Day 7: Wednesday 4 July

Again, Alfie gave me a lift to the station.

My fellow passenger in the first-class compartment addressed me in Afrikaans. Franzi, small, wiry, with waves of grey-blond hair falling over his face in a style that hasn't been popular since the seventies, is the antithesis of of the stern Afrikaaner. He spent 20 years on the trains until he took redundancy last year and now runs his own business - Francois's fast-food, prepared meals, and mobile discotheque. Franzi can rattle off the name of every station between JBurg and Capetown, plus the time of arrival in each. He can describe in detail every tiny difference between the furnishing of the current range and the previous range of trains, rattle off the times of departure of every train between here and Victoria Falls in Northern Namibia, where to get the best steak in Bulawayo and how to avoid the money-changing scams in Victoria Falls.

Throughout the trip a succession of tall blond (in every sense of the word) Afrikaaner teenager girls passed through our compartment, which provided good conversation for Franzi--he never stopped talking.

We stopped at innumberable small stations. Most of the vegetation consisted of brown scrub, broken by green patches around inhabited areas. Occasionally I got out to stretch my leds. Later in the evening the weather outside grew colder, but it remained warm enough in the carriage, which was good, because no bedding was provided (and I didn't have any with me).