Ah, maybe the critcism of the new design/system is being noticed after all. Paragraph spaces have ...
Ah, maybe the critcism of the new design/system is being noticed after all. Paragraph spaces have returned and edits are working. But why didn't Ciao test it and make sure it worked before installing?
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My wife and I rather liked Sydney Central Station. Monumentally Victorian, it exudes something of the grandeur that all big city termini ought to possess. The cafeteria in particular, with its tables spilling out onto the concourse, and its murals of scenes from Australia's past (their style a cross between aboriginal art and industrial realism), was a pleasant place to wait. This was just as well, because we were to wait at the station rather longer than expected.
We had arrived early to check in our luggage, something on which Great Southern Railway, the company that operates the Indian Pacific, insists. They say 45 min before the scheduled time of departure; to be on the safe side we made it an hour. I have noted elsewhere my belief that by insisting on this kind of rigmarole railway companies are throwing away such competitive advantage as they enjoy over airlines. Without it, we could have arrived with much less waiting time ahead of us. Also, since we had booked our own compartment, our taking our luggage on board with us would have inconvenienced no one but ourselves. In the event, we found there would have been quite enough room for it.
The check-in process was handled politely and efficiently enough, though no one mentioned a possible delay in the running of the train. If we needed any information, we were told, there would be an information stand on the platform.
After wandering round the station and taking a coffee at the cafeteria, we went and found the train. It looked impressive, its long line of stainless-steel-clad carriages - each ornamented with the Indian Pacific's emblem of a soaring eagle - occupying the tracks on both sides of a double platform, to be joined on departure. Only the two locos, massive but crusted with dust and rust, let its appearance down.
No passengers were being allowed on board, though cleaning staff did seem to be busy within. There was indeed an information stand on the platform, with no one manning it. We fell into conversation with fellow would-be passengers standing on the platform. No one knew for certain, but the consensus was that the train must be delayed.
The departure time, 2.55 p.m., came and went. The main board on the concourse was still showing the scheduled time, now past, and no announcements were made over the public address system. The passengers stood or shuffled on the platform. The information stand remained unmanned. At about 3.30, my wife spotted a man in uniform at the end of the platform, accosted him and asked what was going on.
"We were four hours late coming in," he said, as if that explained everything.
"I see," said my wife. "But none of the passengers knows that, and we're all wondering when we're going to be allowed on board."
"Well," he repeated. "We were four hours late getting in."
"So does that mean we'll be four hours late leaving?"
"I hope not. I hope we'll be quicker than that."
"Meanwhile, no one knows what to expect. Wouldn't it be a good idea to make an announcement?"
"I suppose we could," he said, dubiously, as if humouring her.
"And will we be late in Adelaide? We've got friends meeting us off the train."
In fairness to him, he let my wife use his mobile phone to ring Adelaide and warn our friends we might be late. That was a generous gesture. But he never did put out an announcement, or give a clear indication of when we might expect to leave, which would at least have allowed us to spend some of the waiting time having another coffee, rather than hanging around the platform so as to be ready for a sudden departure. We later discovered that he was the Train Manager, so if anyone could have done something to help alleviate the situation for the waiting passengers presumably he could.
At length, whatever preparations had been going on inside our carriage were complete, and the door was opened. A blue-and-gold plastic flag was hoist beside it, a blue-and-gold mat laid on the platform outside it and we were allowed aboard. The two halves of the train were shuffled and shunted into position and at last, over two hours late, our journey on the Indian Pacific Railway began.
O========================================O
The Indian Pacific takes its name from the fact that it connects the two sides of Australia that face the eponymous oceans: the Pacific to the east and the Indian to the west. From Sydney to Perth it spans a total distance of 4352 km, about 2700 miles. This makes it (after the Trans-Siberian)
the second longest continuous train journey in the world.
Completed in 1917, although then in several different sections each with its own gauge, the line was originally built for political reasons - to tie the remote outpost of Western Australia into the emerging federation of the more populous states in the south-east of the continent. It is questionable whether it ever made much commercial sense, and in these days of air travel it survives mainly on tourist traffic rather than as an everyday mode of transport for the locals.
The service now only runs twice a week. The full journey takes 65 hours, but my wife and I were travelling only as far as Adelaide, at 1691 km not much over a third of the total distance, to be completed, if the train ran to time, in just ten minutes over 24 hours. We were, however, doing it in style, having opted for the top-class Gold Kangaroo Service, thereby securing our own compartment with en-suite shower-room and loo, together with - according to the prospectus - all sorts of other goodies and trimmings.
O========================================O
The compartment was comfortable, clean, and attractively finished in light-coloured wood panelling. With the top bunk stowed neatly away, and the lower one converted to seating for daytime use, there was ample room for us to sprawl at leisure. Bill Bryson, who also took this journey (see "Down Under") makes much of how cramped he found his compartment. Perhaps. Compared, for example, with the sumptuous first-class accommodation on the Moscow-St Petersburg express, they're small; compared with the T2s on French Motorail, they're spacious. The shower-room/loos are indeed constricted, but not unmanageably so.
Initially, the service too seemed more than adequate. Our carriage attendant (sorry, "Hospitality Attendant"), dropped by to introduce herself and brief us on the journey. She was pleasant and friendly. In case we failed to take the briefing in, the compartment was supplied with a brochure, a route map, a detailed timetable, and a daily 'newsletter' entitled On Track. Tea and coffee making facilities, it told me, were to be found at the end of each carriage.
As the train trundled through Sydney's sprawling suburbs, I went to fetch some tea. Although the train had only been going for a quarter of an hour, our carriage was already out of milk. In itself this was no big deal - I soon rustled some up from another carriage - but it was to prove symptomatic of the journey as a whole.
Even sprawling suburbs are interesting when one is seeing a country for the first time, and we sat back to watch the Australia unfold. This was easily done to the north, which happened to be the way our compartment faced. Even with the compartment door to the corridor open, however, the view the other way could not be clearly seen, because of the spacing of the windows in relation to the door. This was not just a matter of our being unlucky in the position of our compartment. Checking along the carriage, I found that all were the same. Whoever designed the carriages didn't think much about the outlook for the passengers. Indeed, they didn't think about it at all. The windows stretch upwards from about thigh to chest height, so standing in the corridor provides no comfortable way to see the view on that side of the train.
This became even more of an irritant as the train ascended into the Blue Mountains, since the best views are to the south of the track. In all honesty, though, the train does not in any case provide a good vantage point from which to see Blue Mountain scenery. The track ducks in and out of cuttings that occlude the view, while along the elevated stretches it is often lined with bush. Some of the vegetation is attractive, with verbascum and wild lilies, but you can't see far. Tantalising glimpses of deep valleys and slopes cloaked in eucalyptus flicker between the trunks of the trackside trees.
I still wanted to see it, though, and in the hope of a better view we made our way along to the lounge. It was in any case now past six o'clock, and our On Track schedule told us that there would be a reception in the lounge at 6.30, for those like us on the later sitting for dinner.
The lounge was comfortable and well-appointed, though it didn't actually much improve the outlook since all the seats are angled to face inwards across the carriage. Still, I'm always ready to sit in a bar and chat to people, which is what we did as 6.30 came and went.
At about 7.00 the Train Manager, appeared. Apparently, perhaps because of the late running of the train, the reception time had been put back, but no one had got round to informing us. We should perhaps have realised by then that, despite all the printed material, communication with passengers about what's currently happening on the Indian Pacific is conducted largely by rumour. Incidentally, while I am quite happy to call myself a passenger, members of the staff are always careful to say "guest". One suspects that this is the result of some training course that focuses on words rather than meanings, on going through the motions of hospitality rather than thinking about the actuality. Perhaps it would be better if we were thought of as "customers", which would at least be a reminder of who was paying for it all.
Beyond the windows glowed a magnificent sunset, a printers' sunset in every tint of magenta and cyan. The cyan in the sky was matched by the colour of the complimentary cocktail with which we were plied. I have never been known to refuse a free drink, and I ended up drinking my wife's as well as my own. Blue-flavoured cocktails are not to everyone's taste, and I wondered why an option of fruit juice or even just water wasn't offered. To interrupt the Train Manager's presentation by standing up and going to buy a drink at the bar seemed discourteous.
To be fair to him he was quite entertaining. Some of the sexist jokes probably would have raised eyebrows in a more 'politically correct' environment, but I've never been bothered by that kind of thing. We were told a great deal about the train, its running, and the company that runs it. We were also told that, because of the late running, the usual optional extra of a brief outing round Broken Hill would not be available. We were told, but there was no apology for this, any more than there was for the tardiness of the train. "Qui s'excuse, s'accuse" (he who excuses himself accuses himself) would seem to be the motto of some Australians as well as of the French. Asked how late we were likely to arrive in Adelaide, his answer was revealing: "well, we've got to be in time to make the connection with the Ghan, or I'll be in trouble." The fact that failure to make the connection might also inconvenience passengers did not seem to be at the forefront of his consciousness.
O========================================O
Dinner was taken in a lavishly-ornamented dining-car, its decor in a style that Bryson memorably describes as "fin de siècle brothelkeeper" - I'm not even going to attempt to improve on that.
Our expectations of the food had not been raised by being told that it's prepared in advance and only re-heated on board, but in fact it was perfectly palatable and even tasty, and accompanied by some good Australian wine (my wife disputes this, but she's an old world wine snob, whereas I am open-minded and prepared to give any wine a chance). We were seated with two amusing Americans - a Texan lady now living in Sydney, and her son over on vacation from New York.
The meal passed very pleasantly, only slightly marred by the serving staff suddenly deciding without warning that dinnertime was at an end and clearing everything, including an unfinished bottle of water, from our table. We asked for more water and were told we would have to pay for it. Fortunately, my wife is unbeatable in this sort of situation and, after she had explained to them the error of their ways, water was made available free from the bar without further argument.
Reading this in draft, she has taken exception to the wording. Apparently, she merely helped them understand that (1) we were going to be given more water, and (2) there was no question of payment. Who am I to argue with her?
Returning to our compartment we found that the bunks had been folded down and the bedding was neatly in place. Like many people, I always find it difficult to sleep on the move, but I can't fault the Indian Pacific for nocturnal comfort.
O========================================O
In the morning we released the blind from our window to discover a landscape looking as if it had been ironed flat, smoothed out to the horizon as far as the eye could see. The baked red dust and low silvery-olive scrub of the outback is the stuff of cinematic cliché, but it is still startling, and mesmerising, to see it for the first time as it rolls past in its seeming endless sameness.
We also awoke to discover that a new issue of the On Track newsletter had arrived. And, lo and behold, this spoke alluringly of Coffee, Pastries and Fruit being available in the Lounge Car at 6.30 a.m., of an arrival time of 7.10 at Broken Hill, as per the timetable, and of the optional tour to be had there. Perhaps everything was back on schedule.
Having awoken early, my wife and I quickly dressed and made our way
Pictures of Indian Pacific Railway
Welcome aboard - at last
to the Lounge. Coffee was indeed available, from the machine as usual, but no pastries or fruit. Eventually we found a member of staff and enquired about this. Oh no, it was explained: these refreshments were laid on as a prelude to the outing at Broken Hill, and since that day there was going to be no outing, there would be no refreshments.They couldn't explain the discrepancy with On Track, but I didn't think an explanation was hard to find. My guess is that the thing is printed in advance, and cannot therefore be adapted to changing circumstances. In which case, why publish it at all, in addition to all the other explanatory bumf, when it is only likely to confuse people when plans are altered?
And as for the pastries and fruit, why withdraw them just because the outing is cancelled? People who have risen early in the expectation of an outing are going to be no less hungry when it does not take place, while a snack might take the edge off their disappointment. As it was, breakfast, like the train, was going to run late; something to eat while waiting would have made a lot of difference to customer satisfaction, especially when its cost is included in the price that passengers pay for the journey. I know from the conversations that were taking place around us that my wife and I were not the only people to feel cheated by this particular piece of pettiness.
O========================================O
Time went by. Outback went by. Over the inbuilt entertainment system, we listened to Slim Dusty sing his ballad about the Indian Pacific, which is quite catchy in an Australian Country kind of way, and to lengthy pieces of sometimes repetitious commentary. Apparently during the night we had passed through the city of Orange, birthplace of the Australian poet A B 'Banjo' Patterson, author of Waltzing Matilda.
At length, heaps of mining spoil, corrugated iron buildings and even the occasional tree announced our impending arrival at Broken Hill. To call somewhere the cultural capital of the outback may sound like a contradiction in terms, but Broken Hill has some claim to the accolade. Its traditional industry of metal-mining has declined, but films are made here and artists have been drawn here by the clear warm light.
We had actually been quite keen to do the tour, and although that was off the agenda, my wife and I did manage a quick walk around a few blocks close to the station while the train took on water and supplies. The sunshine was already hot, but a dry heat, and not unpleasant for a walk.
The Sunday morning streets were almost deserted, giving a ghost town feel to the place, like a film-set for a western. Near the station there are several attractive buildings with metal verandas or balconies in Australian colonial style. We would have liked to explore further, but we were worried about the four-day wait in store for us if we missed the train, and hurried back all too soon.
In the event, it stopped a full hour at Broken Hill, making us doubly annoyed at having been denied the hour-long tour.
O========================================O
Time went by. Outback went by. It becomes a bit more animated after Broken Hill. A road parallels the track, and I found myself spotting the odd vehicle. For want of anything better to do I noted some on my pad, with the intervals between, and can now read: car - two minutes - cyclist (a masochist?) - five minutes - truck - three minutes - car - two minutes - road-train - six minutes - and so on.
Dull though the landscape is, there is an imagination-stirring quality to its vastness, especially in the knowledge that we were crossing just one small corner of Australia's huge, empty interior. And any unexpected feature arouses a disproportionate interest. My wife spotted an emu, much to her delight, and white cockatiels, with pink bellies, perhaps reflecting or dusted by the red soil. Wedge-tailed eagles, the symbol of the Indian Pacific, were often visible high in the sky. Disappointingly, though, we saw no kangaroos.
Like dinner the night before, and indeed the breakfast, lunch was an appetising enough meal eaten in amiable company. While we ate, we watched the townships and the trees increase in frequency. Quite suddenly we found we had crossed what I understand is known as Goyders Line, the point after which there is sufficient rainfall for wheat to grow. From here on the scenery changes from flat semi-desert to rolling arable, dotted with farmsteads. It is not unattractive country, but neither is it startling. One would not make the trip for this alone.
O========================================O
And so, at length, still running late, the train crawled through the suburbs of Adelaide to the depot. Those passengers continuing to Perth or changing onto the Ghan, which runs north to Darwin, were brusquely informed that there would no time for the tour of Adelaide that is promised on their itinerary. Once again, sorry seemed to be the hardest word. My wife and I were not sorry to be missing the further experience of endless arid scenery and further Great Southern Railway hospitality that either of these routes would have afforded us.
It only remained for us to be presented with a Certificate of having travelled the Indian Pacific and a souvenir lapel-pin decorated with the soaring eagle emblem. By now you may have detected that I'm a grumpy old curmudgeon, or perhaps a whinging pom, but these merely irritated me. It was as if GSR thought that having tacky little mementos of the experience would be more important to passengers than the quality of the experience itself.
O========================================O
I'm not a snob about travel. I don't mind travelling rough at times, and if I'm roughing it I accept the concomitant delays and discomforts with reasonable equanimity. But on the Indian Pacific we had paid a hefty premium to travel smooth and the rough edges of the experience were all the more abrasive in consequence.
The fare, Gold Kangaroo Class, from Sydney to Adelaide is AU$590, about £245. Red Kangaroo, with less plushy facilities, costs AU$450 (£188). If you decide you can do without your own cabin, a "daynighter seat" can be had for just AU$223 (£93). There are reductions for pensioners, children and students. These go all the way down to AU$109 (£45), at which point it begins to look like good value, which full fare Gold Kangaroo definitely was not.
I find myself, inevitably, comparing our experience on the Indian Pacific with that on the Trans-Siberian. With both, we encountered inefficiency and poor customer service. The differences were (i) the Trans-Sib was dramatically less expensive per mile and (ii) that no one on the Trans-Sib pretended to be other than what they were, which made it far easier to accept. What was so annoying on the Indian Pacific was not so much the that the staff were doing the wrong thing (though often they were) as that they were so obviously under the illusion that they were doing the right thing, and even preening themselves in the process. Such an attitude grated all the more because it was so unusual for Australia, where service is generally efficient and unpretentious.
On a personal level most of the staff on the train were friendly enough, even likeable. The Train Manager, for example. I don't think he was a bad man, or a lazy one. I think he was trying to do a good job. The trouble was that he had no idea of what his doing a good job would entail from the customers' viewpoint.
On a route of this distance, trains cannot compete with planes as an efficient mode of transport. They can only attract custom by becoming part of the holiday rather than merely a means of reaching it. As a result, customer service matters much more on a train than on a plane. We can all put up with the disagreeable when it is a means to an end, but not when it is an integral part of the end itself.
Our friends in Adelaide rang the station, before setting out to meet us, to check on the delay. They were assured that the train was now expected on time, and were therefore less than amused when they had to wait the best part of two hours for it to turn up. They had been mystified from the outset by our decision to come by train rather than by the much cheaper and quicker air alternative. Having experienced the Indian Pacific, I'm a bit mystified myself.
what a blessing you weren't travelling further! I don't think l'd manage the journey these days, even were l to visit Australia ~certainly l would not be happy receiving less than l paid for
. . . . ~ ! ♥♥ ! ~ ........................................................... ~ jes ~ ! ♥♥ !
TheWizardsSleeve 02.09.2007 21:36
superb, as ever
Whiskymac17 24.08.2006 14:18
Excellent review. I'm planning a trip to Oz in the near future and will visit family in Newcastle and Perth so the train trip is an attractive interlude. When I make my booking I'll attach a copy of your review and request confirmation that the service has improved. Watch this space.
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May 24th, 2005
(Jun 16th, 2005)
exceptional by (68%):
very helpful by (32%):
