Indian pacific

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The Wairoa

Community

Tuesday, January 10, 2017

Sydney to Perth . . . in style Wairoa Star reporter TIM WARRINGTON opens another chapter in his travel diary with the first in a series of adventures aboard the Indian Pacific. EAT. Drink. Be merry. A fitting proverb for an iconic train journey. Perhaps. Ask me again in three days. Apart from the occasional commute on the tube, I’m unfamiliar with the railroad. But I’m about to embark on my first real train trip and it’s massive – Sydney to Perth. I have no idea what to expect. I will most certainly eat and drink, but will I be merry after three days and three nights on a train? Sixty-five hours in a cabin smaller than my wardrobe. The train is the Indian Pacific to be specific – so named for the oceans at either end of it. It’s so long, before it can shunt into the railway siding at Sydney’s Central station, it must uncouple. It’s usually about 800 metres in length, but subject to carriage configuration, it can stretch to a kilometre. I’m leaving from Central Station, Australia’s busiest rail hub, with 11.5 million passenger movements a year. Only a tiny fraction of those are journeys from Sydney to Perth on this 30-plus-carriage mega-train. On an unremarkable Wednesday afternoon in early Spring I make the trip. I’m rather excited as I trundle my luggage towards the pointy end of the train on Platform One. I’m about to embark on one of the true transcontinental rail journeys — an epic odyssey that captivates imaginations and fills bucket lists the world over. Australia is rather spoilt: two of the world’s great train trips bisect its sunburnt land. There’s the north-south, Adelaide to Darwin “Ghan” — an honorific to Afghan camel drivers who came 150 years ago to explore Australia’s vast, untamed interior. And the east-west Indian Pacific, which runs weekly from Sydney to Perth and back again. The beginnings of the track connecting New South Wales with Western Australia can be traced back to 1917, but the Indian Pacific didn’t make its first unbroken journey until February 20, 1970. When it arrived in Perth five days later, more than 10,000 people were there to greet it. A one-way trip originally took 75 hours but line efficiency and other general improvements have shaved 10 hours off the travel time. That’s 66 hours including a 60-minute contingency buffer advised by Indian Pacific’s operator, Great Southern Rail, for the tardy. But I arrive on time clutching my Gold-Class ticket Charlie Bucket-style and am immediately shown to my carriage by a picture-perfect steward with a blinding smile. The sense of space conveyed by the marketing material is conspicuously absent. My private cabin is comfortable but compact. I am somewhat relieved I’m alone. I try to imagine two people sharing this space. I cannot. There’s a plush bench seat, which converts into a bed, and a pull-down bunk above for the “plus one”. A panoramic picture window with adjustable blinds floods the tiny cabin with light. I stretch out on the bunk – all 183 centimetres of me are remarkably comfortable. There’s white linen with just the right amount of crisp and freshly plumped pillows. So far so good. Keyboard warriors handbag the bathroom facilities mercilessly so I brace for what’s behind the tiny, mirrored door. But at first glance the minuscule wash space seems adequate. It’s a shower-over-toilet arrangement with a compact sink.

TRANSCONTINENTAL RIDE: 1500 tonnes of steel and over 30 carriages, the Indian Pacific travels around 9000 kilometres each week. I’m no contortionist but I’ll manage. Then, with a distant purr and a slight jolt, the Indian Pacific inches slowly into its first kilometre. Only 4351 to go. The two engines — one forward and one aft — in a push-me-pull-me arrangement soon have the 1500 tonnes of steel trundling through Sydney’s Inner West at a leisurely pace. The carriages: a confection of lounges, luggage cars, sleepers, sitters, crew quarters, kitchens and restaurants choof along comfortably and ascend the Blue Mountains effortlessly, quickly reaching their cruising speed of 85km/h, while I catch a few z’s. But immediately next to my cabin is the Outback Explorer Lounge car, so my snooze is short-lived as a gaggle of baby boomers muster for the welcome drinks. I wrangle my bed hair and join them. Food and drink is all-inclusive for all Gold and Platinum class guests, including beer, wine and spirits. The train carries about 200 GoldClass passengers and 20 Platinum-Class passengers per trip. Economy, or Red Class as it was known, was cancelled in June 2016 after the removal of a Federal Government subsidy. Only a small portion of the journey (between Melbourne and Adelaide) known as the Overland remains available to Economy Class passengers. At the welcome-aboard mixer, there’s bubbly and canapés and the opportunity to meet the host (Caleb) and fellow passengers. Small talk with kindred spirits invariably leads to, “why the train?” Margot and Ewan from Melbourne are celebrating their 28th wedding anniversary. Margot wears too much make-up. She sweeps away imagined imperfections from her husband’s goldbuttoned blazer as we chat. I half expect her to moisten a tissue and wipe his face but she seems satisfied with pursing her lips at my crumpled shirtsleeves. Ewan, a retired airline pilot, has wanted to make the trip all his adult life. Margot has not. Ewan looks delighted. Margot looks constipated.

LEG ROOM: A Gold Class cabin in its daytime configuration. “I can’t imagine anything worse,” she says with a Toorak drawl, washing down her displeasure with three fingers of méthode champenoise. She surveys the carriage with disdain and drains her glass. “Two nights on a train,” she says, shuddering for effect. “Three,” I say as I chink their champagne glasses with mine. “Happy anniversary,” I say. She hates me. It’s mutual.

A passing waiter tempts us with something delicious skewered on a pick. Something we don’t quite catch, panfried in butter and garlic, he tells us on his return sweep. “What’s this?” Margot asks mid-chew. I have no idea, but as I grab another I tell her it’s crocodile. Margot disappears behind her napkin. When she emerges she is sweaty and grey. She glowers at me with angry eyes. Ewan tells me they flipped a coin to


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