My grandfather had, as part of his pension benefits from the Zimbabwean Railways, free rail tickets. Some of my best childhood memories involve African train treks: short overnight trips like Harare to Bulawayo or longer ones like Harare to East London. The 43 hours I'm spening on the Indian-Pacific, from Perth to Adelaide, is evoking strong childhood memories. This is train travel in the classic style: bunk beds, sinks and tables which clap-down or clap-up, continuously changing landscapes outside the window, and the sweetest ever sleep during which you're rocked like a child. Train remains my favourite way to travel.
The spring landscapes of Western Australia were carpeted with flowers and marked with trees with silver trunks. Then you look again and its changed, and then changed again. This morning I woke up to the Nullarbour Plain: hugely empty, uniformly flat, red earth and - as the name hints - nothing growing above low scrub.
The train has stopped twice so far: yesterday night in the gold mining town of Kalgoorlie which has a 'super pit' and reminded me a little of Kimberly (apart from the bordellos offering tours, coffee and cake and the bars where the barladies wear very, very little) and at midday today at the tiny village of Cook to rewater.
Tomorrow at 7:20m, after crossing into a third time zone, we reach Adelaide. Right now, I'm regretting having to get off so soon.
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