The Spey gives in (after four years)

After the rain

After the rain

 

A diaspora usually works in one direction; the population leave in search of fame and fortune elsewhere. My best buddy always joked that the Scottish exodus of the early 20th century was so great that you could go into the bar at the end of the Amazon and be certain to find a Jock behind the bar there.

 

This week has been the week of the reverse diaspora; people we met in South Africa who had come to live and work in the land of opportunity and subsequently returned to their homelands. Some because of the security situation, some because of the country’s politics and/or economy, some because their circumstances had changed and a few for no reason better than that they missed their home town(s).

 

Add a spectacular setting on the Spey, some salmon fishing, a huge country house and a big group of dear friends some of whom we share almost five decades of friendship and experiences with and you’ve got a recipe for the best of times.

 

It helps to be able to catch a fish or two with a fly – that’s what the 15′ Spey rod was for. Luckily it broke down into several pieces for ease(!) of transport, but the tube it lives in was still 1.2m (4’0″) long and would only fit into our roller skate Citroen DS3 between the seats and halfway up the windscreen.

 

And, as though that weren’t enough, after lashing the waters of the Spey for four years, the two fish (both sea trout, around 1.5Kg each) I finally nabbed on Saturday morning were caught with a borrowed spinning rod. The weather has been so beastly this last week or so, that the rain had caused the river to rise and the water darkened with washed-down mud, so fly fishing was abandoned and the spinning green light given by the head gillie.

 

It was a great feeling to finally get that powerful tug on my line. I landed the first one with help and a net, disgorged the fly and returned it to the murky river. The second followed a couple of casts later, was much easier to release from the hook and swam off quite nonchalantly. The rules of fishing this area are very strict about how many and what kinds of fish can be kept. I could have taken neither home, so it was logical to return them both. And, to ensure the fish lives, it’s necessary to return it to the water quickly, so no photographs got taken. Who wants to see me grinning at a fish anyway?

 

So, that’s all the writing I’m doing this time – I’ll add some photographs of this magnificent countryside and leave it at that. All shot with a Nikon D800e and one of three non AI Nikkors; 105mm f2.5, 50mm f1.4, or 28mm f2.8.

 

Thanks for coming along for the ride.

 

Summer's abundance

Summer’s abundance

 

Ferns

Ferns

 

Bank of the Spey

Bank of the Spey

 

Misty morning

Misty morning

 

Dewy morning grass

Dewy morning grass

 

Mist, daisies and cold, clear water

Mist, daisies and cold, clear water

 

Lone hollyhock

Lone hollyhock

 

After the rain

After the rain

The Skye bit

Sunset over Cuillin seen from Elgol

Sunset over Cuillin seen from Elgol

 

Lunch was sublime, Cape Town’s best; fresh tuna carpaccio followed by spaghetti vongole for Mrs P and swordfish pasta for me. Washed down with a couple of glasses of more than acceptable local rosé and then, a quick trip to the airport.

 

If you think this looks good, you should have tasted it.

If you think this looks good, you should have tasted it.

Clam fallout

Clam fallout

 

Lunch? I’d promised Mrs P as she only leaves for the UK (to join me there) next week.

 

So, airport, book in, customs, security, immigration all dealt with in moments and now I’m lolling dozily in the airline’s lounge.

 

Here we all are; me with a complimentary scotch, the uncomfortable German businessman, thick fingers jabbing his phone’s tiny keys. He will become an enemy before I leave, but more of that later.

 

A loud American that can’t access the wi-fi (nothing new there, this is South Africa after all).

 

An English woman, cell-phone-bellowing at endless friends and members of her family. The phone is redundant; her blare is loud enough without, her endless sentence-end laughs intrusive and wildly excessive.

 

Hoodie-clad Ms Two Tennis racquets stares vacantly, seeking who-knows-what.

 

Golf on a TV that no-one is watching. African talking heads on the other, also unwatched. Load shedding Stage 2. No-one cares any more – our venal and mendacious government has poked the economy in the eye and doesn’t have the first clue how to remedy a tumbling growth rate and 37% unemployment.

 

A raddled housewife, weary looking husband and two excited kids; coming or going? “I’m eating all this now so I won’t get hungry later on the aerwoplane” says male junior. Mum resorts to her phone to force hubby to attend to his brood. No chance. He’s got chips and a big fat drink.

 

Daddy, how long?” they squawk endlessly.

 

Gwmph.” Translation; “Fuck. I don’t know and care even less. Leave me alone for two minutes.

 

Daddy, I also need to go to the bathroom.” Daddy sighs, stands up, his phone falling from his lap where he was discretely checking e-mails. Everywhere, there’s a distinct air of resignation and we’re not on board yet.

 

There’s two seats” says a clearly retired hubby, already weary of air travel. “There’s no table. There’s no table. There’s no table” replies clockwork wife, used to getting her own way. Hubby stands owlishly… seconds staring at her retreating back. I imagine (as I think he does), plunging a knife into her and putting an end to her anger-making, syllable emphasising hand flapping, as she complains. Stab! Now STFU!

 

They’re all on the plane and I am glad of (for once) a couple of decent movies and an early night. It’s that or people who insist on carrying on high decibel conversations, screeching children, or the whining passengers for whom nothing is ever right.

 

Skye

Skye

 

In nine hours or so, the plane will land in Dubai and scratchy-eyed, we will deplane, to sit and wait for connecting flights to all corners of the globe. It’s a great hub and spoke system if you can deal with it.

 

With your body clock at single digit a.m. hours, you need to have managed to keep a bit of the hooligan about you as you aged – not being afraid of pre-breakfast alcohol and social interaction at the bar are essential. If you can’t, then sleep is the only option in an uncomfortable seat miles from your gate (it’s usually the only one available), the thousand yard, broken sleep stare and just about every language, food aroma and offensive personal habit imaginable. Just try to blast through the porridge that is where your brain used to be, long enough before you doze off to remember to set the alarm on your phone – otherwise, you’ll slumber on serenely and miss the bloody plane.

 

Oh joy.

 

My connecting flight leaves at sometime after 05:00, arriving in Glasgow at half past midday, after several hours flying time and an additional three hours of time difference. Then it’s find the car hire desk, get the (already booked) car and drive to Mallaig, in order to catch the last ferry of the day to Skye. Mr Google says it’ll take three and a half hours, I hope he’s right, or I’ll have wasted a ferry ticket and will have to drive an additional hundred miles to reach my hotel and catch up with Bob, my photographic companion for the next few days.

 

The German businessman? Minutes before leaving for the gate, I use “the facilities”, returning to find the last decent gulp of my most enjoyable drink is now awash with the detritus that collects on any lounge table; sweetie wrappers, a torn up voucher and a couple of tea spoons.

 

“Oh. Sorry. I thought you had left.”

 

“Sure you did, that’s why my luggage is still here and my computer is still on the table.”

 

What a bell end.

 

Neist Point and lighthouse

Neist Point and lighthouse

 

Later…

 

Tired. Simple word, complicated outcome. My photo buddy Bob and I have driven, walked, scrambled and clambered much of Skye this last few days. At six and a bit decades, I’ve done well, but am now done in and planning a celebratory early night It’s almost half past nine after all(!) – and still light outside.

 

It’s also driech – overcast, moody and drizzing. Typical Scotland but not great for stunning sunrises and sunsets. Still, we’ve had a chance to catch up, grumble about our various Gear Acquisition Syndrome (GAS) afflictions and on occasion, head to out harm some otherwise defenceless pixels.

 

Looking towards Ramasaig

Looking towards Ramasaig

 

Last evening (Sunday) saw us scrambling over the boulders at Elgol, to catch a spectacular sunset scene over the Cuilin mountains. It was well below 10C and way past ten before the sun obliged and set behind the mountain and much later still before we gave up for the night.

 

Then on the drive back to the hotel I managed to spot an interesting roadside scene, making us another half hour later arriving back at the hotel and a warming nippie sweetie (or two).

 

Reeds in deep dusk

Reeds in deep dusk

 

It’s been great. I now know my way around Skye a bit better thanks to Bob and also have a new avatar – my back again, I’m afraid.

 

Tomorrow, I leave for the beautifully named St John’s Town of Dalry and an overnight with Messrs Leeming and Patterson, photographers of the parish. Then it’s ever south- (and west-) wards to Pembrokeshire and a night with great mate, Steve at his home – Treffynnon – nestled in the hills high above Newport.

 

Thursday, it’s on to London and at sparrow’s on Friday morning, Heathrow to collect Mrs P.

 

Meanwhile, I decide to sit in the hotel lounge where the Internet reception is marginally better than the messenger with a forked stick I’ve had in my room. I’m sharing this quiet space with four Americans who, like me are waiting for the office to open to pay our bills, then grab some breakfast. My car is packed; I’m due at the Armadale ferry terminal at about 09:30 and en route, I’m planning to stop at a spot I noticed yesterday and phot for a few minutes.

 

Misty morning reeds

Misty morning reeds

 

A few minutes peace and quiet to close off a wonderful few days…

 

Grey haired Mrs American no.1 has other ideas and decides it would be a good time to fire up her iPad to listen to some voice mail from a clearly demented friend, or CNN (I don’t know, nor care which) at earsplitting volume.

 

In fact, it’s so loud that when I said “Could you please turn that down?” she couldn’t hear me and had to be elbowed in the ribs by her partner/husband. He’s obviously used to dealing with such blithe and arrogant rudeness.

 

Misty morning reeds

Misty morning reeds

Typical Northern Cape landscape

It’s much further than I thought

I know it now and have done for a few weeks; Selebi Phikwe (SP) is a lot further than 2000km from where I live near Cape Town. And, truth to tell, if I hadn’t paid the deposit before I bothered to work that out, I wouldn’t be doing this.

 

If. Perhaps. Wouldn’t. Sigh. I’m in De Aar, 780 km from home after a lengthy day on the road. On my way to north east Botswana to join a group of steam railway enthusiasts, to photograph some of the region’s last few working steam locomotives before they meet their now scheduled end.

 

A whisper of steam the way it was

A whisper of steam the way it was

 

The locos are operated by Bamangwato Concessions Limited (BCL) at their Selebi Phikwe copper mine, having been purchased from South African and Zimbabwe Railways when they reached the end of their careers – probably some time in the late ‘70s. The tour I’m joining for four days will experience this last steam activity on the 3’6” gauge rails that dominate the region. Afterwards, I will head home and the group is scheduled to move on to the second part of their trip – into Zimbabwe for a similarly soon-to-end steamy experience.

 

I joined a group in Jozi in 2010 and enjoyed the entire journey, including Zimbabwe. This time, I really didn’t want to do the whole trip again – Botswana seemed just fine.

 

That is if I’d bothered to look at a map. Instead, I’d relied on my increasingly faulty memory and reckoned it wasn’t much further than Johannesburg – 1400km each way. A 12-14 hour journey I have made by road on many occasions. With a bitingly early start it’s possible to make an acceptable evening arrival in Jozi.

 

Well, no. I was the best part of a thousand kilometres out. So, I needed to make a different plan and this time, decided to use my extended travelling to see and photograph on the way. I booked two overnight stops; one in De Aar the other in Vryburg. Once over the border, the scenery in Bostwana’s eastern areas isn’t as attractive, so I’ll tackle the final 650km from the border to Selebi Phikwe as a single journey. Allowing three days for the journey seemed plenty.

 

I planned my departure from home to be extra early, to get me to a favourite sunrise spot about 80km away amidst the Overberg mountains. Mother nature did her thing and I left half an hour later with some beautiful pre-sunrise landscapes, shot looking directly east and over a gathering mist in the valleys. As the sun peeked over the distant hills, it suddenly became highlight blowout time and a good reason to get on with the next 700km.

 

Sunrise over the Overberg - what better reason for getting up early?

Sunrise over the Overberg – what better reason for getting up early?

 

And aside from brief stops along the way, my drive was (thankfully*) uneventful. I arrived in De Aar before 16:00, located my digs and went to explore the massive railway complex that is the town’s raison d’être. Sited almost mid way between the industrial/mining/financial hubs of the Highveld and the markets and harbour of the Cape, De Aar was formerly a watering and refuelling place of the SAR’s huge fleet of steam traction. Now, it’s function is much less important as diesel and electric powered locomotives require significantly less succour and are well able to make the long haul across the semi-desert Karoo with little reason to stop and replenish coal and water reserves.

 

Today, De Aar is a marshalling yard, maintenance stop and lots of abandoned steam era buildings. Many of the latter having been ransacked by the impoverished dwellers from the nearby township for their window and door frames and other useful building materials.

 

Disused freight shed at De Aar

Disused freight shed at De Aar

 

It’s Sunday and the town itself is a complete throwback to the South Africa I discovered when I first arrived here in the mid-70s; closed.

 

And if it’s Sunday; religion and reflection prohibit anything which might be construed as enjoyment. That includes restaurants and bars. My evening meal came from the sole garage-attached shop that dared to remain open – a cheese and tomato toasted sandwich. It was surprisingly good, but as I write the notes for this post the following morning, it left me feeling distinctly ready for my full English this morning.

 

Today, I’ll drive to Vryburg. A hopefully relaxed 540km, so I’m not in a hurry to leave and can make good on my plan to explore along the way.

 

And so I did. The far northern section of the Cape is almost unremittingly flat – hills on the periphery of every view, like a monk’s tonsure and horizon-to-horizon blue sky the only distinguishing marks. So much so that I arrived in Vryburg with nothing to show for my journey but a relief to have got here. I expect tomorrow to be similar and hope to arrive at Selebi Phikwe late in the afternoon, in time to check in before the rest of the group arrives on their coach from Jozi.

 

Typical Northern Cape landscape

Typical Northern Cape landscape

 

Meanwhile, I’ve decided that while my plan to take two days to drive back next week is perfectly do-able, it’s not smart, especially as dusk arrives around 18:00 and our unlit country roads can often hide a browsing (and easy to startle) donkey, cow or worse, pedestrian. So I’m going to reprise my stopover here in Vryburg – there are few other places to stay and all require significant detours from my planned route. I’ll then spend a second night in Beaufort West, leaving me with just 450km to home. I suspect that I’ll be more than glad to see it by then.

 

And, if it’s Tuesday, it must be Selebi Phikwe. I arrived on the dot of 16:00, pretty much as the assertive female voice inside Ms Garmin predicted. How does it do that over a distance of almost 800km? Especially as there were the usual border formalities to transact – they alone could have added hours, but the Garmin resolutely said 16:09. And so it was.

 

It wasn’t all roses, however. There was no room booked for me at the hotel, nor a whiff of the payment I’d made – I eventually logic won the day and the staff let me into my room. But, here I am again with zero pictures for the second day in a row. Don’t worry, I’ll soon make it up.

 

The next morning – day 1 of the tour – and it was clear that the coach bringing the tourers up from Jozi had only arrived mid-evening – due to a major traffic snarl-up leaving the big city. I’d eaten, washed my supper down with a glass of Scottish Communion Wine I’d bought from home and retired by then.

 

Late arrival notwithstanding, everyone was chirpy and our 07:30 departure for BCL’s mine meant getting entry passes for us and our kit was well under way as the morning shift started.

 

Essential instructions

Essential instructions

 

BCL (Bamangwato Concessionaires Limited) is a copper mine, part open cast, part underground. The rock-bearing ore is bought to the crushing/smelter facility by road from the pit and rail from the shafts, which are spread around the mine’s lease area – generally 5-10km from the production complex. It is on these lines that the former SAR and ZR Class 19D locomotives toil.

 

And toil they do. The mine has six class 19D locomotives; two currently in service, one having a boiler wash out and expected back in service in a few days. Of the other three, one is awaiting a boiler inspection and re-certification, another in the midst of a general (and unhurried) overhaul and the sixth, unlikely to run again as dieselisation approaches.

 

Shed cats - I can haz cheeseburger?

Shed cats – I can haz cheeseburger?

 

Waiting for the next duty turn

Waiting for the next duty turn

 

As a result of their former working lives in Africa’s semi-deserts, the 19Ds are all equipped with so-called torpedo water tenders, permitting a huge quantity of water to be carried and as a result, significantly less stopping for replenishment. They are quite a sight – longer than the locomotive itself.

 

Hooked-up to 20-odd rock wagons and fully loaded, the trains easily pass the 1000 tonne mark, resulting in huge plumes of smoke, lots of noise and spectacular wheel slipping as these steam monsters try and get their loads under way.

 

Our four days on the mine pass with regular trips to the loco shed (inside the main mine complex) and load-out station, where the newly mined rock is dumped on to a conveyor, on which it is taken to a crusher to be reduced to a fine powder. From there, the mine really starts work on its new asset, using a variety of chemicals and finally, smelting to extract impurities, leaving pure copper for pouring into ingots, cooling and eventually, sale. The mine is very proprietary about its technologies and we were not allowed to see any of the process.

 

Scrap

Scrap

 

When not at the shed area, we chased the several trains a day to and from the two main shafts, our bus quickly overhauling the train as it left the yard. Arriving at a suitable spot – usually a road crossing, the group of photographers and their kit piling out usually only seconds before the warning whistle heralded the train’s approach.

 

Passed, we climbed back on the bus and as fast as the poor roads would allow, headed for the next photo vantage spot.

 

We even managed an evening shoot. The mine uses a considerable amount of coal in its production process and an early evening task for one of the 19Ds is to collect a lengthy rake of empty coal wagons and haul them to the interchange yard, used by both the mine and Botswana Railways. The empties are shunted into an empty siding and a train of full wagons collected and hauled back to the mine, to ensure production is not halted for lack of raw materials. BW delivers a train of full wagons overnight and hauls away the empties.

 

Loco headlamp shadows

Loco headlamp shadows

 

Glint shot; coal hopper empties at the BCL/Botswana Railways interchange yard

Glint shot; coal hopper empties at the BCL/Botswana Railways interchange yard

 

So far, so good. Once back at the mine, the loco shunted its wagons into a siding where several wagons left over from the previous day’s consist waited, still loaded with coal. Coupled together, the new load was simply too much for the locomotive, which strained, whistled, spun it’s wheels and generally put on a spectacular show in the gathering gloom of the Botswana night. Whatever it did, it was clearly going nowhere.

 

Eventually, the driver split the train, marshalled half of the wagons in a reception siding, then went back for the other half and added them to the others. His job done, he headed back to the shed and us photographers climbed back on to the bus, heading for a (by now) late supper.

 

Newly filled ore hopper train leaves for the process plant

Newly filled ore hopper train leaves for the process plant

 

Visit done, an early start got me on the road back to Cape Town, my first overnight stop back in Vryburg, the second as planned in Beaufort West. Three days, 2400 and some change kilometres and a couple of hundred litres of diesel fuel later, I pulled into the garage at home.

 

It’s been great fun and the photography exactly as anticipated. After another three days on the road, it’s good to be home, sleep in my own bed edit my work at leisure.

 

For the technically minded, all of the photographs were shot with my Nikon D800e using Nikon 24-70, 80-200 zooms or 50mm f1.4 (non AI) lenses.

 

1000+ tonnes on the move

1000+ tonnes on the move

 

* Africa doesn’t fritter much money on fences and the locals allow their cattle to roam wherever they please – even the main highways into and out of our major cities. Dealing with wandering cows, sheep and/or goats in daylight is one thing, in the dark, it’s a nightmare. A collision with a foolish guinea fowl can do serious damage to a car, collecting a donkey will probably kill the beast and driver at the same time. So, if you’re planning on driving in the rural areas at night, you’re best advised to forget the idea unless it is a matter of life and/or death. Which it could easily be.

 

Empty ore hopper train en route to Selebi shaft to collect freshly mined rock

Empty ore hopper train en route to Selebi shaft to collect freshly mined rock

 

1000 tonne ore train en route to BCL's process plant

1000 tonne ore train en route to BCL’s process plant

Bar, Golden Gai

Tokyo wind-up

 

 

Welsh onions

“Welsh onions” – Shinjuku

 

Not that you’ve necessarily been gagging to hear, but Tokyo was fantastic – easily one of the most interesting and worth visiting cities we’ve seen to date. If it wasn’t so far, we’d have booked a return visit already, perhaps supplanting our long-time favourite, Singapore.

 

The delay in writing has been the result of flu. Both of us were poleaxed by it last weekend, 36 hours before heading for home. Individually, Di succumbed first, with me about 18 hours behind her.

 

Between bouts of sleeping, we sat in our hermetically sealed, air conditioned hotel room and did nothing other than mope and yet more sleep. By Sunday morning, it was clear that the walk back to the bus terminus at Shinjuku station that we’d done on arrival, was now way beyond our abilities and a taxi ordered to get us to the bus stop, bus and airport.

 

Fortunately, the next hurdle; the bus to Narita went off like silicone. Made all the better by getting a sizeable pensioners’ discount. Check in, immigration and the security formalities came next, the pair of us like zombies, just wanting to get on the plane and sleep (more).

 

Twelve hours to Dubai, three hours wait for our Cape Town connection – sounds like a drug deal – not – and another nine hours in the air, saw us arriving on time with just the baggage, customs and drive home left to endure.

 

Asakusa shrine

Asakusa shrine

 

That was Monday. I’m writing this eleven days later, both of us are finally past the worst – still largely incapable of any kind of enthusiasm, exercise or appetite. Independently, we’ve both been out during the intervening week and a half, both arrived home exhausted, ready for little more than to sit and stare at the ocean outside.

 

On Monday, we both agreed that if we didn’t go out and get some shopping, we’d starve. So, we did a big pre-Xmas shop, the fridge is full to bursting and all we need (apart from our kids to show up and surprise us) is the energy to eat and drink it all.

 

Morning, Shinjuku

Morning, Shinjuku

 

Rewind.

 

I’m not sure if we’d ever have gone to Tokyo if Emirates hadn’t written to me a couple of months ago, offering a whole e-mail full of bargain-priced flights to just about everywhere. Having recently returned from Laura’s wedding, we weren’t much interested, that was until I followed the link in the e-mail and found yet more budget city flights.

 

“How would you like to go to Tokyo as a kind of joint Christmas present?”

 

Moments later, the booking was made, hotel reservation done and the anticipation started.

 

Outbound, we flew to Dubai and then on to Tokyo’s Narita. It was smooth, easy and on arrival, we opted for the Airport Limousine (a bus), which dropped us at Shinjuku Station – about 800m from our hotel.

 

Street scene, Tsukiji Market

Street scene, Tsukiji Market

 

Checked-in, baggage dumped in our room and in seconds, we were out on the streets of Shinjuku to explore and find something to eat. We found the latter in a yakitori – chicken grilled on tiny skewers over a charcoal fire – bar (izakaya) about 250m up the street from the hotel, pretty much the first place we tried.

 

Fed and watered, I paid, expecting a massive bill – this is Tokyo after all – and was very pleasantly surprised. For lots of yakitori, a couple of side dishes and beer/wine, I got a bill for a bit less than R300.

 

That set the pace for the rest of the trip.

 

Autumn trees, Yoyogi Park

Autumn trees, Yoyogi Park

 

Our travel days easily fall into a new city routine; I wake early and go out to photograph, Mrs P sleeps. I’m usually back around 07:30, we deal with the daily ablutions and head for a good breakfast.

 

The Best Western we were staying in fitted that need perfectly, with both European and Japanese buffets. Grilled mackerel, deep fried chicken and rice porridge for breakfast was a novel experience and begged to be tried. Other days, toast, marmalade or a couple of boiled eggs held a bit more appeal.

 

Usually, by around 10:30 we’re ready to depart, having agreed a destination for the day. Shinjuku is huge and it’s only a matter of minutes into Yoyogi, Harajuku (the Carnaby Street of Tokyo) and various nearby suburbs. Other days, we braved the Metro for Shibuya and it’s famous scramble crossing, Ueno, Ginza and the Imperial Palace.

 

Grown up fishing, Shinjuku

Grown up fishing, Shinjuku

 

Ginza

Ginza

 

Fortunately, we’d finished our must-see list as the flu struck. We still missed returning to a couple of places that just cried out for more time and exploration. For every one of the twelve days we spent in the city, we ate in bars, restaurants, izakaya, markets and street stalls. What we ate was often a bit of a mystery – most Tokyo-ites will attempt English, but ordering food can be a lottery. We ate what we got irrespective. In the main it was fantastic.

 

Tsukiji Market

Tsukiji Market

 

Tsukiji Market

Tsukiji Market

 

I bought some kitchen knives in the the Fish Market at Tsukijki – there are hundreds of stalls selling sea food of a bewildering variety and shoehorned between their stalls, a vast variety of cutlers, offering knives for just about every occasion. That was after a street stall don lunch – a bowl (don) half filled with rice, topped with a variety of raw sea foods (mainly tuna), gari (pickled ginger) wasabi and soy sauce. It might have been chilly sitting out on the pavement, but the food was fab.

 

Getting around the city is pretty straightforward. That said, the Metro map was a complete mystery, until unravelling it to get to the Imperial Palace became a motivation. In sum; the station you are in lies at the centre of the map and the place your wish to get to (when you finally find it amongst the coloured lines) is shown with a number on it.

 

That is the fare in ¥ (yen), usually between 170 and 330, depending on distance.

 

Use the ticket machine, press the English button (you’ll only need to do this once as the process is actually, very simple), select two people and the fare, chosen from the map above. Ticket machines accept anything up to ¥10000 (R1000) notes and give change in notes where appropriate, instead of a million small coins. Along with your change, two tickets pop out of he slot. You’re now good to go.

 

The Tokyo Metro goes just about everywhere and the odd station it doesn’t serve, is accessible on the JR Yamanote line, a Japanese version of London Underground’s Circle Line.

 

Shinjuku skyline

Shinjuku skyline

 

And, that’s about it. Tokyo is a fanastic, exciting city and now, we’ve recovered somewhat are already planning a return to see Spring in the city in 2016.

 

One final note; our pre-departure research told us that the Japanese are not great credit card users and so, I drew a not particularly large sum of Yen to tide us over on arrival. It was planned to cover the first few days travel, sightseeing and meals until we figured out how to draw more cash. As it turned out, ATMs are readily available in the many 7/11 stores around the city, so we needn’t have been so concerned.

 

Better still, instead of lasting a day or so in what we expected to be a frighteningly expensive city, our cash lasted almost ten days – providing you don’t plan to eat and drink in top-end of restaurants and bars, Tokyo is no more expensive than Cape Town.

 

That was a surprise.

 

Tokyo night

Tokyo night

 

Tradition

Tradition

Unexpected find

Tokyo in colour pt. 1

 

After last evening’s post, I got a note from a reader asking why such a colourful city was being shown in black and white.

 

Answer; right now, that’s what I am focussing on. I’m not forgetting the colour – I’m keeping most of those for the InSight: Tokyo guide that will be published shortly.

 

So as not to disappoint though, here’s some Tokyo colour.

 

Red light Shinjuku

Red light Shinjuku

Shinjuku street morning

Shinjuku street morning

Shinjuku sunrise

Shinjuku sunrise

Flatiron Uedo style

Flatiron Uedo style

Shinjuku Gyoen National Park

Shinjuku Gyoen National Park

Shinjuku shrine

Shinjuku shrine

Restaurant lantern

Restaurant lantern