Category Archives: bus

Public transport, DRC style – Bunia to Epulu

Adventures, bus, drc, Travelling in Africa

One of the best things about living in South Korea was the public transport system. Anywhere you wanted to go, you could get there. Public transport is wide-spread, reliable, efficient and reasonably priced. Small villages have train stations and bus stations serviced once or twice a day. Busses run everywhere. Larger cities have subways and high-speed trains. Of course, for anyone travelling a little further afield, there are ferries and planes. Incheon airport (near Seoul) is a major international transport hub.

But for all the high-speed trains and fancy airports – which are great, don’t get me wrong – it is the fact that day-to-day travel is so easy that makes the real difference to quality of life. It’s something I miss in Africa. What public transport does exist here tends to take the form of mini-bus taxis (also called matatus) or, for those with a taste for adventure, boda-bodas. Buses are few and far between and tend to be both expensive and reserved for longer trips. On a visit to Mozambique a few years back, we took a bus from Vilanculos to Maputo. Nine hours of broken seats and overcrowding in what looked like it might once have been a Greyhound bus from South Africa. We decided then that Mozambique must be where buses went to die once they were no longer considered roadworthy in SA.

If that is true, then the eastern DRC is where buses go when Mozambique no longer allows them on the road. At least that is what we thought, although one of our group swears that the awful bus we took had a manufacturing date of 2005.

We were up early the morning we left Bunia. We had bought tickets the day before but you can never be entirely sure in the Congo, particularly on Christmas Eve when an awful lot of people are desperate to get home to their families on what limited public transport is available. By 6am, we were all up and ready to leave Hotel A Cote for the last time ever. We left our keys with the smiley man who had cleaned up and brought us buckets of water.

Off to the bus station. It was an overcast, hazy day. There were some people on the streets but the world wasn’t properly awake yet. We walked past a dog determinedly still asleep on a pile of sawdust. The sight of the bus was a little daunting. We’d seen it yesterday, but there was always the vain hope that it might somehow have improved overnight. Next to our bus were several other buses, perhaps left there to make ours look good because at least it had wheels and an engine.

When we arrived, people were loading large white sacks onto the bus. One of our group, Jon, tried to climb on board but was hastily chased away. No-one showed any interest in loading our luggage. 6:30am – the departure time – came and went. Some of the others went off to search for a restroom. We found a lady selling sweet, hot tea. After a while, someone came around selling cooldrinks. We finally tried strawberry-flavoured Fanta; it tasted like Red Sparletta.

All this time, the bus people continued to load white sacks onto the bus. They also loaded fuel. Refuelling here seems largely to consist of siphoning petrol or diesel from large, slightly dented metal barrels into whatever vehicle needs it at the time. It is entertaining to watch.

Clouds began to gather, promising to rain on all the people and all their luggage, which still hadn’t made it onto the bus. Eventually a sudden panic of people suggested we may be moving. We clambered and pushed and rushed our way onto the bus, scrambling over the huge white sacks filling the aisle. White sacks full of plastic Chinese flip-flops. Or perhaps not.

The seats were uncomfortable and crowded and there was nowhere to put our luggage, so we had no choice but to keep it with us – not the most comfortable way to travel. Overhead luggage compartments were full of cargo and the aisles filled with the white sacks.

Eventually, around 8:45am, we left. The bus was most definitely overloaded and swayed from side to side but once we got out of town, at least it felt like we were moving. The trip was hot and smelly and crowded. The bus lurched and bounced along ill-kept dusty roads. At some point (was it at Komanda?) we stopped and picked up more passengers, passengers who had been stranded when their own bus broke down. The climbed into the bus and took up their seats on top of the huge white sacks. In Mambasa, we ate stale chapattis, the first food we’d seen all day. It seemed impossible to fit any more people on the bus, but that, of course, didn’t stop anyone from trying.

By the time we reached the last leg of the bus trip, everyone was fairly miserable. By then, however, we had begun to pass through forests. The bus dipped and wobbled across swift streams passing across the road. The streams and the dappled forest light were beautiful but the mud puddles threatened to leave us stuck and the bus crawled along, still overcrowded, still hot and still miserable. We kept looking, kept searching for Epulu town and Epulu river, where we could finally get off.

After what felt like an age, we saw the river. The bus rumbled across one river bridge and then another and finally stopped at a guarded boom gate. We climbed out and passed our bags out of the window and joyously watched the horrible Nile Coaches bus disappear. It had taken us approximately eight hours to travel something like 200km in perhaps the worst looking bus any of us had ever seen.

Now, the horrible bus was gone and we stood at the gate of the Okapi Wildlife Reserve, that magical, wonderful, peaceful corner of the magnificent Congolese rainforests where we would spend several incredible days.

Backpackers fail: Banana Backpackers, Durban

Adventures, bus, KZN, ,

South Africa has some excellent backpacker spots, in Cape Town and Joburg and I’m sure in Durban. Banana Backpackers is not one of them.

My bus was nearly 2 hours late leaving East London. The trip was mostly uneventful except for that minor incident when some muppet on the side of the road threw a glass bottle at the bus managing, by some miracle to hit and subsequently shatter the right-side front window. No-one was sitting in those seats (I was a whole row back), so no harm done but seriously, our cricket team should think about drafting in the person somewhere between Kokstad and Port Shepstone who can hit a moving bus at 20 metres with a projectile as unpredictable as a coke bottle!

Other than that, uneventful, if particularly pretty. As a result, it was pushing 11 by the time I arrived at the Backpackers. At this point, things got weirder. The cab dropped me off on a city street, beside a run-down building. The front door was open and the security guard directed me up the creaking stairs. On the first floor, the rickety-looking black gate was opened by two girls at reception. Over the thumping, distorting noise of music in the adjacent bar area, I was told to follow them to the dorm. I dragged my suitcase past the central courtyard area, where people were braai-ing and drinking.

Just off the central courtyard, in a dark hall, the reception person knocked on and then just pushed open an orange door. The 10-bed door looked pretty standard – white linen, pillow and thin duvet on each bed, bunks that look like they’ve seen better days. I was sharing with one other person, who was already asleep. I put down my bags and returned to reception to check and pay. The girls at reception could hardly hear me over the music. I went out onto the balcony – hunching against the wall to avoid the rain – in search of somewhere I could hear myself think. Pretty soon, I gave up and headed to bed.

Which meant braving the bathrooms. They’re not the worst backpacker bathrooms I have ever seen – that honour is reserved for a particular hell-hole in Mozambique – but they’re a good, solid second. And they shared the problematic characteristic of being available for general use by the bar patrons, most of whom were not residents. The place was a mess. The kind of mess where you simply grit your teeth and get through it because you’re not going to find anywhere better tonight.

By this stage I was tired. All I wanted was to fall into bed and sleep. I got to the dorm and turned to close out the noise and the people. The door wouldn’t close. No matter what I tried, I couldn’t get the door closed. I went to fetch someone from reception. She said she’d send someone later. I objected until she came herself immediately. She explained that I couldn’t have a key because it was a dorm (for the record, this is absolutely not standard practice at SA backpackers). I explained that I could live with not having a key, if I could only have a door that would close. She shrugged and said it was a difficult door and there was nothing she could do. And that was it.

I lay in bed for hours, fuming, tossing and turning, attempting to find the mosquito that was hunting me and wishing there was a way to block out the thumping music and the screeching people (like a door, perhaps!). Through the un-curtained windows, a street lamp blinded me whenever I turned over. After a couple of hours two girls, clearly a little worse for wear, wandered through our dorm to the balcony to have a chat. The other person in the dorm got fed up, threw them out and found an old, plastic chair to put against the door. That didn’t close it, but at least it was obvious that it was supposed to be closed.

In the morning light, the dusty floors, the dirty bathrooms and the noise were glaringly obvious. The linen on the beds seemed clean, but beyond that there was little to recommend the place. I’d initially picked it because of the location but I’d certainly rather have been a bit further away and had a backpackers that was closer to the usual standard of SA backpackers. The place obviously used to be quite pleasant – walls painted, posters advertising adventures, 24-hour reception. Plus, paddle-pool and braai area. But those days are long gone. And all this for exactly the same price as I recently paid for a classy, clean, comfortable backpackers with excellent service and even better location in Cape Town

For the record, anyone seeking a better SA Backpackers experiences could start with Cape Town Backpackers, iKhaya Stellenbosch Backpackers, Penthouse on Long (Cape Town) or The Backpackers Ritz in Joburg, to name just a few.

City Sightseeing Cape Town Tour – Red Route

Adventures, bus, Cape Town, ,
City Sightseeing Cape Town tour – Red Route
Last week I spent a couple of days in Cape Town. Cape Town holds a special place in my heart, partly because it is one of the most beautiful cities in the world and partly because, having lived there twice, I have that inexplicably Capetonian, often-mocked-by-Joburgers attachment to the lump of rock that dominates the scenery. This time of year, the days are long and beautiful, particularly when the wind isn’t blowing (and even to some extent when it is) as the city lives up to its reputation as a particularly attractive place.
It is also a place where I feel quite strongly that one should throw caution and social pressure to the roaring South Easter and enjoy the sensation of being a tourist. So, after an extremely frustrating morning of work, I set off on a Thursday afternoon to find something exciting to see in Cape Town. I was staying in town-ish (Cape Town Backpackers), so close to town. My initial plan was to spend a few happy hours at a museum or go back and finish exploring the castle, but then a red, open-top sightseeing bus drove past and I was immediately sold.
The departure (and terminal) point for these city sightseeing buses is the dedicated stop in front of the Two Oceans Aquarium at the Waterfront. The buses use a hop-on, hop-off system, so it is possible to spend a whole day travelling from tourist destination to tourist destination. A one-day pass costs a mere R120 (a Windhoek City tour charges R200). I didn’t have a whole day, so I decided just to sit back and enjoy the tour from the top of the bus. For the record, it is highly advisable not to forget sunscreen – even though the wind keeps it cool when you’re moving, the sun can be quite fierce.
The Red Route is the city tour. It starts by circling around from the Waterfront past the ICC, up Adderley Street, past St George’s and the SA Museum, around past parliament and the Jewish Museum, through District Six and back past the Castle and the Gold Museum. The whole way along, disembodied voices tell you interesting things about the places you’re passing via a set of red headphones handed to you when you buy your ticket. Yes, I realise it is probably mostly information that can be picked up in other ways but it is somehow more interesting and definitely more ‘sticky’ with the visual reinforcement at the same time. I didn’t realise, for example, that the pretty Lutheran Evangelical Church in town was, for the first five years of its existence, disguised as a barn because no church other than the Dutch Reformed Church was allowed in the Cape. Nor that the war Memorial near the station is dedicated to those who died in the world wars and those who perished in the Korean War.
From town, the bus travels up Buitengracht, New Church and Kloof Nek towards the lower cable station. Lions Head and Table Mountain both rose majestically against the blue sky as we got closer and closer. The road up to the lower cable-way is… um… exciting in a bus but the views are worth it. Several cable cars travelled up and down as the bus waited. The bus stops for a few minutes at the lower cable station, where people are able to hop off and wander around a bit. I was hugely tempted to go up the mountain, but decided there simply wouldn’t be time before I was due to meet up with a friend. One day is one day.
After the cable station, the bus heads towards Camps Bay. The wind was starting to come up now and the twists of Geneva Drive were a little hairy but the views of Atlantic sparkling below and the 12 Apostles stretching behind were exquisite. Also, a reminder of why people pay millions to live in Camps Bay.
From there, the bus winds its way past the stunning beaches and millionaire-flats of Clifton, through Sea Point, Three Anchors Bay, Mouille Point and back, past Somerset Hospital, to the Waterfront.
It was a lovely trip and a great way to spend a sunny afternoon. By the end, the South Easter was drifting the cloud across the edges of the mountain, adding its own special kind of magic to the day. I stopped for calamari and chips with the seagulls at the Waterfront before heading back to the backpackers and the evening’s plans.

Last week I spent a couple of days in Cape Town. Cape Town holds a special place in my heart, partly because it is one of the most beautiful cities in the world and partly because, having lived there twice, I have that inexplicably Capetonian, often-mocked-by-Joburgers attachment to the lump of rock that dominates the scenery. This time of year, the days are long and beautiful, particularly when the wind isn’t blowing (and even to some extent when it is) as the city lives up to its reputation as a particularly attractive place.

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