On getting carried away…

CHRIS BENNETT has been indulging in the ancient art of travel.

THERE are fewer pastimes that I find more engaging than driving my car. It is a small, economical car, quite powerful enough and, for me, ideally suited to long distance travel.

I do not like flying any more. When I was young the thrill of an airport and the prospect of being fussed and comforted by charming air hostesses for twelve or eighteen hours were sparkling in their attraction.

Not any more. The aircrews of today are just that, crews. And who can blame them? The world is awash with nutters trying to blow them out of the sky; a prospect designed to cool any flush of hospitality or compassion. And, what is more, it seems to be getting worse.

For those of us lucky enough to live on the KwaZulu-Natal South Coast the drive to the airport is a bit of a pain. Given that the new airport will something in the order of another hour further away I thank providence for my love of long distance driving.

Last week I left home at 4.30am and headed for Hartbeespoort, to see friends and family. The drive was spectacular. I prefer to drive alone; I cannot hold a conversation and drive a car; and I prefer not to listen to music. I think about the car and its remarkable manifestation of man’s skills and ingenuity. I have even been known to talk to it, but the less said about that the better.

The number of gigantic haulage trucks on the road served to remind me of how we have allowed our railways to sink to what must be about the lowest level in the world. They’re all but non-existent.

The trucks also reminded me of the apparent steadiness of our economy, a steadiness untouched, or so it would appear, by the antics of those in high office.

Johannesburg, as I’m sure you know, is trying to come to terms with the fact that it was napping some years ago. The middle class, car owning segment of the population burgeoned, but nobody did anything about the roads. The penny seems to have dropped.

For a year or two now there has been the most extraordinary programme of road building and road rebuilding.

Unfortunately this means that movement around the city’s perimeter requires a lot of patience, time and, preferably, a flask of tea and some sandwiches. But my friends tell me the results will be worthit, and I am sure they will.

Getting out to Hartbeespoort on a road that has not been enlarged since the 1950s is a seriously unnerving experience. The little road is built for travel at about 60km/h and everybody (well nearly everybody) does about 110km/h. I can’t help wondering what the rush is for. Yet more impatience, I suppose, or maybe everybody, like the March Hare, is late again.

It was rather reminiscent of home, still the best place to be.