Training Hard

I've got to say, the food on New Zealand trains has reached new highs for price, and lows for quality. Errk. Two dollars for two thirds of a cup of watery milo? Hello?

Still, the train trip from Auckland to Palmerston was infinitely more comfortable than on the bus the other way. We were delayed a little, when a freight train broke down and had to be hauled out of the way, and a little more when that put us at odds with a the freight pattern and we kept having to stop and duck out of the way of the other trains. It was okay. I had half a chess game and an amazing conversation with a lady called Ariane, who liked skiing a great deal. She'd been conceived and born in India of Russian parents who had fled there after the troubles (and how old does that make her?), and grown up in France. She's forgotten more languages then I can hope to learn. She goes to Bali every year and likes cats. She'd still be skiing if she hadn't been in a road accident and become permanently cross-eyed. A delight to talk to, really.

And just so you know, when my train got in an hour late, one of my flatmates was waiting to pick me. And I didn't have to cook dinner, or clean up after that night.

It was lovely.