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Travel Logs April 2014

Adventure In Oz, Australian Style

By Irene Davis

Then, for no discernible reason, the train stopped. And until you have stopped in the vastness of the Outback, you don't know the meaning of the phrase, "in the middle of nowhere." We sat, watching the time grow later, wondering how we were going to make that flight.

Australians are nice people!

Stand on a corner looking slightly bewildered, peer at a map, and the passers-by gather. "Are you right?" they want to know – Aussie-speak for "do you need help?" Or ask directions from a guy in a van, and the response is, "Hop in, I'll take you there."

We experienced many such incidents during our visit, but none so dramatic as on the Ghan – the train taking us from Adelaide in South Australia to Alice Springs in the Red Centre, in that part of Australia known as the Outback. We had just finished a wonderful visit with Son One, the Australian and his family in Adelaide, and at his instigation were going to tour the Red Centre before returning to Canada.

Named after the Afghan camel drivers who used to travel this desert route, creating a vital supply link between the Outback and the rest of the country, the Ghan now links both Sydney and Melbourne to Alice Springs, through Adelaide.

We boarded in Adelaide at 3.30 p.m., scheduled to arrive in Alice Springs at 10 the next morning. Our flight to Ayers Rock – or Uluru, to give it its proper name – where we were to begin a three-day tour of the Red Centre, was to leave Alice at 11.40 a.m.

Plenty of time, said the conductor of our sleeper car when we told her that we had to catch this flight. Half an hour to unload the luggage from the baggage car, the airport is only 20 minutes from the station, yes, plenty of time.

Thus reassured, we turned our attention to the window, through which we could see the red sand and scrub vegetation of the Outback, along with a herd of wild horses and the occasional kangaroo hopping along.

Later, having eaten our fill in the dining car, we climbed into the berths our roomette had magically sprouted, and more or less slept the night through.

Next morning, we found the train was running a half-hour late. Seems they had to pick up some freight cars during the night. Also someone had left a faucet open in one of the cars, resulting in that car losing all its water – no toilets, no showers, no coffee – which meant they had to stop to refill the tanks. But still, don't worry, plenty of time.

Then, for no discernible reason, the train stopped. And until you have stopped in the vastness of the Outback, you don't know the meaning of the phrase, "in the middle of nowhere." We sat, watching the time grow later, wondering how we were going to make that flight.

An announcement came over the public address system: a herd of cattle had crossed in front of the train, forcing it to stop. One cow had refused to get off the tracks and they had had to get out and push. Furthermore, hitting the emergency brake to avoid hitting the cows had broken the air hose. But don't worry, folks, we are replacing the air hose and should be on our way in about 15 minutes.

By now the train was running more than an hour late and catching that flight seemed a hopeless proposition. We were trying to formulate contingency plans when our conductor knocked on the door.

"Are you the couple that has to catch a plane in Alice Springs?" she asked.

We were indeed. "Bingo," she said. "I've been looking all through the car for you."

She took my husband to the baggage car to identify our luggage, which she then had moved to the exit doors of our car. She called ahead to have a taxi waiting for us. She had her assistant call the airline to explain our delay. When the train pulled into the station, she unloaded our luggage, picked up one of the pieces, led us to the taxi, and said goodbye, assuring us we would make it.

At the airport, we headed to the front of the line-up, as advised by the taxi driver. We explained our situation to the ticket clerk, who nonchalantly said, "Oh you've plenty of time, go to the back of the queue."

"Are you sure?" we asked, looking dubiously at the line, which was rather longer than we would have liked, and at the clock, which registered less than 15 minutes to take off. "Sure," she smiled, so we turned to obey.

But thanks to our conductor, the airline was expecting us. "If Mr. and Mrs. Davis are in the terminal, please go to the head of the queue," blared the public address system. "Is that you?" asked our ticket clerk sheepishly. Yes indeed.

Off to the gate. The young woman checking us through said, "Don't worry. They're not going anywhere without me."

We practically flew across the tarmac, chugged up the steps of the plane, and presented our boarding passes to the smiling flight attendant.

Safe.

 

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