Lovin' my new wheels

I've got a new bus and I'm in love.  After months of neglect, I finally decided to break up with single-decker 80Fs from Fourways in the afternoon.  Why Metrobus selects single decker buses for this busy route, I'll never understand.  I get on at the first stop, so I always get a seat, but then I have to fight with sharp elbows to push past the crowds as I disembark at Zoo Lake.  Metrobus riders seem fundamentally unable to step all the way into the bus and not crowd the entrance.  The drivers do nothing to dissuade riders from doing this, and often let passengers sit on the boarding steps or against the windscreen -- dangerous spots, for sure.  But, eh, let them stay crowded.  I've moved on.

Life is sweet on the (empty) top deck.

I'm now riding in style on the 16h30 route 421, Fourways to Bellevue, wherever that is.  Doesn't matter.  I board a completely empty double-decker that stays remarkably comfortable and hop off at Zoo Lake.  Plus, it's extra fast since apparently few people care to board it.  It's the best bus in town, but shhh, let's keep it our secret.

The storm's aftermath

Today as I headed home on this very bus, it was curious to see the streets of Rosebank flooded.  I'd thought the summer storms were past us, but apparently one last major one was in store, and timed exactly with my exiting the bus.  I didn't want to carry on to Bellevue -- don't even know where it is! -- so I just opened my tiny, inadequate umbrella and stepped out into the deluge.  I ran to join a lady under the semi-useful shelter of a tree while pebble-size hail fell all around us.  After fewer than 10 minutes, the storm moved on to surprise other neighborhoods, while leaving a bizarrely serene sunset in its wake.

Happiness is a shared walk

The other day as I was walking home from the bus stop on my way home from work, I passed a young woman and said a cursory hello.  To my surprise, she sped up her pace a bit and started walking with me.  The sun was setting -- it does that earlier these days and I'd worked late -- and she seemed relieved have another woman to walk with.  I realized that this wasn't just from a safety issue -- Saxonwold is usually pretty tame -- but more for the company.  She told me that her name was Happiness and that she walks from her home in Norwood to her job as a domestic in Parkview every day, twice a day.  Now I'm a hell of a walker, but she's completely got me beat.  I thought about all the people that think my walking as exceptional, but people like Happiness walk farther every day with much less fanfare.  Buses don't serve that route and to take taxis would require two taxis in each direction, which would eat into her day's profit.  So, like me, Happiness hits the pavement.  We spent the time chit-chatting about our lives here, where we come from (Zim for her, America for me), our families, our love lives, religion; covering quite a few topics for a 15 minute walk, really.  As I turned to head up my street, I wished her the best in beating the rapidly setting sun.  She still had a 30 minute walk ahead of her with about 10 minutes of sunlight left.

Steamy mornings on the bus

Bring your own squeegee.

Changing with the season

I've never understood why Jo'burgers deny that they have an autumn.  I've heard this for years, even as I watch leaves dry and collect on the curb, days shorten and shadows get longer.  Trust me, you've got it, and you've got it good.  Embrace it; fall is the most sentimental time of the year.  Early morning walks lately have been perfect: breezy and crisp, with golden sunlight filtering through departing overnight clouds.  It's sweater weather.  So, get out and enjoy it.  We've started the slow slide into winter and it will be here soon.  Go for a walk, go for a bike ride.  Catch a falling leaf and make a wish, hold someone's hand.  Just get out of your flat, get out of your car, get outside and enjoy fall in Jo'burg.  It's real.

It's over!!

Pop the corks!  The strike is done!  When I first heard the news I was thrilled, but then I had to laugh: I was excited to get back on the same Metrobus system that has let me down so much in recent months with its inconsistency, overcrowding and unprofessionalism?!  It was like celebrating the reunion of an abusive relationship.  But then I thought about it more and realized that having an operational bus service – flaws and all – is infinitely better than no bus service, and now I can again focus on highlighting room for improvement.

I really am very excited to get my routine back.  I’m so tired of my stop-gap measures for getting to work and can’t wait to take a Saturday bus again.  I’m curious to see the drivers who get assigned to my usual routes – and really hope it isn’t the popsicle eating/cell phone talking driver who can’t find her way out of Fourways Mall parking lot.

Putco earned my respect, even if the drivers never wanted to stop for me in the morning.  It presents itself as a well-run company and makes me sing a little song of privatization when I think of how it puts Metrobus to shame on so many levels.  Yes, they also face overcrowded buses, but their buses are designed to seat more, and I even checked out one of the new double-length buses (popular in San Francisco and other transit-forward cities) and it was wonderfully spacious.   Many of their buses are very nice indeed.  One recently even had a sweet stereo unit and the driver was blasting Toni Braxton and Michael Bolton.  At Fourways Mall, Putco has a roving dispatch man – something that Metrobus does not – who everyday would tell me which bus to board for Rosebank.  He seems to only have two teeth – the two canines on the top, which are extra long, and look like wolf fangs.  I built up a good rapport with him through these five weeks although I had to scold him today for sending me on the wrong bus Tuesday.  Instead of going near Rosebank like he promised, the bus went a totally different direction.  I jumped off in the nick of time on Barry Hertzog in Emmarentia before it headed further west.  I had to walk back to Killarney from there in a light rain a few days after losing my umbrella.  I may even miss the unsolicited compliments from the Putco drivers.  Today one seriously said this, “Those two buses leave at the same time, but you should take that one because you’re beautiful.”  I don’t understand that logic, but I’ll take it, Mr. Putco driver.  I’ll take it.

I also took minibus taxis twice with the ever-helpful Yara as my guide.  Let me tell you, those things have so many systems all their own and I would have been clueless without her.  From navigating the Bree Street taxi rank to knowing how to pay – for those also uninitiated, you pass the money a few people at a time to the person in the front seat (the banker) and I’m SO glad I didn’t jump on the urge to sit front seat on my first ride – to how to request a stop (“Steps!”), it’s just a whole world unto itself.  The minibuses still worry me as imminent deathtraps, but they sure are a faster alternative to walking from Helen Joseph to Killarney and a wonderful peek into colorful neighborhoods that I rarely visit: Brixton, Mayfair, Fordsburg, then through Newtown on the way to the taxi rank. 

It’s been five weeks of making do, figuring out alternatives, getting frustrated, being late, walking a ton, and finding new adventures.  Ultimately I feel more self-sufficient and knowledgeable about my city for having gone through it.  So, thanks Metrobus.  Ha, yeah right.  Now can you please just get back to work?

Getting by

It's now coming on four weeks that the Metrobus has been on strike.  It's been interesting to observe how little attention the strike gets.  In that sense, it feels like it could go on forever.  I mean, what are the striking bus drivers doing?  What is Metrobus doing?  Certainly not updating their website with any news -- not even a single mention! -- of the ongoing strike.  There's just a feeling of ambivalence and listlessness.  Even news outlets seem to shrug.  Every couple of days I do a Google search for Metrobus news but rarely find anything worth reading.  On 702 one morning, John Robbie read an SMS from a disabled Metrobus rider asking for an update on the strike.  "It's still on."  Thanks for the insightful update.

I'm not ambivalent.  I actually miss the Metrobus.  I miss knowing my routes and the freedom I feel, particularly on Saturdays, when I can hop on and go anywhere.  I've been getting to work in the same piecemeal fashion described before, but it gets pretty tiring.  The excitement of the new challenge has long since worn off.  The Randburg CBD, through which Putco buses detour, ceases to be interesting after the tenth or so trip and reveals itself to be a bit of a dive.  I miss being able to use my pre-paid Metrobus card (with unused credit on it) and am tired of always having to have R10 and R20 notes on hand.  Going past Gandhi Square a couple of Saturdays ago was surreal: barren, but for some people and pigeons. 

But thank goodness I still have my trusty two feet, which I've been relying on more than ever.  A couple of weeks ago, I got stuck in one of the scariest, yet wildest and most exhilarating, thunderstorms I've ever seen, much less been trapped in.  Just as I was halfway along my hour-and-a-half walk from Helen Joseph to Killarney, lightening started striking all around me followed by instant, terrifying thunder.  Then the rain came and made quick work of soaking Westcliff Drive.  Within a few minutes, the road had enough standing water to rival a wading pool.

Trapped as I was and freaked out by the lightening, I pushed up against a cement wall, hoping that in some way it would protect me. I let some ivy form a rain barrier around my umbrella, although by then nothing could keep me from getting soaked.  There is a certain point when stuck in a rainstorm that you just have to embrace it and have a big laugh about how drenched you are and how flooded the roads.  I hid in my little leafy enclave for nearly 30 minutes until the rain finally slowed, and then sloshed through deep puddle after deep puddle on the way home to a dry bathrobe and a glass of wine.

No love from Metrobus (and the feeling is mutual)

I'm gonna need to pour myself a glass of wine and get settled in to tell this tale.  Oh, Metrobus.  Please get yourself together.  Things were going remarkably well until December.  You may have heard that there was a one-day strike early that month.  This disrupted my commute to work, taking me three hours to get to work on a very important day, but still it was short-lived and I didn't think too much of it.

It turns out that the strike was in protest of a change in the Metrobus drivers' shifts.  They didn't lose jobs or wages, just changed shifts/routes.  In January, when the changes went into effect, the daily commute became a guessing game.  At Fourways Mall, after I got off work, I would wait for a bus and when one finally arrived, I wouldn't know if it was supposed to be the 3:50, 4:15 or 4:30 -- one would show at a random time and of course it would then get insanely packed with desperate, aggressive riders.  We had new drivers, including one who not only didn't know the route and the stops, she needed directions from the passengers just to get out of the Fourways Mall parking lot.  This particular gem also mastered the art of eating a popsicle with one hand, talking on the phone with the other, and driving a bus full of about 100 people at the same time.  What a pro!

On another day, Yara and I waited 40 minutes in Braamfontein during the morning rush hour to get a bus to Helen Joseph.  Usually we have our pick of four different routes, but in the 40 minutes, only two buses went by, and neither stopped for us.  That day it took me two hours to get from Killarney to Helen Joseph.

Also that week, Metrobus posted a letter from management apologizing for the December strike and providing a phone number to report service disruptions. Both Yara and I that day phoned to report our recent experiences and were told that the complaint person (yes, they have only one) was out of the office and did not have voicemail.  Such comedy!

So all of that is to say that things were bad in January.  Sloppy, unreliable, frustrating.  Well, how did they go one step further...strike!  Yep, starting last week, another strike was called.  But at first not all drivers were participating, and in trying out a new route due to the change, I encountered one of the most professional Metrobus drivers I've ever seen.  But I'm sure even he's not driving now, as there are no Metrobuses at all on the roads and I've heard that the strikers are intimidating those who continued driving and threatening violence. 

I typically have a lot of support for Metrobus and the drivers I ride with every day.  But I have absolutely no solidarity with this childish behavior and thuggery.  Dealing with changes in your job is part of having a job.  There are so many people in this city that rely on bus drivers, but the louche, entitled behavior that they've demonstrated in the past two months makes me think that a clean slate wouldn't be a bad idea, particularly when there are sooo many people who would be thrilled to earn an honest wage.

Metrobus corporate also is handling this terribly.  In addition to their genius customer service rep, their website often has surprisingly interesting features on events around town, particularly the evolving inner-city,  but good luck trying to find an update on the strike.

To get around, I've been experimenting with a mis-mesh of methods.  To Fourways in the mornings, it's usually Putco up Oxford Rd to the Gautrain bus (be sure to fill up that gold card in advance!).  On the way back, it's Putco from Fourways Mall, but they only go as far as Rosebank on Jan Smuts, so I walk from there.  I gotta give a shout-out to the driver Juke, who chatted with me for about 20 minutes before we departed the other day and was most amused to see, as he explained, a white woman on the bus to Soweto.  He used the time chatting to extol the virtues of having a black boyfriend and nominated himself for the role.

Today, it wasn't enough just to find the right bus: the Putco bus I was on actually broke down on Jan Smuts in Craighall, so I gave up waiting for another and walked the rest.  Fortunately I was in a great mood and the weather was idyllic, so I just put on my headphones and enjoyed it.  Sure it may have taken me 2 1/2 hours to get home from Fourways, but I still felt bad for the people in cars stuck in traffic.

Getting to Helen Joseph is even harder since it involves a transfer.  I think I'm going to have to experiment with minibus taxis.  Ay yi yi.  Last week, I just laced up my sneakers, pulled my hair back, threw my cinder block of a laptop into a backpack and walked the whole way -- an hour and a half.  It certainly beats waiting, that's for sure.  I may do that again tomorrow.  And it picked up on my first-ever walk from Killarney to Melville a few weeks ago, where I took a wrong turn and got lost in Richmond.  But now I know: from tony Westcliff Drive, don't forget to turn right at the pretty flowers and carry on.

Bus stop!

So, that's how you request a stop on the Metrobus.  You say clearly, "bus stop!"  I feel that this is worth sharing because I only realized that, oh, maybe four weeks ago and I've been taking the bus regularly now for, oh, seven months or so.  I'm used to buses in other cities where you push the button, pull the cord, even touch the magnetic strip to discreetly, perhaps passively, indicate a stop request.  Nope.  In that absence, I've sheepishly made my way to the front of the bus and shyly asked the driver for the next stop.  But then, out of nowhere a few weeks ago, it was everyone around me: "Bus stop!" "Bus stop!"  I thought, "How have I not known this before?!"  And of course almost every bus has a stop-indicator button -- never you mind that because you know it doesn't work and even if it did, that's not how things are done!  Things are done with "Bus stop!"...and now you know too!

The case of the strangely elusive Gautrain

It's been an exhilarating few months witnessing the triumph of the Gautrain.  Long slandered in the years leading to 2010 as the folly of the World Cup and symbol of the country's incompetence, the Gautrain remains a lasting icon of the optimism of the games and a reminder of what South Africa can accomplish.  Today it is one of the country's few methods of public transportation that has been embraced by many strata of South Africans -- not only those who must rely on public transportation, but also those who choose to do so.  Particularly in Jo'burg, that is a rare thing indeed.

Oh so subtle

I've had several opportunities to take the Gautrain in the seven months since its debut and I love that it works so well and its ridership appears steady.  I've already griped about the Gautrain bus (Gaubus?) and its frankly stupid policy of not accepting cash fares and making passengers jump through logistical hurdles just to board.  In a similar way, I think the Gautrain misses the mark in terms of its airport presence.  Have you ever tried to find it?  For such a major draw and one that clearly has a big marketing budget, why is it so hard to find in the airport?  With all their billboards around town, why isn't there one in the airport?

Which floor for Gautrain?

Instead, you have walk around until you find the low-key "Train" sign.  When I first saw that, I thought, wait, that can't mean the Gautrain...it would say Gautrain, or show its logo.  I wondered if that meant MetroRail.  I headed cautiously to the lift, but then I wasn't sure which floor to select, since there's no placard for Gautrain.  Even now that I've done this for several trips, I am always amazed at how diminished Gautrain's presence is for such a big deal.

In the whole scheme of things, this probably is a minor point, so kudos to Gautrain for getting the big stuff out of the way, but this still another example of the Gautrain operation missing the mark.  I'll say it again: you can't make it difficult for people to use your service.  Marketing inside the airport may seem counter-intuitive, but think about the captive audience that may have driven for their current trip, but might be swayed for future trips.  Or tourists that aren't sure how to get around.   An increased presence for Gautrain within the airport will help to boost its ridership to ensure its sustainable operation.

On a side note, I was really happy to see pedestrians and cyclists abound in Stellenbosch.  So, it seems that the fear and aversion to hitting the pavement isn't wholly endemic to South Africa.  Which leads me to ask: why you so lame like that, Jo'burg?

A confession

This might be out of place on this blog, but just to show that I'm not wholly anti-car, I will fess up to craving one lately.  But not for what you might think: not for the usual getting around, and certainly not for getting caught in Jo'burg traffic, but only to listen to music and drive fast.  There's a Kanye song that's been stuck on repeat in my flat, and with every listen, I feel an urgency that can only be sated by a car window full of summer air and fast speeds.  There is absolute perfection to be found in that one moment where the music and the road harmonize to remove everything else from your mind in a blast of sensation-seeking satisfaction.  Yes, what should be on your mind is driving and paying attention to the road, so it's probably good that I am not getting my fix.  And I really don't recommend this for city roads -- God knows the last thing Jo'burg needs is more dangerous, distracted drivers.  But I've had such memorable drives accompanied by iconic soundtracks: my senior year of college and the whole of OK Computer (sorry Josh), the Thailand coast set to the Decemberists (sounds incongrous, but it was magic), Mexico and Ween.  For me, driving fast into a song is a bit like riding a roller coaster -- similarly, cars are fun, but I don’t want to own one.  So for my day-to-day, it's happily feet and buses, but for my fantasy escape, between you and me and Kanye, it's Runaway and wheels.

Thanks, Cleo!

Cleo Magazine selected this little project as "A blog we love" on their Twitter site.  Thanks, Cleo!  If any new readers have stories they'd like to share about rockin' the car-free life in JHB, then email me or leave a comment!

Bathtime!

While walking miles and miles a day may be great for the environment and your health, it can be murder on your shoes. Mine have an especially tough go of it -- not only do they make their way over the better part of Jo'burg, but they also get dragged through mud, sloshed by dank puddles and paraded down dusty paths. It doesn't take long of wearing a new pair until I look down (often during a business meeting) and see that I've got cruddy shoes and filthy ankles. Plus it's hell on heels. I have to avoid heels flat-out during my commute and not because they're uncomfortable -- I grew up strutting around in my grandmother's hand-me-down Ferragamos -- but because I wear out the heel tips in a day or two. But in the spirit of the new year, I got my heels repaired by the man on the street with the little suitcase in my neighborhood, and came home and gave 8 pairs a soapy, happy bath.

Lookout Jo'burg...we're hitting the streets.

Reasons to walk: #487

Playtime with the neighborhood doggies!

Sending a shout-out to this little cutie who makes me smile everyday on my walk home.