your face ingloriously into the stark reality of peoples lives; their struggles and their joys.

Photos: Gillian Chambers

Come summer time, when the year winds slowly down you'll often find troupes of fidgeting boys, crooning old school ballads and minstrel favourites while the older boy plays a beat-up guitar, chanelling David Kramer and directing the younger boys who to target and when to turn up the charm. There's a band of new-age hippies that conduct fierce drumming circles on the train and blind Malawian women who haunt the early morning trains singing sad hymns of perseverance. And that's the thing. Its an even playing ground when you're sitting on a train- white collar, blue collar, no collar. Same same.

Frustrations aside (and let me tell you many people would lament and sing a different tune) if you really want get to know the people of Cape Town, the demographics, culture, idiosyncracies...take a train from the city right passed Kalk Bay all the way to the knife's edge at Simon's Town. The journey is indicative of the landscape, contrasting, dynamic and distinctively local. From the grimy backskirts of the Salt River factories to passing over the tunnels at Kalk Bay harbour, the tracks seemed to have been laid with an air of mischief as if to constantly remind us of the extremes of our city and the climate of our times.

So if you're curious, maybe just a visitor to our city. Jump onto a train, get on the southern suburbs line, grab a seat near the window and wait patiently for the journey to begin. You're never guaranteed how long the journey might take and as the grey and yellow ribbon jerks forward the air sparks with anticipation. What crazy wonder will stumble on this train today and trade lessons in life, because we're all the same. Pink inside.