A slow train to Durban

As we boarded the train to Durban we looked in horror at our “coupe” for two. This tiny compartment was to be our home for the next two days, and while we weren’t expecting the Orient Express, this claustrophobic space, with barely enough room for our luggage, let alone my fat bum, was far too small for comfort.
“I can’t stay in this,” I shrieked, and for once the usually calm Nigel shared my concerns.
“You are right, we can’t spend 48 hours in here, we would kill each other,” he said cheerfully as he went off in search of someone in charge.
Just as the train was about to set off he tracked down the deputy manager. He was very reassuring.
“Of course madame, sir, I can see there is no room for you. I think I will be able to get you bigger carriage, but it will not be easy, no it will not be easy.”
Quick translation: “The train is half empty madame, there are plenty of bigger carriages but I will make you sweat a little bit, so that my tip will be even more generous once I move you.”
And so it came to pass. After moving us to one of the many empty four-berth compartments, he disappeared, returning thirty minutes later with a sombre tale about how he was having difficulty pacifying the passenger who had, allegedly, booked the very compartment in which we were now comfortably settled.
“I told him you needed it more than he did,” he grimaced. “I am sure he will calm down by the time we get to Durban”. Nigel looked worried.
“Should we pay you just now for an upgrade, will that help?” I asked, not-so innocently.
Mr Deputy Manager smiled yes. Nigel passed him 200 Rand, the maximum sum we had agreed earlier we would pay for the privilege of not suffocating.
Mr Deputy Manager quickly pocketed the cash and gave me a cheerful thumbs up.
“Let me know if there is anything else I can do for you madame,” he smiled as he closed the door. We never saw him again, nor did we need to.
Shosholoza Meyl's Trans-Oranje train from Cape Town to Durban is not nearly as luxurious as the famous Blue Train, but it is very comfortable and very good value for money. A one way tourist ticket is around £35.
We had brought along two bottles of South African Pinotage - £2.50 each from Woolworths, M&S’s South African cousin - to accompany the rather basic, but adequate, on-board meals.
We also had three bars of Lindt chocolate, some fruit and a few good books to satisfy all our appetites, so snug in our vivid purple bunks we sat back and enjoyed the South African countryside as it rolled past.
At night we were lulled to sleep by the movement of the train, and in the morning we enjoyed a hot shower while watching the sunrise over the plains.
Our journey took us through the arid desert of the Karoo, past the De Beers Diamond mine in Kimberley, across the Orange Free State via Bloemfontein and into Natal.
We passed the spot near Estcourt where in 1899 young war correspondent Winston Churchill was taken prisoner by the Boers and stopped at Pietermaritzburg the station where Mahatma Ghandi was thrown off a train in 1893
When we reached Durban we disembarked reluctantly, but refreshed and ready for the next leg – the mysteries of Madagascar - but first a night by the magnificent Indian Ocean lay ahead.