The National Railway of Zimbabwe has seen better days. And God help if whatever Brit who built the thing ever saw the condition the toilets are in now.

That said, our first class sleeper cabin for nine hours from Mutare to Harare cost about $1.20 US. First class, though, is relative in Zambabwe. You could tell it used to be very nice transport that's since been allowed to go to hell. Half the cabins had broken lights and passengers sat in the dark. The sinks of course no longer worked. And, my favorite, the entire train car smelled like it'd been hosed with urine.

"But it's a different world here."
And this is first class. There's still "standard" and "economy" below this. There were two sleeper cars, three standard, and maybe ten economy cars... where people were crammed six across. What stunned us most was that from our point of view, there's so little difference between the first class and economy prices. About $1.20 for first. About $.50 for economy. But it's a different world here, and five US dollars is about a month's wages. The people in economy are there because they can't afford the chicken bus at two US dollars. Matt suggested our view of this is how rich people see the difference between first class and coach airline tickets.

We were chase out of the first cabin we chose by people who knew to check the board with the cabin assignments. And an interesting moment ensued when the conductor entered our cabin looking for "Mr. and Mrs. John Sanders." "Are you both gentlemen?" he asked. I'd bought two tickets on my own and the guy at the counter must have thought it was for my wife. I thought about answering his question with something like "Now that the damn operation's over," but didn't.

"I quickly realized with dread that I had to pee."
We bolted the door shut to the tiny compartment and tried to figure out how we'd sleep. I quickly realized with dread that I had to pee. Several plans were hatched to avoid facing the ghastly toilet. One involved the sink and hopes that at least the drain was still working. Another would have brought a daring window-straddling stance. The most ingenious centered on a Ziploc bag hurled out of the cabin. But ultimately I faced the horror like a man.

It wasn't that bad. Despite being broken and shit-smeared, the toilets are saved by their own disgustingness. Having completely given up on chemicals or flushing of any sort, it's now just a seat over a hole in the bottom of the train. There's no waste stored anywhere on board. Thank God. This keeps the smell from being untenable. And just for fun, with good aim you can pee straight through the hold and out onto the tracks without ever hitting the toilet.

I slept most of the night but not well, and we arrived in Harare around 6:30am. That's nine and a half hours to go 120 miles.

"We watched The A-Team on satellite."
Oh, and I should mention Ann Bruce, the nice, talkative and slightly insane former teacher who runs the backpackers appropriately named "Ann Bruce Backpackers." She was fun. We called her alternatively "Ann B. Davis," and "Carol Burnet," for the similarities between her name and face. She's yet another of the tourism businesspeople who remember the boom times and are now struggling to hang on. We watched The A-Team on satellite and she remembered more about the show than Matt or me.

We're now back at Nat's, a rundown old backpackers in Harare run by a nice old lady, hanging out till we catch the bus to Kariba tomorrow. Form there we'll walk across the Kariba dam out of Zimbabwe and into Zambia... only our fourth African country.

And one more thing I feel I must comment on before I forget. The third-world radio DJ volume twitter. It is maddening.

"Little staccato bursts of the music."
You know how as a song ends, the DJ often turns down the volume and talks over the end of the song. They do the same thing in the 3rd world, only they feel the need to fill the space between every third word by popping the volume of the song back up to full volume for a fraction of a second. This happens about every second or two, little staccato bursts of the music amidst the DJ's droning. Intolerable.

And it seems to be everywhere in the third world I've seen so far. I thought it was just a Latin America thing when I was there, but they're at it here, too. Where'd they get this awful idea and how did it spread around the world?