Ask around and you'll find quite a few Australians have crossed the Nullarbor by train, sitting up. They're mostly Western Australians and their memories aren't exactly fond. One Fremantle friend recalled the time she forgot to pack a blanket and shivered her way from one end of the continent to the other. Another enterprising acquaintance once tried sleeping in a luggage rack, only to wake choking in a thickening haze of cigarette smoke.
That was then, of course. The only sitting up we planned to do on our Indian Pacific jaunt from Perth to Sydney was in the lounge or dining car, safe in the knowledge that these days the train trip is one long, cushy trundle. We knew there would be great food laid on, a well-stocked bar, and nobody writhing in the luggage racks.
What we weren't so sure about was our kids, aged seven and five. Even with the novelty of a pair of matching gold-class cabins, would they go stir crazy? Were we brave or crazy to take these unpredictable little tag-alongs on a three-day journey across the country in a confined space? We needn't have worried. The joys of training it with the kids were all clear before we left the platform. I'll admit it, all four of us squealed with excitement at the sight of the Indian Pacific awaiting us at the station. Climbing aboard and finding our cosy cabins - complete with kiddy-pleasing fold-down bunks, and en suites - followed by a gleeful tour of adjoining carriages, the excitement only grew. It was unanimous: this beat the hell out of a jam-packed family wagon.
For a start, there was so many logistics we could forget about. We were freed up from all the usual road-trip headaches – the driving, the navigating, the accommodation dilemmas, the food stops, the toilet stops, the car sickness – which meant more time to loll with our little ones and watch the vast, breathtaking expanses roll by.
The leisurely pace won us over ever as we wound our way out of Perth. Even our sometimes-difficult-to-please 5-year-old succumbed. Our friendly crew called this phenomenon "train time" - that otherworldly dimension that transcends state borders and the daily grind. It's a hypnotic charm to behold. There's no rushing anywhere. It's slow and steady as she goes. There are no errands to run. There's often no point in checking your phone for messages because, despite being in the lap of railway luxury, you're completely, spectacularly, out of range. To me, having no mobile phone coverage is a blessed relief. To have no phone reception while perusing the wine list in the Queen Adelaide dining car, amid the shivery tinkle of silverware, etched glass and stunning views of an ancient landscape, carries that luxury into uncharted territory. And that's in spite of, possibly even because of, having our kids by our sides.
In the plush surrounds of the lounge car, the snippets we gathered from fellow passengers were almost worth the ride on their own. One bloke told us he always chose the train over the plane, and hadn't flown in 20 years. He nodded politely while everyone around assured him that flying wasn't as bad as he feared. Then he told us he'd worked in army aviation most of his life and that the reason he avoided planes was because he knew "way too much about what goes on up there." We took a long sip of our drinks and gazed at the dusky landscape. Train travel had never seemed so civilised.
Another group of passengers had brought a friend along whose husband had recently passed away. "I gave them every reason why I couldn't just drop everything and go on a train trip across the country," she said. "But they wouldn't take no for an answer."
Having left Perth in the leisurely early afternoon, we reached Kalgoorlie after dark and took a bus tour of the city and surrounds. Kalgoorlie is a hole, which is not an insult, because it's not just any hole. It's home to the "Super Pit", the nation's biggest open pit gold mine. Mr 5-year-old had to be hauled from his bunk and remained grumpily a-snooze until we propped him, open-mouthed, in front of a monstrous, floodlit mining dump truck, on display at Hannans North Tourist Mine. The mine was opened after-hours just for our tour, complete with a couple of real live mining blokes, with humour as dry as the desert sand. Round the corner we got to see the massive dump trucks at work, toiling 24 hours a day, dwarfed by the Super Pit's ever-deepening abyss.
Over breakfast the next morning the kids declared train travel better than plane travel - a big call from a pair of in-flight-meal-obsessed travellers. We raised our chilled juices in agreement. Air travel might have novelty value, but pretty soon the kids and you are going to want to get the hell off. That doesn't happen when you go by train. Not this train, at least. Which is a remarkable feat, really, considering how many long, straight kilometres are involved here.
If we had attempted a similar distance by car the kids would have spontaneously combusted before we were half way. Instead, out on the Nullarbor rail line, the kids were actually disappointed to hear that we were almost half way to Sydney. There was some serious child-mesmerising magic at work here. And no offence, Adelaide, but when we stopped in round your way for the morning – to take in a chocolate factory tour, of all things – the kids really only wanted to know when we could hop back on board.
A stop-off in a ghost town only added to the awe. As outback towns go, few are as out and back as Cook. It shimmers on the dusty Nullarbor horizon more than 1500 kilometres from Perth and 1100 kilometres from Adelaide, one very lonely outpost on the longest straight stretch of train track in the world. Established to support the east-west Trans Australia Railway in the early 1900s, Cook was home to around 200 people back in its heyday. These days it's a stunningly remote relic, with a single hardy family of four still in residence, along with the occasional railway crews.
On the short but sweet stopover in Broken Hill, a little local knowledge came in handy. We'd done this spectacularly gritty place by road not so long ago and had discovered the wonders of Broken Hill's Sturt Park playground, just off the main drag on Sulphide Street. Hopping off the train and keen to give the kids a run, we ditched the optional bus tour of the town and Pro Hart gallery, strolling instead a block from the train station to the glory of downtown Argent Street, and one block beyond to the outrageously well-appointed playground.
We were then back in time to wander up to the train's pointy end for a chat with our friendly engine driver, who thankfully only laughed when little Mr 5-year-old, asked if he might drive a train when he grew up, said: "Yeah, it looks easy."
Generously allowed back on board, we marvelled some more at the way the hours glided by. On the other side of Broken Hill, with the setting across the ochre hills, we and the kids made the most of our last sunset-soaked dinner in luxury locomotion.
It was a constant, pleasant surprise to us and our kids to have nowhere to rush except the dining car. The kids, for once, had us to themselves. We couldn't escape. And we weren't even scared. With so much down-time on our hands, as opposed to electronic devices in our hands, we could enjoy uninterrupted old-world pursuits like cards and board games. Early on our final morning, I was surprised to find Ms 7-year-old - who loves a sleep-in - wide awake in her bunk, watching the Blue Mountains slide by. After days of outback viewing, she was entranced all over again. "I've never seen so many gum trees," she sighed.
Reluctantly alighting in Sydney, little Mr 5-year-old delivered his one damning criticism of our rail odyssey: "I couldn't reach the winder on the windows to put the blinds up and down."
Yeah, it's a tough life riding the rails. And yet not once in our entire journey did either of the kids utter those dreaded words: "Are we there yet?" Sure, being kids, they weren't perfect angels the whole time. But they could have been a whole lot worse. And hey, at least we can say they're now incredibly well trained.
The writer and his family travelled as guests of Great Southern Rail.
TRIP NOTES
Indian Pacific fares (2014-2015)
Perth to Sydney or vice-versa
Three nights and four days via Broken Hill, Adelaide, Cook and Kalgoorlie, one way:
Adult $1679-3599, Child/Pensioner $1169-3599
Sydney to Adelaide or vice-versa
One night and two days via Broken Hill, one way:
Adult $579-1249, Child/Pensioner $819-1249
Perth to Adelaide or vice-versa
Two nights and three days via Cook and Kalgoorlie, one way:
Adult $1199-2649, Child/Pensioner $819-2649
Call 1800 703 357 or visit greatsouthernrail.com.au
