Perth Hotels
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Crazy Train
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I would like to start this entry off with an apology. In my attempt to impress you with what a daunting journey I had in front of me I wrote in my previous entry that the train ride was scheduled to be 42 hours long. This was an exaggeration. In fact it was only 41. I am sorry if I breached your trust.
Before embarking on my short train trip, I spent my last bit of time in Adelaide at the Migration Museum. It wasn't a very big place -- requiring only an hour or so to stop and read pretty much everything -- but was very well done. It was informative and even-handed and didn't throw too much at you. At the end of the tour they had message boards where you could write how you felt about the museum and the issues it presented and posted some of the best ones. Some of the message gave some interesting insights into people's personal experiences, others were clearly written by total nimrods. At least the museum was practicing what it preached and wasn't discriminating. If you're in Adelaide and have an hour or two to kill -- and if the first part applies, then the second probably does as well -- it's definitely worth checking out.
From there it was on to the railway station and the Indian Pacific. As it turned out, the shuttle ride to the station was all I would need to ensure a suitable social life for the train ride. On that ride I met two Dutch girls, Bregje and Yanneca and Canadians Erin and Catherine. On the train we were joined by Roland from France, Steve, an older American guy and Willemine, another Dutch girl (although she was an atypical Dutch person in that she barely stands 5-feet tall -- after noticing that the Dutch are exceptionally tall, including Bregje who is about 6-foot-4 I learned that they are the tallest nationality in the world). The train wasn't lacking for eccentric characters to give us something to talk about when the conversations lagged. There was an old Canadian guy who had a Pavlovian response to hearing Nullarbor (before you ask, it's the vast expanse of nothingness where we'd spend a healthy chunk of the next 41 hours -- in Latin in means 'no trees') and would launch into the same spiel about how, fascinatingly enough the Nullarbor is in fact quite narrow. I had heard that speech three times within the first hour. Then there was an old American guy sitting in front of me who I knew would be a treat when, immediately after learning that the 20-something girl next to him was German started a conversation about World War II. Steve, the Englishman next to me, and I couldn't decide whether to laugh or cringe. This guy's story that never got old was about how he attained the prominent status of "international backpacker" and how after acquiring a VIP card (which means Very Important Person in case you were unaware, he'd have you know) he wanted all the perks and benefits that such stature commanded, dammit. I probably could've recited the whole story to you but by the second rendition I was trying to reenact the 'Stuck in the Middle With You' scene from Reservoir Dogs on myself.
The first night was all about flaunting all the Indian Pacific's 'rules.' We learned upon boarding that we were not allowed to consume alcohol not purchased on board, but that didn't stop Bregje and myself. Surely no one thought it odd that I would walk into a bathroom for a couple minutes with a big canvas grocery bag and a can of Carlton Draught. Nor would they find it dodgy at all, that shortly thereafter a tall Dutch girl would do the same. Especially since 'DAN' was written in large black letters along the side. Things remained calm and casual, though, and by midnight we were all ready for a night of sleep. By "night of sleep" I mean a few hours of twisting and turning on uncomfortable seats. At one point I woke up with Steve's head on my shoulder. Not too long after I woke up to find I had returned the favor. It was one of the more intimate nights I've had in a while. I was also awake in time for sunrise, which was nice because it was a fantastic sunrise that started with mellow purples before giving was to a sharp crimson. One problem, though, was we were heading west so the views weren't great. The other problem was that sunrises are fucking early. Now suitably awake, I wound up striking a conversation with another American who lives five minutes from where I lived in Phoenix. Considering how few people I met in fourth months, I found it a little odd that I was talking to a virtual neighbor in the middle of the Outback. Speaking of the Outback, I have to say I was a little disappointed by the Nullarbor. I wanted brown, desolate scenery, just kilometer of kilometer of sheer nothingness. As it turned out, the area was quite green from high rainfall.
Around 10, we stopped in Cook to refuel. Cook is roughly the midpoint of the world's longest railway stretch without a single bend. We had half an hour to walk around the town, which was approximately 28 minutes more than what was necessary. There was a little building that advertised Cook as the ghost town of the outback. The room inside was so bare I started to wonder if it was such a ghost town that there was no one even there to put stuff in a tourist "attraction." After several hours filled with exciting endeavors such as napping and playing cards we were dealt some terrible news. We were given word that a train had derailed (no one was hurt) west of Kalgoorlie, a somewhat sizable outback town in Western Australia where we were set to stop and stretch our legs for an hour. As a result, we would have to leave the train in Kalgoorlie and take a bus the rest of the way to Perth. The whole thing wrecked the sense of accomplishment we wanted to have for surviving the journey. Plus it meant no lounge area to walk around and stretch out in. It also meant we'd be getting to our destination a couple hours earlier, which in theory would be good, but in reality was annoying since no hostel receptions would be open when we got in anyway. We drowned our sorrows at McDonald's and a distinctly un-Outbacky pub (I wanted Crocodile Dundee, we got modern society) before finishing the trip.
Stunningly, when you take the 41-hour train/bus ride, you arrive in the same area code you left. In New York you can't take a 41-minute train ride without winding up in a different area code. If that doesn't speak to the emptiness of this place, I don't know what does. So far, I've enjoyed my first foray into Western Australia (and now I've been in every Australian state -- that's right all seven of them). Perth has an excellent vibe that I can't quite put my finger on. Maybe it's the cleanliness, the quaintness of a small but still bustling city or the friendly laid-back people. It could also be that I've been with good people and it's the first scenery I saw in two days that wasn't whizzing by. Bregje, Roland, Steve and myself all wound up sticking together and going to the same hostel (making sure to find one with a swimming pool), and along with Willemine will be going on a two-week road trip along the West Coast tomorrow. After exploring the city the day we got in, we spent the next day in Fremantle, a suburb 20 km outside the city where people go to hang out by the Indian Ocean and find an outdoor cafe or beer garden to whittle away the afternoon hours. After a very relaxing stint in the ocean, which may or may not have been my first dip in the Indian (I have to get an official ruling on the water I was in in Thailand) and also involved a brief visit from a dolphin we had a very unrelaxing time trying to secure a rental car. It's not the easiest mission when you're five people and four of them are 6 feet tall or more. Put it this way, if Willemine can run the point, we'd have one of the most formidable road trip basketball teams Australia has ever seen. We managed to salvage the day with a fantastic sunrise over the ocean (much better timing than sunrises) and a feast of pasta carbonara, salad, garlic bread and Toohey's.
This could be the last you hear from me for a bit as I now have two weeks in more or less the middle of nowhere. I'm sure there'll be plenty to report and the whole experience should be much better than that Tasmanian road trip since we've already proven we can survive each other couped up in close quarters. If I can stretch this much out of four days, mostly spent on a train moving at at best 60 km an hour, imagine what I can do with two weeks of material. It might require its own book deal. Cheers More thumbnails ...
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