Diana Wichtel: City 'public transport' an oxymoron

COMMENT

Goodness knows we've done our bit to reduce traffic congestion in Auckland. We drove our two old cars for so long that when we wanted to trade them in, grown car salesmen cowered in their offices refusing to come out. Thus we became an environmentally friendly, one-car family.

It works, but only because we're all regular ferry users. I've loved the Devonport ferry since the days when the boats ran on coal and the old Devonport wharf was a tatty, grubby wreck. You arrived in town looking - and possibly smelling - like an immigrant fresh from steerage, but it was a great way to go.

Now the trip takes 10 minutes. You can even get a boat from Devonport to that trendy new suburb, Waiheke Island. A ferry home later than 11pm during the week would be nice, but otherwise no complaints.

Except that the new Devonport wharf is a tatty, grubby wreck. At least the old wharf had a certain "elegant shed", Kiwiana charm. The new one was always a monument to bad planning, bad architecture and appalling design.

These days it's a disgrace, with filthy floors and windows, an outdoor walkway that's perpetually barricaded as dangerous, and the (locked) toilets stink. There's no sign that the new owners are going to do a thing about it. Welcome to Devonport.

Which is the problem with that maddening oxymoron "Auckland public transport". We get just enough to give us a glimpse of how good it could be if they got it right.

Given half a chance, I could convert to bus and train travel. A simple bus trip from an inner-city suburb to town the other day combined all the thrills of a fairground ride with entertainment to match Days of our Lives.

The driver drove like an Italian, hand on the horn, swooping around corners in a manner I haven't experienced since a London bus ride when one hairpin bend sent an old man flying straight across the aisle, neatly depositing him in a seat on the opposite side.

Cellphones have added a whole new dimension to public travel. The saga of a person who was now, we were relieved to hear, out of intensive care and coming to terms with never walking again was relayed to the entire bus. So gripping was the story I went past my stop.

On my next trip, more drama. A woman on a tiny mobility scooter was waiting at the stop with her husband. Tension mounted as they tried to board with the little vehicle. Against the law, declared the bus driver. They were finally let on, but only this once.

The thought of her scooting forlornly all the way home troubled me all day. "Anything with a large battery is not allowed," explained the man at Stagecoach when I checked. Who knew they can blow up?

The company of strangers, in all its infinite variety, is the joy and the curse of public transport - and one of the reasons for our continued love affair with the car. In a car, with luck, no one plunks themselves down beside you and hacks up gobs of phlegm. In the nervous age of Sars and odd-looking people who could be terrorists, or just run-of-the-mill psychopaths, the car keeps other people at bay. At least until they rear-end you.

Still, there's something about trains. Britomart and the new surrounds are like a sort of Lilliputian Las Vegas.

In the square outside, a tiny volcano erupts near a mini-kauri forest. Inside, a little make-believe thermal area quietly steams. As did the few passengers the day we decided to take the train to Newmarket. We were told that there were "delays" on two lines. Off to another platform to catch a different train going, we hoped, to the right place.

It was (eventually) a nice, if not scenic, ride past bleak car parks and walls covered in urban scrawl. But we arrived at a lonely, windswept platform with not so much as a sign to direct strangers. Sigh.

Even so, it makes a good family outing. Or it would if trains ran on Sundays. When will they? "Eventually," said a man at Tranz Rail. Eventually. I suspect that's the secret motto of Auckland's public transport planners. Either that or "Big new roads - mmmm".

There is hope. Plans are afoot for increased ferry services. Eventually. And former Auckland mayor Christine Fletcher has just announced she's on the campaign trail to get her job back, promising to bring trams back into the central city. Sounds good to me.

As Devonport ferry users demonstrate, spending hours in traffic to pay extortionate parking fees is a habit Aucklanders can break if there's a convenient, pleasant alternative. In the immortal words of Kevin Costner, "build it and they will come".

Meanwhile, our traffic planners should be forced to spend some time at the Rideline discussion forum.

"Jobsworth" of Auckland tried to arrange a trip from Panmure to Takapuna for a "mildly disabled" person. "It is completely impossible (even assuming that everything ran as advertised, and on time). The blithering moron who is responsible for having half the buses downtown and the other half in Albert St should be sacked immediately. This is simply total idiocy."

There is no public transport system in Auckland, he concludes. "It does not exist. A public transport system must by definition be usable. By the public. For transportation. This travesty is not."

Tried getting around Auckland without a car? This column would love to hear your public transport successes and woes.

* Email Diana Wichtel