Riding the Ghan from Darwin to Adelaide
First Night Aboard
Waking in my lower berth on the Ghan, I look out my window and marvel at the unfamiliar constellations. The Southern Cross stands out, a sight I’ve long hoped to see. To Aboriginals of Western Australia, this group of stars is known as the Emu. Its movement across the heavens signals seasonal change and appropriate times for harvesting eggs and other food.
From the mirrored shelf, two charging cell phones create pinpricks of light. This blue man-made constellation floats beyond the window, moving with the train, frustrating my desire to see the uninterrupted expanse of the night sky. To block out the reflection, I raise my hand. The resulting shadow against the star spangled sky evokes memories of shadow puppets cast on childhood walls.
I’m awake, though dehydrated after the intense heat of the off-train expedition to Katherine Gorge. Rising to empty my bladder, I admire the efficient design of the miniature bathroom. Before climbing back into bed, I glance at Yasemin in the upper berth, apparently asleep, then sip from the water bottle provided. Has the wine at dinner time caused my wide-eyed restlessness? No, more likely it’s the desire to fully experience this dream journey as the train rocks gently through the night.
Watching the stars and the shapes of Australian trees as they flash past the window, I remember the wonder of my first train journey through the Rockies when I was eight. Then as now, I gazed in wonder through the window of the moving train. The nocturnal silence is interrupted by a hum, followed by the soft distant sound of a whistle. Our sleeper car is more than half a kilometer from the front of the train.
This unlooked-for opportunity to travel with my adult daughter has been a gift. Observing my limp, she reminds me to bend my stiff foot instead of slapping it down. In Darwin, Northern Territory, we walked to the Hilton to rendezvous with the special bus that would take us to the train. As we left our modest hotel and headed down Mitchell Street, Yasemin insisted on schlepping my case as well as her own I tried to protest but she was having none of it.
“You’re the matriarch now,” she said. “You have to accept the consideration due to that role.”
“But it means I’m getting old.” It was the first time I’d heard myself say the words aloud.
My daughter was philosophical. “You may as well accept that too. Enjoy the perks, let people carry things for you, and give up their seats on buses.”
Yesterday, she guided me over uneven and slippery rocks into Buley Pool. Cognizant of my painful knee, she encouraged me to stretch to my physical limit without surpassing it. Weightless in the water at last, I relaxed and ducked my head. When I arose cool and refreshed, she was by my side again, helping me find footholds as I climbed back up the slick mossy rocks to the trail.
“You’re almost there,” she encouraged, seeking out the easiest routes up stairs and ramps and rough spots on the trail. Then she waited patiently when I stopped to photograph the delicate purple turkey bush and the yellow-flowering kapoks where they leaned over rock and water.
Tomorrow we tour Uluru, the navel of the world. I feel the onset of drowsiness at last, and allow my eyes to close. I wake and look out at a pale sky over pink land. A knock at the door heralds the arrival of our morning tea and coffee, ordered the night before and brought to our cabin. In the rosy dawn, I set the cups on the desk and look out at the landscape. Yasemin climbs down and stows her bunk and ladder. We enjoy our drinks, then dress and go to the diner to eat a delicious breakfast with our new train friends, Sydneysiders Ruth and Paul. Back in the cabin, we freshen up before the train arrives in Alice Springs. This is the halfway point of the journey. Later in the day, the northbound Ghan will arrive, and the two long trains will be juggled past one another on the station’s extra long sidings.
Uluru
With a few other passengers, we climb down into the fresh morning to board waiting buses to the airport. There we’ll catch the small plane that flies us over the Red Centre to Uluru. Alice, as the locals call Alice Springs, is a pretty town with a lot of big trees. The bus driver tells us there is plenty of work and in spite of the remoteness, people like living here.
The small fixed-wing aircraft provides impressive views. We fly over dry country, marked by bright white salt flats. As we approach Uluru, the pilot – a veteran of the Royal Flying Doctor Service – performs acrobatic fly-bys to make sure we see the giant rock from every possible angle. There’s a second similar rock nearby called Kata-Tjuta (or jocularly, Fuluru), and a third pile of lumpy rocks as well. They’re like icebergs, he explains. We’re seeing the tops of deeply embedded rocks that are ten times the size of what rises above the surface.
At Uluru airport, a tour bus picks us up. Sol, our Nepalese guide, provides informative commentary on history, park rules, vegetation and more. We stop to eat our boxed lunches at a picnic site with an iconic view of the rock. Dessert is a Lamington – a classic Australian cake. Before piling back on the bus, we take some photos. The weather is very hot. Sol drives right up to the edge of the rock, then leads us along a trail past a pool and into an open cavern filled with wall paintings. This, he says, is a historic Aboriginal meeting place. The ceiling is blackened by the smoke of many campfires.
Close up, the rock looks less pink. Trails lead into and around it, threading among copses of trees. Other vegetation includes a kind of grass introduced from South Africa some years back. Like so many transplanted species, is has become invasive. While efforts are now being made to re-establish native vegetation, this colonizing grass has already choked out many plants that formerly grew here.
From close up, the rock is alluring and mysterious. Then all too soon, we are back on the bus being driven around to see it from all angles. On one side, pegs support climbing ropes that are positioned on the best route for those who want to scale to the top. Climbing Uluru will not be permitted for much longer – it ends on October 23, only a few weeks away. The ascent in this hot dry place poses serious danger of dehydration to climbers. Also, with no tourist facilities at the top, tourists often pee off the rock, contaminating the precious water below.
We round another corner and Sol shows us where the original airport was built when Australians still called this place Ayers Rock. Careless of the rights and needs of Aboriginal people, colonizers put the airport in an area sacred to rituals that were not meant to be witnessed by outsiders.
Now Aboriginals control the park. With the airport moved to a more suitable location, the separate rituals involving “men’s business and women’s business” are no longer on public view. It is now forbidden to photograph certain facets of the rock, even though they can still be glimpsed from the road. This rule is policed by observers on social media, who routinely request removal of any pictures that portray forbidden areas.
On the flight back to Alice, Yasemin sits in the co-pilot’s seat, which commands the best view, though all views are good. Overwhelmed by the plenitude of fresh air, exercise, and new knowledge, I sleep for part of the flight.
When the return bus from the airport nears the train, the northbound and southbound are being repositioned and we are unable to board. “No worries,” says the driver. “We’ll go direct to the barbecue.” There, we reunite with groups who chose different tours and arrived earlier at the Cable Station. Dusk is falling, but there’s no need to be concerned about the chill that sets in with darkness. On each chair, a warm poncho with the Ghan logo awaits. After warming us tonight, the ponchos are to be taken home as souvenirs.
Dinner and a Camel Ride
Sitting at a large round table with British and Australian companions, we drink wine and eat a delicious barbecue dinner. Live entertainment includes singers, comedians and free camel rides. Yasemin goes first, and after a glass of wine to give me courage, I join her on her second ride. Staff help us aboard our camels from a mounting platform, and we rock round the yard, feeling the strangeness of the animal’s unusual gait. Cameleers and their animals were brought to Australia from Afghanistan in the 1800s to build the Ghan. Australia has more camels than Saudi Arabia.
After dinner, we enjoy coffee and cake and walk around the displays, chatting with our new friends. Portraying the early days of overland cables, the museum buildings have been left open for us to wander through.
All too soon, the buses return to pick us up. The driver entertains us enroute, telling jokes and playing classic Australian songs like Waltzing Matilda, and A Home Among the Gum Trees. Back aboard the Ghan, I’m delighted there’s time to have my shower before the train begins to move.
Morning in Manguri
From my bed I watch the gradual onset of morning light as we travel south in our west-facing carriage. The pastel dawn arrives with a band of blue along the horizon, topped by stripes of pink, lavender and apricot. By the time we go in to breakfast, the morning sun is shining through the windows of the lounge car, painting the acacias with bands of light the colour of ripe papaya.
We’ve entered South Australia, and since leaving Alice Springs, we’ve been travelling on the old section of track, noticeably bumpier than before. The new northern section is continuous rail laid over machine-installed concrete sleepers. Smooth as can be, it offers the further advantage of being unpalatable to termites, who would otherwise be likely to eat the ties.
Coober Pedy
The bus drives us through a landscape of incredible dryness, marred and pocked by holes, hills and machinery. Here in Australia’s mother lode of opals, no international companies have been allowed to get control of the mining. Individual local prospectors are welcome to try their luck. Astonishingly, locals are also allowed to excavate their own underground homes to escape the suffocating heat.
The tour begins with a visit to a Serbian church located underground. It’s spacious and cool, complete with beautiful stained-glass windows featuring an Australian bush flower, the blood-red Sturt Desert pea. From there we’re taken to the underground museum, where we also tour a cool underground home in the style of Coober Pedy, where living underground is a viable option. Want another shelf, or closet, or room? Go ahead, dig one out.
The museum tour ends in an opal shop. The gems are surprisingly varied in colour. Later, we have some free time to walk around town. Coming across a sign that says “Dry town: only 6 beer and 1 bottle of alcohol per person,” we look at each other amazed. Is this a joke?
Lunch time finds us in an underground restaurant, where we sit at long tables while an army of people serve a delicious Greek lunch. On the way out of the tunnels, we pause to watch a former miner demonstrate how to use explosives. Opal mining is fairly simple, doesn’t require expensive equipment, and is not dangerous for the miner’s lungs.
The Breakaways
Leaving the drab dry region of Coober Pedy, we travel through a vast grey moonscape with broken bottle gypsum on top and the world’s longest dingo fence running beside the road. There are no dingoes to be seen. Suddenly, we drop into a hidden valley, once the bottom of an inland sea. From there we ascend a high hill to see spectacular and colourful scenes with odd-shaped rocks including one that resembles a kneeling camel. Let out of the bus at a viewing area, we’re given cold drinks and offered the chance to taste salt bush, a local plant used in Australian cuisine. We enjoy the views and take pictures with our train friends. On the windy hilltop, I exchange a few words with the couple from Castlemaine, who had mistaken us for Americans.
The Breakaways is a national park, and the aboriginal people don’t want it disturbed. Signs ask visitors to respect its restoration area status. The roped off section in the photo has been replanted with natural vegetation.
Evening
We’re back on the train and the sun is about to drop behind the horizon. Yaz is in the shower, taking advantage of the train’s stillness to wash off the heat and dust of the day. Tonight we dine on board. We’re looking forward to some time – this evening and tomorrow morning – to relax and enjoy the time on board. The train makes subtle clankings as it prepares to depart. Almost time to head for the dining car. Tomorrow morning, after a leisurely breakfast, we’ll arrive at journey’s end, Parklands Terminal in Adelaide, South Australia.