A knapsack, a girl and on a train on an adventure away from home
When you’re 17, a rebel at heart and in love with a gorgeous Swiss girl, there’s just about nothing you would not do to live your own message.
I ran away from home, girl in tow, and took the train to a new adventure.
It was a premeditated escape. After school, with Mom in the kitchen, I’d squeeze through the burglar bars, sneak through the garden with my tog bag and be picked up by a friend with a driver’s licence. Michelle, we’ll dub my belle, did the same. Jake the driver was on time in his gran’s
Ford. Joburg Station, Park Station today, was our pit stop.
The thrill was immense, and on our first night click-clacking to Durban, we were wide awake, excited, and oblivious to the mayhem at home.
Frugal with the cash we had saved, we trudged through the streets of downtown Durban to find a place to stay. We got a room on the North Beach waterside, and headed straight out to buy a giant pre-rolled joint.
And that’s how the first three days of our adventure unfolded. Food, beach, weed and the funfair at night.
On the fourth day, the South Coast was on our radar, and the nearby taxi rank offered the cheapest means to get there.
Bags and bravado squashed into a taxi heading for Uvongo.
It was fabulous. But then our cash started to run out.
A shebeen in the township across the main road had the answer; we already struck up a relationship with the proprietor, because she was the provider of our weed. Kindly, she put up the runaways for another three nights in some back room.
It’s there that the taxi picked us up to go to Hibberdene to crash a friend’s family holiday with, hopefully, free food.
Luck had it, they were on an extended holiday, and Michelle and I had a bed and hot food for a few days.
More beach, more weed and loads of beer around the braai. It was out of this world.
Hibberdene then had to be vacated. Our cash was at a critical low: there was barely enough to get us home.
Day 12, we alighted from the taxi at Durban harbour, walked to the station, and paid for the train ride home in coins.
Back to the click-clack of the train, and at some point, we were stupid enough to light up the joint.
Blowing the smoke out the window was not enough. It blew right into the conductor’s compartment.
The train was stopped at the next station and searched; cops barged into our compartment.
Everything had gone out the window but the smell of THC. We had been bust.
We were made to get off the train and call our parents. The ride home was in silence.
And bar check-in calls between Michelle and I, we never saw each other again.