The train rolls onwards through the darkness. The light of the nearly full moon only faintly paints the landscape in monochrome shades of grey, different degrees of dark, black silhouettes of trees against the paper pastureland.
Now and then, the flash of red from the railway crossings, the dotted amber or red boxes of passing trucks, the green of a signal for trains heading the other way.
Station lights and street lamps of towns, the residents settling down in their houses for the night.
Occasionally, the colours of a service station which never sleeps, the silver of water in a dam or stream.
I love travelling through the night, dangerous though it is, when I am not wanting to sleep. A blank canvas for dreams and stories.
I dream of finding that oasis of light in the darkness, a place of life in the dead night. The colours of a fairground that has no reason to be where it is. A diner for sustenance to get you through the night. A place to rest when you can no longer fight sleep.
I do not fight it now, but I can only snatch moments before a noise or some discomfort awakens me. In between, I stare at the darkness outside.
When I saw the email from the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra about a new Art of the Score John Williams concert, I knew I had to book. It didn’t matter that I was scheduled to be elsewhere. I moved that booking by a couple of days, purchased flights from Sydney to Melbourne, hoped that the weather would be good for flying.
As the departure date approached I no longer had to travel overseas, my friend unable to make the trip. The weather threatened, work overwhelmed, and I decided I couldn’t deal with the anxiety. So I cancelled the flights and booked the train instead.
No sleeper for me, but I do call up the booking office to request a first class seat by the window. You can’t do seat selections online. Only economy heading back, the train is almost fully booked, is fully booked the day before travel.
I arrive early at Central Station, before the train has arrived at the platform. Whilst the interior is grand, the facilities inside Sydney’s main station are lacking. There is nowhere to eat, just a closed coffee stall and a newsagent. I walk out the west exit in the opposite direction to the flood of students heading back from the day. The clock tower of Central makes a nice photo with the moon in background.
There are a few fast food and Thai restaurants, but I am not that hungry after eating a big lunch. I have snacks from the supermarket with me.
Passengers are already boarding the XPT when I return. A rather large older businessman, a Mr Blackberry I later discover, is sitting next to my seat. He’s actually supposed to be across the aisle and I glad when he is moved, for he spends the night snoring and complaining to cabin staff. A middle aged lady replaces him.
At the window across the aisle, a young man with a loud voice who states he has no money for his dinner, but not to worry, he brought his own. He is noisily helpful to anyone who looks in the slightest bit lost and has a political corflute which reads “Remember the last election. Labor and Liberals. 50,000…” I don’t know what it is referring to, what party or political stance it represents. The rest of the message was obscured.
In front of me are a couple of men from the Middle East or North Africa, well prepared with a pot of tea and other snacks, though one of them is seemingly without earphones.
I have my own entertainment. The form I use through most of the night is my MP3 player. I’m tired and cannot bring myself to watch a movie, though I do read a short story on my phone.
The XPT is over forty years old and overdue for replacement. Its replacements are themselves overdue. But first class is comfortable, with lots of legroom and seats with a deep recline. Along with my Muji neck pillow, I am quite comfortable through the night.
I decide not to partake of the buffet car, only leaving my seat to use the bathroom, which is kept quite clean through the night.
So I spend the trip listening to music, staring out and occasionally catching a nap now and then.
The lights of the station stops sometimes wake me. I like to see how much life they have late at night. At the railway yards in Junee I spot a Victorian B class streamlined locomotive brightly painted with an “Auscision” livery, an Australian model railway manufacturer brand.
Then I have another nap.
Morning breaks after crossing the border into Victoria. A thin layer of fog clings to the damp lands outside. Kangaroos warily watch us go past, calves prance in the pastures, their young joy bringing a smile to my tired face.
There was a crew change in Albury and the new cabin manager is a cheerful chatterbox, announcing that today is the international day for a variety of things including spreadsheets, which is nice, because I will have nothing to do with them today.
We pull into Melbourne’s Southern Cross station about half an hour late, which disappoints me not at all. I am not in a rush.
Although it was a long ride, the first class cabin was surprisingly comfortable for the overnight run. The neck pillow made a big difference.
I decide to walk to my hotel on the Southbank of the Yarra approximately 1.5 kilometres away. I need the exercise and it’s nice weather. On the way I think about a Malaysian breakfast at the supposedly 24 hour Food Hall, but it looks closed. I stop to buy an orange juice and snot block (vanilla slice) at a banh mi cafe instead.
Fortunately, the hotel can give me the early check-in I had requested over the phone the day before. I am incredibly tired after last night. A shave, a shower, then I am fast asleep.
I wake a couple of hours later. I don’t have a plan for the day. Crossing the river into the city at Flinders Street, I am outside Hearns Hobbies, in the basement of the building. I go in, laugh at seeing the Auscision models after last night, buy some landscaping supplies, recalling a childhood with model railways.
Further into the CBD I find Roti Bar, the best of the Malaysian restaurants we found last trip. I order a nasi lemak, couple of satay sticks and hot Milo. They are all good, but I am beyond full afterwards, feel bad about my diet.
With nothing better to do, I decide to go see the area I grew up in, catch a tram to Brunswick.
We rattle past the hospitals, through Royal Park and past the zoo. Up Grantham Street we go past the shops where I bought my first plastic aircraft model, my BMX bike, except they have changed to sell other things now. Union Square, our first local shopping centre, a big event when it opened, then on to Dawson Street, where I get off.
I walk down past the corner store, now a cafe, past my first primary school, turn, go past my kindergarten, still there, arrive opposite my old house. All startlingly familiar, despite the extra story on the house, the new fence, the extra tree growth. What is startling is how short the distances feel. As I have grown older and taller, it feels like my old world has shrunk. The hills aren’t so steep, nothing is as far away.
Do I walk back towards Brunswick train station? I decide to do the opposite, walk towards where we used to shop at Moonee Ponds, 2.4 kilometres away.
I think I used to walk the whole way sometimes as a kid. So much of it feels familiar. The house which used to be a pizza parlour, still with its arches. I would have had my first pizza there, soon after it opened. Past the concrete open storm water drains where we used to ride our bikes. There’s a proper bike path there now. The main motorway into the city runs past it. I’ve driven along it on most of my previous visits.
The Moonee Valley Racecourse is the biggest feature along the way, but I am more interested in the houses. Gentrified, some with Halloween decorations, skulls on fence posts, plastic pumpkins and skeletons. So different to the modern McMansions we live amongst now.
Puckle Street in Moonee Ponds looks both run down and slightly bougie. There is still a Coles Supermarket, now set back in a shopping arcade, but the toy shop is gone, as has the bakery where we bought doughnuts. I turn left into Pratt Street, where it is now a Woolworths instead of a Safeways, and get a shock when I see Toyland.
I remember buying my first Return of the Jedi Star Wars figurine there, before the movie was released. I go in. Signs announce a closing for renovations sale, the first renovation for 50 years! I take it as a sign. Sadly there are no more Star Wars figurines for sale, but I do get an amazing deal on some Star Wards Lego that I now must somehow lug back.
I speak to the shopkeeper, who, it turns out, is filling in for the owner who has had to rush back to China to visit his dying father. I doubt he was the same owner as 50 years ago, or when I once visited the shop, and I fear that perhaps the shop may not reopen after renovation. So I appreciate the chance to see it again.
Next door is a doughnut shop, where I grab a milkshake and doughnut because, why not? Then I lug my purchases to Moonee Ponds train station and wait for the next train to the city.
It’s a Comeng train, now the oldest set on the network. But I remember doing a school project on them just before they were introduced as “Super Trains”.
I feel old now.
I am glad to return to the hotel and have another sleep. When I wake, it is already 4pm and the weather has changed. I need to get a back to carry the Lego sets back. I resolve to walk down to the DFO, close to where we stayed last time.
It is spitting with rain as I stride along the river. I search the bag shops, the adventure shops, eventually purchase a fold up bad that turns out to be too small by half to enclose the sets, but still makes them easier to carry. I also have to find gifts for B and Alex at home.
The shops begin to close and already it is getting late and the rain is heavier. Fortunately I brought an umbrella this time.
Something I dislike about the Southbank area is the lack of affordable eating options. It is home to the poshest of restaurants, the ones we know from guest appearances on cooking shows. But it can be difficult to find quick and affordable dinners, which is what I need.
I give up, figure that lunch will tide me over, drop my purchases back at the hotel, and walk the short distance to Hamer Hall for the concert.
The John Williams Sounds of Cinema concert is amazing. I am so glad that I have gone to all this effort to attend.
On the way back I stop by a 7-Eleven for some snacks. It’s a bit like Japan.
Dinner is a sausage roll and a doughnut. Not healthy. I go to bed, guilty.
My hotel status affords me a free breakfast. I have counted on it.
My stupidity sets my alarm for 6.30 PM.
I get up at 7.30 AM.
Now I have to rush. There isn’t enough time to eat breakfast. I check out.
I walk the 1.5 kilometres back to Southern Cross Station, quickly buy a chicken panini and fruit salad, then board the XPT back for Sydney.
Okay, now I can relax.
The train is packed. Students, the elderly, the professional, the guy opposite who looks like he is straight out of gaol, the girl who is ticketed to sit next to him and her noisy bogan friend who keeps coming down to visit her.
The petite masked Asian lady next to me is quiet and sleeps until she leaves at Wagga Wagga, to be replaced by a young Asian bloke who keeps manspreading and watching a comedy show on his phone.
I put my headphones on an listen to music again. I’m too exhausted to do much else.
The weather is fierce and miserable outside. I’m glad I didn’t fly in it. When we cross rivers, they look full of fast flowing water. A truck splashes through a muddy road. The kangaroos are gone, the cattle and sheep still run away from the passing train.
In economy, the seats don’t recline anywhere near as far, the legroom isn’t as generous. But it’s still reasonably comfortable, for a daylight ride. I can hear the same crew welcoming us on board. I don’t catch what special days of the year today is.
One of the annoyances of the ride is the lack of connectivity on board. That and no power sockets. The metal body, gold plated windows and distance away from major roads, means that the phone signal is weak and infrequent. But it does have some benefits. Now and then my phone pings me with work messages and I just have to ignore them.
Inland New South Wales is surprisingly green. The wheat fields are not yet golden, looking lusciously soft, the swirls of tractor paths patterning the landscape. The shattered shale of the Bethungra Spiral adds a visual excitement. I see gunzels peering down on us from a lookout high above the deep cutting.
Above us are dramatic grey skies and squalls of rain.
Along the way, railway towns like Junee and Cootamundra are fascinating for their history on display. I’d love to return to them to explore. Then, as we approach Harden and Yass, the green landscape grows clumps of granite boulders and stately wind turbines spinning above the hilltops.
This is my favourite area when we are driving between Sydney and Melbourne.
Again, I ignore the lunch and dinner calls, the options of lamb rissoles and vegetables, bangers and mash, spag bol and vegetable lasagne. I cannot be bothered to leave my seat. I can’t be bothered to do anything really. I always promise myself all these activities, but in the end it’s just listening to music and staring out the window.
The weather begins to look positively threatening and, at Goulburn I check the radar to see us racing a storm to Sydney.
Springtime in the Southern Highlands is beautiful and it feels like we might be passing through green England rather than Australia. I wonder if we should come back here soon.
It now feels like we are running late, despite being early enough for an extended stop in Junee. The sun has set, but beyond the dark rain clouds, a patch of gold and blue that recalls a past longing for adventure. Then the storm hits and flashes of lightning illuminate the cabin. Once again, I am glad that I am not flying.
Eventually, we pull into Campbelltown, where I disembark. There is a certain beauty to the XPT in the amber light of the station, the reflections in the black puddles of the platform.
A suburban train pulls up, replacing the XPT, and I board. Despite this and the former train both passing my destination station, I must get off at Revesby for one last ride to Padstow.
Then I go up the stairs, cross the road and meet the rest of my family, waiting in a car.
After about 22 hours on trains between Sydney and Melbourne, I am quite exhausted. I still think they are a great way to travel. In practical terms, it only takes an hour or too more by train than car between Australia’s two biggest cities, especially when you include the need to stop for lunch and bathroom breaks. You can have both on board the train, although the food choices might be a bit wider by car.
What I find discomforting about the train is the people. You are surrounded by them. Some nice, some threatening, but for 11 hours you can’t escape them. When you drive, they are out there, threats on the road, but on a quiet stretch there is relief and you are in a bubble, listening to your music out loud instead of headphones, making it part of the whole experience.
On the other hand, you don’t have the stress of entering the city, when all courtesy goes out the window, when split second navigation decisions must be made. I was tempted to drive, but I hate that stress.
Even if we can’t have faster trains in the foreseeable future, there is much that could be done to make the increasingly popular railway services a lot better. More frequent services between the cities, seat power and better phone and wifi connectivity to make working on them possible, better food options, not just white man food from the freezer section of the supermarket. And good sleeper services! In Europe they now have individual sleeping compartments, private and secure, far better than the shared compartments that the new trains won’t even have. You don’t even need showers, just have decent facilities at the stations. There is a real demand for such services which can go beyond the eastern seaboard routes. Not everything has to be a luxury service, make it affordable, make it easy, make it compete against cars, not flights.
It will be interesting to compare the XPT with the Malaysian services in January, but for now I’m glad I went to the concert and I’m happy I caught the train.