Clockwork trains

Beloved Wife and Goat didn’t go to Paris for BW’s birthday treat. Instead, she spent her birthday surrounded by immature children of all ages, screaming: “He’s behind you!” at the Doha Players’ pantomime, in which production the Goat had a part.

So when BW’s employer decreed a two-week holiday on the run up to Easter (so that it wouldn’t clash with the Easter holidays and allow parents and children to have the same fortnight off) the Goat booked a week’s annual leave and set about finding flights to and from Japan.

Beloved Wife used to live and work in the Land of the Rising Sun, way back in the previous millennium. She loves the place, and assured the Goat that he would too. A quick surf of the interwebs revealed that Qatar Airways would be by a huge margin the cheapest way to get between Dubai and Tokyo. That’s Qatar Airways; the airline that uses Doha as a hub. If the Goat simply booked Doha to Tokyo, his ticket would be almost double the price. That’s right: $1700 as opposed to $900. The airline pays each passenger $350 to fly between Dubai and Doha. It was therefore cheaper for the Goat to buy a separate Doha-Dubai return and spend a day in Dubai at each end of the holiday, and to hell with the carbon footprint.

The hop across the Gulf left Dubai on time, but the plane was left hanging in the air by Air Traffic Control for half an hour. By the time the passengers had disembarked and been driven around the airport in the slowest shuttle bus ever, the connecting flight to Tokyo was due to take off. Beloved Wife and Goat ran the entire length of Doha Terminal 1 (because the flight left from gate 37, which is naturally as far as possible from where the bus stops) and then everyone sat for a further half an hour in a packed Boeing 777 to await the leisurely transfer of checked bags. There was such a rush that airport security was completely bypassed. 

The Qatar Airways flight doesn’t go straight to Tokyo. It stops first at Osaka, where all passengers disembark, go through airport security, walk around the block, and then re-board the same aircraft for a further hour of air travel. The ticket costs more for anyone who wants to get off at Osaka. Or else the airline pays people to fly KIX-NRT.

Narita International Airport, at last. And there are trains to Tokyo City Centre. Beloved Wife had applied for a thing called a JR Pass, issued by Japan Rail. This entitles the bearer to a week of unlimited rail travel anywhere on the JR network. But in order not to have it expire a day early, BW decreed that separate Narita Express tickets would be purchased for the trip into Tokyo. The Goat doesn’t generally do rail travel; he’s been conditioned by UK rail practices that include missing a train where the ticket cost a fiver, catching the next one ten minutes later and being fined because he didn’t have a valid fifty-quid ticket.

The railway station was spotless; the train – with allocated, pre-booked seats, no less – was likewise, and it left to schedule. On the dot. To the second. The Goat was impressed.

Metro at Speed

Less impressive was a map at the destination that failed to show the hotel. An embarrassingly short taxi ride later (in the rain and in the dark), and it was time to hit the world’s narrowest double bed and become unconscious.

Travelling around Tokyo by train is eminently sensible. There is a comprehensive metro network. Confusingly, several metro companies operate in the same area, and Japan Rail criss-crosses too. Irritatingly, the JR Passes didn’t work on the metro, and it was necessary to decipher the Japanese script to figure out how much cash to stick into a machine to get a ticket. Of course, it had to be the machine appropriate for the metro system to be ridden. Some, but not all, maps had English as well as Japanese, and some, but not all, trains had video displays to let passengers know the current and next station.

Orderly Queue

To the Goat’s delight, not only do the trains stop at marked positions on the station platforms, but at each one an orderly queue forms. And yes, everyone does let passengers off first. Inane electric glockenspiel jingles play. When the music stops, someone will snap the doors shut and take the train away.

The primary purpose of obtaining JR passes was to use the Shinkansen. This is the famous bullet train that gets between Tokyo and Kyoto (which is near Osaka) rather faster than an aircraft once security and being at the airport at least two hours before your flight are taken into consideration. The Shinkansen belts along at 300kph or so. Sadly, Mount Fuji was obscured by low cloud. On the return journey, night had fallen.

Shinkansen

Once again, pre-booking at no additional cost produced allocated seating in a quiet, clean carriage. And by now it goes without saying that the trains do indeed run on time. Not so much like clockwork; more like an atomic clock. The only really tricky bit is in deciphering the scarily alien information boards.

Alien Sign

A slower express from Kyoto took Beloved Wife and Goat through the mountains on a picturesque journey to Kinosaki Onsen, a hot-spring spa town just inland from the Sea of Japan. “Slower express” reads like oxymoron, but after the Shinkansen, everything seems slow.

Near Kinosaki

A day later, amid the foul windy and rainy tai-fun weather brought on by a low-pressure weather system, Beloved Wife and Goat headed back to a very wet Kyoto. As it turned out, the hotel was literally (yes, really literally) a stone’s throw from the railway station, and there was a lot of embarrassed apologising to the taxi driver. According to the local news, some trains were actually delayed. Being less than absolutely punctual appears to be outwith the Japanese psyche. One can only imagine the shamefaced bowing and apologising being repeated umpteen times all over Japan.

As the weather had cleared up by the following morning, the Goat decreed that a trip to Osaka Castle was required. Yet more rail travel. What a splendid thing is the JR pass!

Osaka Castle

And more sightseeing back in Kyoto later that day, specifically Kiyamizu-Dera temple followed by Culture in Gyon. The bus trip was extremely crowded, and as it was Pay On Exit, the Goat can only imagine some destitute beggar starving to death and unable ever to get off. The bus system was exactly the opposite to other bus systems. In Kyoto, you get on at the back, and off at the front, paying the driver upon exit. It was a single standard fee. Frankly, the metro back to Kyoto Central Station was a lot more comfortable, and at least the maps showed where the train was going to go. Unlike the Magical Mystery Bus Tour.

Kiyamizu-Dera

Gyon illuminations

Having got some idea about how the bus system worked, on Thursday the Goat obtained “ride as many buses as you like for one day” passes, mainly because the Golden Temple of Kinkaku-ji is nowhere near a metro station. Just as well, really, for the weather turned cold and wet, and buses were all packed. It really was a case of grabbing the first one and riding it until it ceased to go in a useful direction. The bus passes made getting off without fumbling for change so much more convenient, and cheaper to boot.

Golden Temple of Kinkaku-ji

When it finally became necessary to head for the airport, it occurred to Beloved Wife that the JR passes could buy tickets for the Narita Express, and having got to Narita, it was even possible to obtain a refund for the unused return N-EX tickets. Only at this point was it revealed that the cards handed over a week previously were pre-credited smart cards that could have been used all over the Tokyo metro system, instead of rummaging for change. D’oh! But Japan Rail was quite happy to refund the unused metro rail credit, much to the Goat’s astonishment.

As for the return flight, it took off to schedule. Additional passengers boarded at Osaka so the aircraft was packed back to Doha. And guess what. The flight was delayed in the air for half an hour, so there was a huge mad rush to go through transit security in order to catch the flight to Dubai. Unlike on the outbound leg, this time Beloved Wife and Goat were obliged to remove all their metalwork and be X-rayed. It would be unthinkable to allow anything illicit from a Qatar Airways flight into the transit lounge of Doha International Airport.

Fair enough that Qatar Airways held flights for incoming connecting passengers and their checked bags, but it’s not a patch on the precision ballet of rail timing that seems to occur all over Japan, tai-fun excepted.

This blog post has dealt mainly with Japan's generally impressive public transportation systems. More will follow once the Goat has further meshed his detritus.

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Three strikes and you're out

How hard is it to let your customers know when you change something?

Nanny Goat is in Dubai once again, and this time she declared her interest in availing Dubai Metro - until stocks last. So the Goat dropped into a Metro station a couple of days in advance to obtain a Nol card. It’s not possible to do this except by travelling to a station. Being able to buy a card when boarding a bus is too technologically demanding, it would seem.

And so we waited at the bus stop. And waited. And waited.

And then the Goat called the RTA, only to be told that bus route F4 – Mirdif West to Rashidiya – was cancelled at the end of August. In order to catch a feeder bus, the Goat and his frail, elderly, grey-bearded Nanny Goat, would have to walk to a bus stop on the F3 route.

Apparently the route changes were mentioned in the Gulf News (which the Goat doesn’t read every day) and publicised on the RTA’s website (in some obscure corner of the interwebs that the Goat can’t locate). Do passengers really have to check on-line every time they plan to use public transport?

How hard would it have been, when removing the timetable from the bus stop near the Crumbling Villa, to insert a notice to the effect that F4 was cancelled and F3 or F10 would have to be used? How about covering up the Bus Stop signs? The RTA hasn’t even turned off the bus stop lights, and the F4 stop nearest to Welcare Mirdif still has its air conditioning working for the benefit of the RTA’s non-existent bus passengers, awaiting the non-arrival of the non-existent F4 bus.

Thinking about it, feeder route F3 could just have been diverted around the old F4 route, but that also seems too difficult.

The Goats did eventually get to board a Metro train, two hours after originally arriving at a bus stop, and yes, the Metro was clean and efficient.

And returning home involved a long walk from the nearest bus stop, across a busy dual carriageway. The distance might be OK in November, but is likely to be quite nasty in August.

This is the third time the Goat has tried to use Dubai’s public transport system, and the third time the process has been fraught with difficulties. Small wonder he prefers to drive.

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Wheels

There must have been some mistake. When I asked car rental companies how much it would cost to borrow a car for a fortnight, they all seemed to think that I meant ‘purchase’ rather than ‘rent’, ‘hire’ or ‘lease’. It was clearly not a sensible option to go swanning around Italy on a road trip, so Beloved Wife and Goat made some fundamental changes to the holiday plan. Instead of driving, we’d use public transport and stay for several days in each of three towns.

“Dear Diary, today the petrolheaded Goat chose public transport...”

This plan turned out to be a good one. We’d only have used a car every few days, and had to pay to rent it plus park it and not use it, and this assumes that we’d have been able to locate a parking space.

The shortage of parking is of epidemic proportions in Rome. It’s worse in Florence. And in Naples, double-parking appears to be the norm. Most private vehicles are scooters. They’re everywhere. Some traditional 1950s style Lambrettas and Vespas remain, but nowadays most are modern, plastic and very Japanese. Those tiny wheels must be a lot of fun on polished cobbled streets when it rains.

Cars are also titchy, with plenty of Smart cars and others of their ilk in evidence, and almost no larger-than-life bourgemobiles. A possible consequence, perhaps, of petrol costing €1.50 a litre. Equivalent to about AED7.20 or ₤1.25 and that’s scary! Choosing public transport over driving was looking ever better.


We found a bus from Rome airport direct to the centre of town for not too much money, and bumped our small-wheeled luggage across the cobbles to our centrally-located hotel. From here, it was an easy walk to the nearest metro station, and the main collection of ancient Roman sights was only a slightly longer walk. Having showered off our travel stains, Beloved Wife and Goat set off in search of things to look at, photograph or eat.


Beloved Wife had got on line and ordered a ‘Roma Pass’ for each of us. We collected the ticket from a desk in the airport. It basically provides three calendar days’ worth of public transport, admission to some of the exhibitions, and allows the bearer straight to the front of the two-hour queue to get into the Colosseum.

Having walked around the Colosseum, Capitoline museum, Forum, Palatine and Circus Maximus (or what’s left of it), we grabbed the first bus and ended up going unexpectedly to the bus terminus. Not to worry; the metro station was nearby, so we grabbed a train back to our hotel.


I have a sneaky suspicion that Rome’s metro is smaller than advertised. Rather than descending the steps to an underground station as one might expect, there’s invariably a great long dingy corridor to walk along. Passengers walk halfway to their desinations, apparently. The trains are, however, frequent and quick. The rolling stock is eerily similar to Dubai metro, complete with video screens and three-way poles to hold.

We exhausted our Roma passes, and with a remaining need to use public transport, we learned that ticketing is time-based. Having paid one Euro, passing the turnstile activates the ticket and it’s good for 75 minutes of travel. How far can YOU go in 75 minutes? You can grab the train, then the bus, then another bus. Repeat ad nauseum or until your time expires. Unlike the Dubai metro, there is no requirement to buy a multi-use ticket (although such a thing does exist for regular travellers), nor a need to swipe your card on exit so that the system doesn’t believe you stayed on the bus until the end of Time. Crucially, you don’t have to go to a major railway station to buy a ticket before attempting to travel; you simply buy a ticket for €1 by inserting a coin in the machine on the bus, at a bus stop, or in the metro station.

The system relies on trust, especially on the buses. The driver does only that, and it’s incumbent on the passenger to validate his ticket in a machine on the bus.

In Naples, we were eventually treated to the Great Neapolitan Floor Show, starring a wizened old man with a walking stick and an expired bus pass, and a ticket inspector who wished to fine him €500 for travelling without a valid ticket. There was a heated and animated Italian argument (with added Semaphore) until the bus stopped. At this point, the wizened old man grabbed back his bus pass and legged it through the open door like Linford Christie, with the inspector in hot pursuit.

The ticket validation thing is vitally important on the trains too. A cheap train ticket is valid for a month, and the passenger has to get it date-stamped in a machine before boarding. Failure to do so can cost €40, although smiling sweetly, pleading ignorance and “Sorry, non comprendo Italiano” provided a lucky escape.

The very fast Eurostar train from Florence to Naples, at €78 each, was a lot more expensive, but took only three hours instead of ten. And 300km/h is faster than I’ve ever been before without actually becoming airborne.

We spent one day visiting the Roman sites of Pompeii and Herculaneum. Both buried in the AD79 eruption of Mt Vesuvius, they were rediscovered in the eighteenth century and are now thoroughly excavated and open to the public. The rather rickety local train stops at both Pompei Scavi and Ercolano Scavi, and a €20 buys admission to both sites. I only bring up Pompeii in some words about wheels because of the eerie wheel ruts in Pompeii’s streets. Think how many heavy wagons ground their way along the stone-flagged streets.


Horse-drawn traffic remains in evidence in both Rome and Florence. We chose not to avail ourselves of this well-known tourist trap, selecting Shanks’ Pony instead.


The Isle of Capri is an hour’s fast ferry away from the Port of Naples. The boat trip made a pleasant change from the rather seedy streets of Naples. There’s a great view of Vesuvius too.


Capri was awash with other tourists too. We grabbed the funicular railway up a very steep hill, and spent the afternoon wandering around some very tiny paths. The only vehicles were miniature electric golf-carts used for moving hotel guests’ belongings, collecting trash, and even law enforcement.


A long walk around to the southern side of the island eventually yielded some splendid views.


There are roads on Capri, but not very many. Of course, the buses are necessarily titchy in order to negotiate hairpin bends. Overall, the lack of motorised transport and the Italian buildings (surprise!)eerily reminded me of Porthmeirion.




There are advantages of not driving, besides the expense, trying to find a parking space, and adjusting to the interesting Italian style. Beer o’clock, and no worries about drink-driving. All that walking – and trust me, we walked miles – is very thirsty work, and sometimes a Coke really isn’t sufficient. Cheers!

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Return to the Yaristocracy

It seems that the Yaristocratic masses have mucked up Hertz’ business plan. Presumably there is an average rental income gleaned off each car before its residual value starts to get badly affected by large numbers on the odometer, and having the Goat and all the other Dubai to Abu Dhabi Yaristocrats each whacking 2000km on it every week does not suit the business plan at all. Consequently, despite a signed rental agreement to the contrary, Hertz changed the ‘unlimited’ part of its terms and conditions while the Goat was swanning around Italy, and capped the monthly distance at 4000km with any excess charged at 30 fils per kilometre. And that’s rather a lot of additional cost at the end of the month.

This is not good for the Goat’s finances, so following some fervent bleating, he got the 4000km changed to 5000km. Meanwhile, alternative options are being sought.

One of the alternatives is only available in Dubai. It’s a combination of bus and metro.

The Goat’s previous experience, reported here, was not altogether good, with the main problem being having to buy (as in hand over cash in advance of any actual fare) a prepayment ‘nol’ card and charge it with credit prior to embarking on the journey. Having done this, there were two dirhams of credit remaining at the end of the return journey and, it being late evening, there was no apparent way of recharging the card for next time. Another issue was the inane muzak on the train, although the Goat is pleased to note that this has apparently now ceased. Good riddance.

The Goat was recently invited over to Chateau Dogs in Arabian Ranches. He doesn’t drink and drive, so public transport was a compulsory option. The first problem was recharging the ‘nol’ card. Per Dubai RTA’s website, nowhere in Mirdif can do it. On-line recharge is, after a year, ‘coming soon’. So His Caprinity had to stop off at a metro station while Yarising his way back from Abu Dhabi.

Brilliant! You need to travel by private, personal transport in order to be permitted to use the public transport system. What genius thought that one up?

Having credit, the journey from Mirdif to Rashidiya to Mall of the Emirates to Arabian Ranches only cost five dirhams... and took two and a quarter hours. Most of this was in air-conditioned comfort; almost none was spent standing around awaiting connections. And here is a fundamental problem with the system in its current incarnation: it’s mind-numbingly slow. The Filipino crossing himself and kissing his crucifix when the Arabian Ranches feeder bus set off was also less than confidence-inspiring.

The taxi home took 20 minutes, cost less than Dh50, including tip, and deposited the Goat right outside the Crumbling Villa. Not that there were any buses or trains running in the wee small hours.

Despite Ibn Battuta mall being open until midnight, for example, the last metro finishes at Rashidiya terminal at 11pm, so you’ve got to finish your shopping, restaurant or cinema by 9:30pm at the latest in order to stand any chance of getting back to Mirdif. In a society where many families apparently don’t even consider dragging their children out to the mall until 9pm, it doesn’t make the metro the most convenient option, does it?

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Bus lane

At long, long last, Dubai has adopted a tried and tested technological breakthrough: the Bus Lane. No longer will buses be trapped in traffic, unable to keep to their allotted timetables. They and their passengers will sail gleefully past the congestion. Until they reach the end of the marked bus lane...and then what?

Why this solution to urban public transport wasn’t introduced to Dubai decades ago remains a mystery. Perhaps the reluctance of the authorities to adopt it is directly related to the difficulty in keeping certain brands of non-bus from regarding themselves as ‘special’. The solution adopted by Dubai was to put the bus lanes on dedicated flyovers or in tunnels, chain half a dozen buses together, paint them blue, and stick them on rails. Alas, the cost of providing this sort of bus lane along every bus route is prohibitive. Hence the use of the new secret weapon: Yellow Paint.

For now a strip of yellow paint will offer an impenetrable barrier to private motorists who have a secret desire to be bus drivers. Backed up by the threat of a Dh600 fine, it’s only a matter of time before we learn whether the yellow paint will pay for itself. Assuming of course that the violators regard bus lane abuse with the same disdain as any and all other traffic violations. Perhaps the solution is to stick a cow-catcher on the front of each bus: a snowplough-like device that sweeps the offending Land Cruiser aside.

In addition to buses and taxis, I believe that use of these lanes should be permitted for bicycles and motorbikes. It's been tried successfully elsewhere (Bristol, UK for one). That's me being biased, of course. And why not? It keeps the bikes from lane-splitting, which they would do otherwise.

The Gulf News article includes several photographs of buses and taxis mysteriously not using their dedicated lane. Is this because the drivers fear being fined, or is it because there’s a Gulf News photographer standing in the road?

Now, about a bus lane between Sharjah and Dubai...?

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On reflection

So the rumour that I heard on Dubai Eye’s Business Breakfast on Monday morning may have some basis in fact. I searched in vain for any information pertaining to Dubai Eye’s one-line news report that reflective paint on cars was to be banned. And a day later, here is the Gulf News’ version of the story. I wonder how the radio station got it a day earlier?

“Abu Dhabi: The interior ministry is considering banning excessive window tints and reflective paint on cars, officials have said.”

and

“Until now, those wanting excessive tints require special permission from the traffic department. But if the new proposal is approved the department will stop issuing such permission. Also, those who were earlier given permission will have to get their tints removed.”

And also

“'According to the regulations, drivers have to consult the relevant licensing authorities before using any such paint and stickers on their vehicles,' said Colonel Gaith Al Za'abi, who heads the traffic department at the ministry.”

That’ll go down well. Someone fancies a really dark “I’m a mafia wannabe” tint and trundles along to the traffic department. He waves his wasta wand and gets permission to paste expensive, top-quality, heat-rejecting opaque black wallpaper all over the windows of his Mercedes and is a happy bunny. Only to be told a while later that there has been a clarification and the rules have now changed. The law, like his windows, isn’t exactly transparent. I forecast disappointment, pouting, and further waves of the wasta wand.

But it’s not difficult to see why ludicrously dark tints are a matter for concern. According to last Monday’s National, “…Abu Dhabi Police citing overly tinted windows as the fourth biggest cause of accidents in the emirate…” suggests that something ought to be done, yet forbidding excessive tinting from the outset, regardless of vehicle, passport or parentage seems to have eluded the decision makers. And a dark tint makes it impossible to enforce seatbelt and mobile phone legislation.

What confuses me is the Gulf News story appears to have lumped stickers and reflective paint in with this window tinting issue. Is it OK for your car to be dressed up like it’s about to do the Desert Challenge? Will participants of the Gulf News Fun Drive be prosecuted for displaying numbers on their doors? Is the AAA Service Center to be prosecuted for putting a logo in the bottom corner of every customer’s rear window? I do know that an Emirati friend was ordered to remove all self-adhesive stickers from the rear of his Patrol last time he went to get it registered in Dubai, and not just from the rear window. Apparently, plastering the windows with advertising banners is an impediment to visibility, and an overzealous inspector extended this to “All stickers”.

Salik tag excluded, of course. Also excluded are larger-than-life mugshots of Sheikh Mo and co., and massive adverts all over bus windows.

What of reflective paint? Is this the 100% reflective metallic window tinting, or is it, as Dubai Eye mentioned, the same retroreflective film that is used on traffic signs?

If the latter, we have the ridiculous situation of legislation being considered that would effectively outlaw drivers’ attempts to improve conspicuity. There is a reason why emergency vehicles are almost always emblazoned with reflective striping or in extreme cases a yellow and blue Battenburg pattern. There is also a reason why motorcycling apparel frequently comes with fluorescent or reflective panels. Yet the Ministry of the Interior appears to be planning to outlaw this particular contribution to road safety. Am I to understand that I should remove the white reflective pinstriping from my black motorcycle and render it even more invisible?

What comes next? Perhaps the ban on headlights should be extended to include all vehicles, and not be limited only to bicycles.

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Thought of train

The usual routine for holiday travel plans in the UK involves car rental, collection of the vehicle from and return to the airport, and a lot of petrol being turned into pollution. Last year I realised that it would be futile to rent a car and pay £35 per day to have it standing idle and unloved for several days, so I decided to give public transport a whirl and, after learning that rail travel between Heathrow Airport and Plymouth was prohibitively expensive, I took a National Express coach.

Later this month I’ll be travelling again. Beloved Wife has to stay and work, otherwise we’d be renting a car for sure. I thought I’d give rail travel another try after discovering last time that coach drivers enjoy tailgating small cars on the motorway, coach seats are titchy, and there’s no room for any luggage in the cabin. Plus, the coach service from Heathrow was over three hours late “like it is every Friday.”

I was pleasantly surprised to learn that I could book my train tickets on line. I could even select aisle or window, table, electricity supply, direction to face, near the loo, et cetera. Unfortunately it all went wrong when it came to the bit about obtaining the ticket. The Train Line is incapable of e-ticketing. Options on offer are to collect the pre-paid ticket from a machine at the station, or to have it mailed or couriered to a UK address. The only option available for an international traveller - and there are one or two of these milling around Heathrow - is to collect the ticket immediately before boarding the train.

Problem: No ticket machine at Heathrow. Obviously, no-one has ever flown in from abroad and wished to continue his journey by rail, leastways not from Heathrow. Leeds, Glasgow, Birmingham or Bristol airports don’t have this problem. The Heathrow idiocy is caused by various parts of the journey being operated by differing rail companies.

I contacted The Train Line’s telephone helpdesk. A kind lady in Delhi told me that the only option was to buy my ticket upon arrival at the station. According to the website, that would cost an extra £46 each way. The email helpline wasn’t much better. I was advised that:

“The nearest station to Heathrow Airport is Reading which has a Self Service Ticket Machine, therefore, you can retrieve your tickets from the Reading station.”

I’m glad that's clear. I have to get from Heathrow to Reading. But how? By train? Bus? Helicopter? Rollerskates? Could I collect the ticket at London Paddington, I asked. I suggested that perhaps I could board the train at Heathrow without holding a ticket (although I had paid for one and would have a printout of the web page), alight at Paddington, collect my ticket for the whole Heathrow - Paddington - Plymouth journey at Paddington and continue my journey.

Er, no.

“I would like to inform that you need a valid ticket, before boarding the train. It is possible to collect the whole ticket from the London Paddington station. However, you will not be allowed to board the train without the ticket on the first part of the journey.
Hence, please book the ticket at the station on the day of travel.
I hope this information is helpful.”

Indeed. About as helpful as a concrete lifebelt. I would have to make my own way to Paddington, collect the ticket, somehow get back to Heathrow, then use my ticket to travel on the Heathrow Express to Paddington in order to complete my journey.

I have at last solved the problem. It turns out after some on-line research that there are any number of ways to get between Heathrow and Paddington. The cheapest practical option is the Tube, at £4 each way, but it’s a pest when combined with suitcases. I simply booked two single tickets for the Paddington – Plymouth return journey using The Train Line, plus an open return on the Heathrow Connect rail service. In all, £20 less than attempting to do the whole thing through a one-stop shop.

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A Muntz moment

Why was there a traffic jam on Airport Road the other Thursday? By the time I got to the front of the queue, the reason was obvious. A white minibus was broken down in the left-hand lane and its passengers and luggage were being transferred to a taxi that was parked in the right-hand lane. Three lanes of afternoon rush-hour traffic all funnelled into the one-lane gap. It apparently didn't occur to anyone to park the taxi on the service road. Blocking two thirds of the highway was clearly much more satisfactory.

It was to my astonishment then, that as I drove past Terminal 3 the aforementioned white minibus came hurtling past me as if the Devil of Hell was pursuing him. Not so broken down after all, it would appear.

After Terminal 3 and before the Airport Expo there is a set of traffic lights. Here I encountered the same white minibus. As I pulled up in the queue, the driver decided to swerve left into my lane. I only avoided impact by stomping hard on my brakes and hitting the horn. He stopped, and then spent the next minute or so fiddling back and forth before cutting behind the Goatmobile and heading off up the empty left-turn and U-turn lane, clearly in an enormous hurry to go somewhere. The airport, perhaps? Probably not, given he'd just discharged his passengers and luggage. He was probably heading back to his base, the Eureka Hotel, if the signwriting all over the minibus was to be believed.

When the lights eventually turned green, the left lane wasn't going anywhere. I crawled to the front and saw what had happened. Mr Minibus had overtaken the queue, pushed in at the front, and then been rear-ended by a taxi. So much for his hurry. He'd now have to wait around for a Police Report.

"Haaa, haaa!"

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No lane, no gain

Bus lanes, those single lanes of highway pavement for the sole use of buses, perhaps taxis, and in some cases bicycles and motorbikes, are an inexpensive urban traffic management measure that can relieve congestion. If the buses aren’t being held up by other traffic, they can stick to their timetables and consequently offer an attractive alternative to the private car. Bus lane critics, including such luminaries as A. Tom Topper in his book ‘Very Advanced Driving’ (ISBN 0-7160-2127-7) are very keen to note with considerable envy the strip of asphalt that spends 80% of its time empty when it could be full of Land Cruisers. Actually, the envy is more closely related to “If only I, and I alone, were allowed to use the bus lane I wouldn’t have to queue.” What these detractors fail to realise is that a single bus can successfully remove up to around 70 cars from the road.

Of course, a bus lane can only succeed if it is always empty of delivery vans, cars parked just for a minute outside the shwarma shop, and the car driver who apparently believes that he’s driving a bus.

I applaud the decision and eagerly await a dedicated bus lane between Sharjah and Dubai. But what I await most is how other traffic is going to be kept out of it. Police presence perhaps? That’ll work for a week or so, until Plod gets fed up with standing around with a big bag of Black Points to dispense. A camera on a stick doesn’t seem to eliminate driving on the hard shoulder, so why should a bus lane be any different?

The only solution I envisage working is a dedicated lane, kerbed to keep other vehicles out, and with some form of smart barrier. There would have to be lots of “Buses only. No other vehicles allowed, on pain of getting your car kebabbed” signs. The bus has a transponder that drops the barrier, which shoots up the moment the bus clears it and impales any following vehicle. This video clip shows the deserving victims of such a barrier in England.

To be honest, I look forward to the Schadenfreude of seeing an impaled Mercedes, BMW or even Sunny.

Incidentally, I wonder how long it would take for the appropriate transponder to become available to any self-styled V.V.I.P. who fancied one?

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