Nightmare on Greyhound

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  The middle of nowhere, Eastern Cape, South Africa
Tuesday, April 3, 2012

 'It's 5 past 5 pm and I am at the Mthatha Shell station waiting for the Greyhound to Johannesburg. Already feeling miserable and cold. It's surprisingly cold after 2 days of solid rain.
The shuttle from Port St John left at noon so I've been waiting for 3 hours now. What follows is a 12 hour bus ride, I hope I can sleep but probably shan't. I sigh to remember the last time on Greyhound, 'never again' I said - but it can't possibly be as bad as then.
  
We'll arrive at 05.30 am - I'll leave my luggage at Johannesburg bus station and spend the day in town. This time I am well prepared, got lots of tips and ideas and hope to get a more favourable impression than on the last visit. 
 My plane leaves in the evening so I'll have all day. Arriving at Heathrow early morning, then on to Amsterdam. 
It's a long haul and I would have much preferred to fly into Jo'burg. Well, things turned out differently but I am already regretting bad planning.'
 

When I wrote the above, whiling away my time waiting for the bus, I had no idea how much I was going to regret my decision to go with Greyhound.
The coach arrived on time, we boarded, it was pretty full - no empty seats to sleep on - and we settled in for a long ride. We left at 17.40 hrs. 
 I hadn't bothered to bring food and drinks, we would stop every 3 hours or so to buy whatever we needed. 
An hour and a half on, almost dark now, the bus comes to a grinding halt. No-one is much perturbed, used to little hiccups and diversities en route, but the driver stands up to make an official announcement: a technical problem has occurred. It has been reported. A mechanic is on his way. We will continue the journey soon as he has fixed the problem.
This news is received with laughter, even clapping as if it is rather amusing, there is some excited verbal exchange which I don't understand. I am, as usual, the only white person in this company.
 
How to explain in short what followed?
The first few hours we still trustingly expected the mechanic to show up. About four hours later people had given up hope, even though we were assured he was very near, we could almost wave at him. 
 We didn't see him, we were in the middle of nowhere, the road unlit and the bus without lights, as the engine was off. No heating, it was a very cold, rainy night, no ventilation, we were packed together without fresh air, and a toilet that couldn't be used, so we had to go out into the ungodly night and find a place in the wet grass to relieve ourselves. Unsafe and undignified. Elderly ladies, a girl with a small child, squeezing past the door that was only partially opened.
 A guy drove past slowly when I eventually ventured out and then reversed - I fled back to the coach. 
People are tired, fed-up, hungry and thirsty.
 
The Greyhound had been sending soothing messages every hour or so:
 Soon and Utmost Best, Sincere Apologies for Any Inconvenience. Regret and Regards.
Nobody believes a word they are saying and start speculating on what is going to happen. Most of us have spent all our airtime calling Customer Care, as the frustrated driver advised us to do, getting  no-where. A young girl answers the phone, she basically has no information or is instructed not to give us any, and cannot or will not direct us to her superior or anyone who can say something real. All of us listening to each others conversations, egging each other on, say this, tell them that.
Moans and groans as we were fobbed off again.
 
'Let's set the bus on fire, see how fast they get here,' I joke. Oops - that was greeted by a roar of approval and discussions of how to go about it. 
 'No, no, I'm only kidding - that might get us to Johannesburg, but it will be the jail,' I said.
They laughed, they were kidding too.
 
But this was just not on. The lady next to me, very big, had had a knee operation and the long cramped sit was causing her pain, across the aisle was the girl with the infant, trying to pacify her, fiddling with nappies and bottles in a very limited space. People were restless, standing up, pulling out overhead luggage, rummaging around for things to nibble on, something to do - they were bored and angry. Airtime was running out, some asking for the use of phones, needing to alert family, friends, employers, doctors they would not be there on time and unable to say when they would arrive.
No assistance from Greyhound to resolve these issues, no response to our cries for help, no replacement bus or taxis.
 
After 6 hours or more, I forget the exact time, a mechanic shows up. A cheer goes up, but the driver had all ready told me not to get my hopes up and predicted he would look at it and say ''Sorry, I haven't got the parts.' 
And that was exactly what happened.
The passengers were totally disillusioned and also strangely resigned to spending the rest of the night in the horribly uncomfortable bus. Some try to sleep, but that's not really an option as others start playing tinny music, phones keep ringing irritating ring tones, loud spurts of conversations erupt, the getting up and walking to and from the driver for information he hasn't got, going out to pee or to smoke. 
 And still no word of what is going to happen to us and no way of getting out of this hell.
 
By now I realise that not only are my plans for the day thwarted but chances are I might not even make it to the airport on time.
 
Towards daylight we hear the driver will get on a Cityline bus coming from Jo'burg and find a bus to drive back in and pick us up. Funny enough that was the first thing the lady sitting next to me had told me was likely to happen.
So yes, that's what happened and after a 12 hour nightmare we were on our way to JB again.
 
For me it was a close call, was I going to make it? A 10 hour ride, the driver said, if nothing happened that is. But there was first a road block and further on an awful accident - the driver fell asleep? What about our driver, he would be on the road for 24 hours at least....that's not allowed and very unsafe.
 
  We stopped to eat, of course, people were starving, but time was ticking on, every minute counted for me. Back on the bus were big boxes of burgers, tea and coffee. Compliments of the Greyhound and I was shocked to see how much that mollified my fellow passengers. So much so that some withdrew their promise to sign the complaint letter that had been drawn up on behalf of all.
A lady who had missed her transfer to Botswana was accommodated for the night. What about me? The driver looks puzzled: 'I thought they had sorted you out,' he says.
'No, not a word and you have to drive me to the airport first or I won't make it.'
'Sorry, can't  do that,' he says. I understand, it will add on another hour and a half for the others.
'Right,' I say, 'if I miss my flight I am going to sue the company. Make sure they know that.'
Within minutes he tells me a taxi is coming towards the bus to pick me up and bring me to the airport.
It does and I make it just in time. Just in time for a couple of whiskies, standing, no time to sit, no time for duty free or tax returns, but, hey, there I am, back in a cramped seat again for the next 10 hours or so. A window seat and two sleeping next to me so there goes my chance to stretch my legs or go to the loo.

Well, arrived ín Amsterdam, rather grumpy and definitely worse for wear, but safe at least.
And now I must try and acclimatise here. I am going to miss South Africa, with all its haphazardness, African time and funny situations  but one thing I wont miss is the hound from hell, the Greyhound clunker - never again, never.

But I said that before, didn't I?

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