Kenya: Trains, not planes or automobiles

[John Ashworth]

WSJ Market Watch April 2, 2011, 1:01 a.m. EDT

Yoder & Sons: Trains, not planes or automobiles

Trading speed and efficiency for the romance of the Kenyan rails

By Stephen Kreider Yoder and Levi Yoder

NAIROBI, Kenya — STEVE: The train from Mombasa arrived here late, after a night of lurching, swaying and — when the train hadn’t slowed to a crawl — incessant clattering.

Just as I’d hoped.

I firmly believe that no matter how slow or decrepit, a train is superior to a bus. There are too few trains left in the world, so riding those that remain is one of our travel tenets.

Our Trip Rule No. 11: “If a train goes there, take it.”

So I chose the train even though the bus would have been faster and cheaper — and even though we had to wait three days for the next train. My question: Would Levi appreciate the romance of the train as much as I?

The train from Mombasa to Nairobi is a legend in East Africa. It was built by the British with imported Indian labor at a notoriously high cost to workers’ lives. It was part of a great network of railroads through the region.

“I have great memories of that train,” an acquaintance who grew up in Kenya decades ago told me.

But multiple classes of buses — from patched-together jalopies up to air-conditioned luxury coaches — have long since taken over on routes like this in East Africa. And most anyone who can afford tickets will take the plane.

“Nobody takes the train anymore,” one Kenyan told us. The train was notoriously slow, run-down and prone to petty theft, he said.

Such talk only encouraged me. The train was a fitting cap to our three days in Mombasa, which also made us feel we were living in a past era: We spent hours strolling the narrow maze of streets in Old Town, the largely Islamic Swahili neighborhood next to Fort Jesus, built by the Portuguese in the 17th Century.

And even with our budget-minded ways, we could rationalize buying first-class tickets for 3,500 shillings each — about $40 — because they included lodging and two meals with all that dining-car ambiance.

The train pulled out of Mombasa station promptly at 7 p.m., lumbering slowly north over the bridge from Mombasa Island into the countryside. It was dark, but Levi and I threw open the windows to let the breeze in.

“It is dangerous to lean out the windows,” read the signs just over our heads as we leaned far out of the windows and saw other passengers doing the same. The steward called us to dinner — choice of stewed chicken, beef or vegetables — but we were soon back to our windows.

Our cabin wasn’t perfect. The hinged mirror didn’t latch, swinging open and closed with a regular ‘bang.’ The electric fan didn’t work, keeping us sweltering while we pulled away from hot Mombasa. A centipede crawled out on from under the lower bunk while I was trying to shove a bag under it.

But those were trifles. And my concerns over Levi were soon answered: He continued to hang out the window after I’d turned in to my bunk at 10:30.

The car lurched and bumped over the uneven tracks through the night. We pulled up the covers as we climbed toward mile-high Nairobi.

Some time during the night, though, the trip turned less perfect. I woke up with a start, thinking I’d heard someone try our door. (We’d locked it.) The next morning at a 7 a.m. breakfast, an American aid worker reported that someone had opened his cabin door while he slept and had stolen the bag that carried his money, passport, documents and an engagement ring he’d just bought.

But as the sun rose over high grasslands, we could see gazelles and zebras. We leaned out the windows again. In the distance, we could see the parallel highway, where buses sped toward Nairobi — presumably some of them the night buses plying the same route as we. You don’t hang out bus windows.

As we pulled into the old stone Nairobi station, Levi and I agreed that Rule 11 had provided us a good return on our investment. There would always be more buses.

LEVI: My first vivid memory of riding a train was in our family trip in 2006 to Sweden. We took a night train up to the northern part of the country. Eating and drinking tea in the dining car, watching the nighttime lights of the countryside, it was an experience I haven’t forgotten.

I know how exciting trains can be and how fun they are to ride, but is it really worth waiting three days for a train that would be slower than the bus to begin with?

I had my doubts, and especially after the centipede (the most disgusting, creepy animal in the world in my opinion) was found near my bag. But the view from the train window and the meal in the dining car made me change my mind.

Not to mention the sleep we had. The swaying and lurching of the train and the steady clatter lulled me to sleep before I knew it. It was possibly the best sleep I’ve had this trip.

I think dad might have passed on some of his love for trains to me.