A drive in the country

(A replica of the brig Amity, which brought the first English settlers to western Australia, on display at the maritime museum in Albany.)

ALBANY, Western Australia (Nov. 7, 2008) — Unless one is born in Panama, or maybe South Africa, they are unlikely to see two oceans for the first time on the same day.

But thanks to my excursion to Albany, on the south coast of Australia about 255 miles southeast of Perth, I got to see both the Indian Ocean and the Southern Ocean for the first time today. Yes, the Southern Ocean has officially been an ocean since the year 2000, at least according to Australia. You weren’t taught it in school because it wasn’t considered an ocean then.

Technically, what I saw was part of the Great Australian Bight, sort of Down Under’s answer to the Gulf of Mexico. So therefore on this trip I have taken two locations (Perth and the Great Australian Bight) off my list of the Earth’s geographical features/cities I wanted to see before I die. If you count Rawlinna, which I only half-jokingly would add to the mental list from time-to-time, that’s three, and I will soon see Darwin and Uluru (five and six). Sadly I will just miss seeing any part of the Gulf of Carpenteria.

(Other features on the list include the Kamchatka Peninsula, Marajó [the huge island at the mouth of the Amazon River], Munich in Germany and Table Rock [near Capetown] in South Africa.)

How did I get to Albany? I actually drove there! Yes, me, reputedly not the smoothest of drivers braving the “wrong” side of the road in a rented right-hand drive car. (I had some fun with the lady at the rental counter, jokingly asking her which side of the road I should drive on. But the best part was that she was actually named "Shelia!" Imagine, Aussie parents actually named their daughter Shelia ... ). I actually have been doing pretty well driving, although I tend to overcompensate when I feel I’m drifting to the left. I also have problems with two-laned traffic circles. I’m not worried about driving on the left when I’m thinking of it, but I do have bad premonitions of “realizing” with a start that I’m on what I think is the “wrong” side of the road and swerving into the right lanes. I think I’ll fight it.

The countryside was great coming down. There were, of course, the lengthy suburbs of Perth, which trailed into farmland, then forests of thick gum trees for hours on end, then finally farmland again before I got into Albany — site of Britain’s first colony in Western Australia (beating Perth, then the “Swan River Colony” by about three years).

Albany has a bit of old New England feel to it, not surprising considering it’s still a decent-sized port and was the key to Australia’s whaling industry until whaling was shut down starting in the 1970s. There’s also a spectacular war memorial just outside of town because Albany was the last place in Australia that many of the ANZACs who fought at Gallipoli in World War I ever saw.

(Below, a view of the Albany port and bay.)

I just had the best local lamb shanks at an Albany restaurant called Dylans on the Terrace. Frenched shanks with sweet potato mash and mint relish. MMMmmm. The restrained presentation was a bit different from the one I got in the small town of Balingup for lunch. I stopped in a nice little café and ordered the pork pie, thinking it was like a beef pie. The lady behind the counter said something along the lines of “Didja know that it’s English and served cold?” I hadn’t but decided to try it anyway. “Alright. And if you don’t like it, you can blame the bloody Poms.”

It was half decent.

Now for a drive back to Perth on a slightly different, more-direct route. I think I might see some kangaroos tonight up close, as they’re mostly nocturnal. I sort of drove by one today, but it was roadkill.

Update: Perth (Nov. 8, 2:40 a.m.) — The drive back at night revealed one more difficulty of driving on the left. When you just see a set of headlights directly in front of you, an American driver has to fight the urge to pull over the to right to feel safe. I also saw five wild kangaroos rather close, including one I pulled up about 10 feet from but ran away before I could take a picture. I also stopped briefly to take in the southern sky. The familiar northern constellations appear upside down! Orion and Taurus were both on their heads. I also finally saw Canopus, the second brightest star in the sky but too far south to be seen from the United States.

A place where birds sound like cats

When one thinks of Australian wildlife, one generally thinks of kangaroos and koalas. I finally saw a few kangaroos -- from a great distance about 7:30 a.m. Tuesday as the train approached Perth. They were really far away, foraging in a field, and I couldn't get a picture of them. I've been much too far west and in the wrong type of surroundings (generally desert or urban) to see any koalas.

What I have noticed are the birds. They don't generally look all that exotic (although I have seen some sort of cockatoo-like bird flying around), but their cries are sure different. Except for the globally-ubiquitous pigeons, most Australian birds I've noticed are very loud, with strange (to my ears) cries. One even sounds like a cat in heat! (Check out an mp3 of the BirdCat.) Below, a poor-quality picture of the bird/cats.
My most intimate encounter with Aussie wildlife occurred in Adelaide the other day. I was walking by a cemetery trying to get some pretty pictures when I saw some huge ants and began to film them (turn sound up!):

I was fine, but I thought my unintentional comic timing was great!

Off to rent a car and risk driving on the left side of the road ...

(Wow, this was my 50th blog post!)

Everyone's new best friend

Drunk Aussies take the "best" photos, and I mean that on both sides of the camera.

Generally when I'm abroad, I try not to draw attention to myself or specifically advertise that I'm an American -- I try to use the local slang and sometimes (to the huge chagrin of Claire) I even try putting on the local accent. Not that I have a problem with being an American (I certainly have never done the "pretend you're Canadian" schtick), but I don't like being treated like an "outsider."

Yesterday was an exception. While "being American" was key to my plan to get students at the UWA to speak to me, I hadn't intended to keep the advertising up into the evening. Circumstances dictated otherwise.

For example, I was waiting at a bus stop and the fellow there asked why I was taking pictures of the passing buses. I told him I was from out of town and was getting souvenirs. He asked if I was American, I affirmed and then asked how to get to Northbridge (a fashionable district of Perth). He said, "Mate, you get on any one of those buses you've been taking pictures of." How was I to know you actually have to hail the bus? Oh yeah, there's a sign (right).

The fellow bus-stop patron was named Brad and was catching a bus to the local rail station to get his trip south. He had the smell of beer on his breath and a six-pack of Carlton Draught in his bag. After giving some vague directions, he suggested I go to Mustang, because "It's an American Bar." I told him if I wanted to go to an American bar, I'd have stayed in America. He laughed. (He also asked if San Francisco was "full of poofts." "Yes it is," I said proudly.)

We finally got a bus (it's easy if you actually hail it) and I got to the Northbridge area, a modest three-block by two-block stretch of restaurants and night clubs on the edge of Perth's Chinatown. After taking a survey walk of the area, I slowed down outside a local steakhouse where the (Italian, Greek or Lebanese) owner was standing outside, reminding me quite a bit of Stanley Tucci in "Big Night." He invited me in, showed me to a table near the front window and I ordered the rib-eye, apparently an Aussie specialty. After indulging in a fine meal, I went to the counter to pay.

I spoke with the man at the counter, who asked if I was American (no fake accent tonight!). I affirmed again and soon had all three members of the wait staff -- one proudly showing me a copy of the night's extra edition of the West Australian (left) -- telling me how impressed they were at the results of the election.

As I left the restaurant, I looked across the street and there it was: Mustang, the "American" bar Brad had told me about. It was close and looked hopping, so I dropped my head in. Well, it was American in that it was crowded, played rock and roll had TVs with sports on all around. But when your TVs have Aussie rules football and soccer on, it kind of ruins the American effect.

I had wondered if there were any other actual Americans in the bar, when I saw a couple Obama Girls near the bar. If I wasn't hiding my nationality, these very drunk young women were absolutely flaunting it.

The other Americans in Perth weren't difficult to find.

I asked for a picture, they asked if I was American and when I replied yes I was given an unsolicited hug by the drunker of the two (and that was saying something) and a high-five by the other. They tried to tell me from whence they came, but their speech was too slurred and the bar was too loud for me to understand. Some of the Aussies wanted a picture of the Yanks in their midst, to which we obliged. I could've probably gotten a free drink out of the deal, save for the fact that I don't drink and wanted to head home because I was tired.

I had one final encounter on the Murray Street Mall, where a tiny (literally about 5-foot-0) man was selling the newspaper extra. I asked for a copy to make a souvenir and was -- for the umpteenth time in the evening -- asked if I was American. He congratulated me on having a new president (I had to explain that GW Bush is still president until Jan. 20) and engaged me in conversation. He immigrated from Italy 44 years ago (although he still sounds fresh off the boat) and was impressed that there were a lot of Italians in San Francisco.

Getting back to my hotel, I had intended to blog and surf the net, but collapsed after a busy day. The flip side of that was that I awoke at 6:30 a.m. today. (Below, the Perth skyline at night.)

The American election as seen by Australian university students

Above: The University of Western Australia.

PERTH, WA (Nov. 5, 2008) — Students at the University of Western Australia are certain that the election of Barack Obama will make a difference in how the United States is perceived around the world, but many aren’t sure how much of a difference, policy-wise, a change in the American administration will have.

A quick poll of six UWA students showed the interest in the US election ranged from “high” to “none,” and also indicated that many Australians think the American polls will help them reflect on racism in their own country.

Like elsewhere in the world, in Australia universities are hotbeds of the left, so it might not be surprising that Lewis, a 21-year-old biophysics major, was at a table advertising a socialist rally under a banner asking if the U.S. election would really change anything.


“There’s a lot of enthusiasm about Obama and I think it reflects that people want change and an end to the whole agenda of the Bush Administration and the end of the imperialist agenda of the U.S. the whole world over,” Lewis said. “But I don’t think it will fundamentally change things. Obama is still pro-war. He support the war in Afghanistan, in fact wants to send more troops there.”

Kimberley, who just turned 18, also thought Obama’s election would improve the world’s perception of the United States.

“(The perception) is very negative at the moment, but I think Obama coming in today could help,” she said, noting that she had not followed the election as closely as she would have liked to. “The vibe was just so much Obama. It got built up so big that I think it might have put me off.”

Natalie and Hayley, both 21, were chatting in the UWA café. The UK-born Natalie had spent to 2007-2008 school year in Montréal, so she had been among those deluged with political advertising. She compared the hype over Obama to that when Tony Blair was elected the UK prime minister in 1997.

“It’s all about something new, something different,” Natalie said. “You’ve got a black guy, he’s intelligent …” (Hayley interjects that “McCain’s boring.”) “McCain is 72, he’s an old fuddy-duddy, a bit. I guess he’s got Sarah Palin to appeal …" (Hayley interjects again: “She’s an idiot!” Both giggle.)

Not that everyone had the some political insight as Hayley and Natalie. Danny, 26, a recent immigrant from Hong Kong, obviously had different things on his mind.

“I don’t bother,” he said. “Personally it doesn’t interest me, but I don’t know about anyone else. If they get the black guy … Obama? … as president, it will change because they hadn’t got a black president before.”

The issue of race was brought up more readily in Perth than it has been in the major U.S. media.

“Could be a lot of people don’t like voting for a black person,” said a male in his 70s, researching microfilm copies of the Times of London in the UWA library. “As for McCain, I think his age is a factor against him.”

“There’s been more publicity for Obama, definitely, in Australia,” Hayley said. “I saw more of him and his family. So he stood out for me more than McCain did.”

Both Hayley and Natalie noticeably paused when asked if they could one day see an Aboriginal prime minister in Australia.

“I don’t know, not for a long time,” Hayley said. “I think we’re quite a bit behind America in the whole acceptance (of minorities).”

Hayley and Natalie disagreed as to whether another racial minority, such as Asian immigrants, could put a PM in Canberra. “I think that’s the same (as the Aboriginal question),” Hayley said. “There’s a lot of racists in Australia.”

But Natalie had a bit more hope: “I think that’s more realistic, maybe in the next 50 years — there’s still so much of a ‘White Australia’ (attitude). You see England, England is multi-cultural. You come here, it isn’t.”

Hayley agreed.

“There’s so much separation, even in Uni, you see whites and Asians in different groups,” she said.

Lewis said he hopes Obama’s election would not turn out to be a wasted opportunity.

“ Masses of people have been raised to support Obama,” he said. “And I think if those people’s hopes aren’t met, which will probably be the case, it might lead to the kind of mass protests we saw in the Sixties.”

One-man wrecking crew

Not only is he a rockin' one-man band, but he's a one-man band with a freakin' DIDGERIDOO!

PERTH, W.A. -- I've been pleasantly free of jet lag this trip but after four days of reduced sleep, I finally needed a nap this afternoon. I had blogged, gotten lunch and watched the Sex and the City movie (Spoiler: Carrie was much too mad over Miranda's statement to Big. There was much more on Big's mind than what Miranda said), so it was no surprise I fell asleep in the late afternoon.

I awoke shortly before 7 p.m. and showered, then headed out the door about 8:30 p.m. Because of the late hour, I knew I wanted to go somewhere close so I chose Fenian's Irish Pub -- kitty corner to my hotel and the site of my Melbourne Cup bet earlier in the day.

I ordered a Guinness and briefly wondered why the barkeep only filled it two-thirds of the way and kept it underneath the bar.
After the head settled a bit, the bartender picked the glass back up, then filled it up while shaping a clover pattern in the head. Clever!

The entertainment for the evening was James Wilson, who gave a really good show for a one-man band. Wilson played an assortment of songs from The Church, U2 and Phil Collins, multi-tasking all the way. Wilson would make a good dispatcher: while singing, he played guitar and trigged the drums with his feet! I, who can hardly talk and type at the same time, was quite impressed. Samples of Wilson's music are online at his MySpace page.

While walking about at one point, I was surprised to hear the loud sound of running water behind me. I turned around and a variety of factors -- the hill I was on, the perfect east-west alignment of the street and the way it was lit -- let me see an amazing sight: a wall of rain rushing down the hill toward me. I was actually able to see and hear the rain coming at me in time to get under an awning and avoid it. I was also able to see the end of the storm coming up a couple minutes later and left my shelter when the rain did.

I'm back at the hotel now, watching Monday night's Late Show with David Letterman, which is broadcast with a delay here in Perth. Ricky Gervais' top-ten list of stupid things Americans say to British citizens was hilarious. Feels just like home.

Ten bucks on Septimus to place

I finally made it to Perth and the city is declaring a public holiday, with vast alcohol-fueled celebrations and parties all around!

To the surprise of no one, the parties, etc., aren't for me. Today is the running of the Melbourne Cup -- the Australian equivalent of the Super Bowl. Strangely in a cricket and Aussie-Rules football-crazed land, it's a horse race first run in 1861 that's the biggest sporting event.

All the news, sports and even music radio stations were buzzing about the cup this morning. Temporary betting stations have popped up all around the country -- including across the street from my Perth Hotel, which won't let me check in until 2 p.m. local time (9 p.m. Pacific Time).

So, "when in Rome ... " I just put down $10 for Septimius to place at 8-3 (he was given 8-1 to win). I figured that's a nice, conservative bet. Probably the last horse racing bet I'll ever make now that Bay Meadows has closed. Mad Rush is the current favorite.

Update, 2:11 p.m. (Perth time): Septimus raced well, staying in second place for most of the 3,200-meter race. Then, as he hit the final straightaway, I'll let the Sydney Morning Herald explain:

Given every chance to dictate race terms, Septimus was carried into the home straight and briefly led before fading badly, along with Alessandra Volta and Honolulu.

Oh well. At least the betting slip can be a souvenir.

Fields of cold (sic)

Above: Hannan Street in downtown Kalgoorlie.

KALGOORLIE, WA (Nov. 3, 2008, 9:12 p.m.) – Another layover in a mining town, but this city looks like it’s going to work.

Unlike Broken Hill, Kalgoorlie, Western Australia, is a town with a bright, shiny future – thanks to the hunks of gold buried underneath its sands. While mining has taken place in both cities for about the same amount of time, Kalgoorlie is far from exhausting its resources thanks to both a larger underlying lode and the fact it embraced technological change early on.

Kalgoorlie is the site of one of the world’s largest open mining pits, which would have been impressive to me to see, but I didn’t want to shell out money for the tour bus and the pit isn’t within walking distance of the train station. In any case, the pit goes down nearly a half-mile and is still producing a healthy product.

What was near the train station was a modest little downtown. For those from Southern California, think Montrose with two lanes of traffic in the same direction. For Northern Californians, think a larger Redwood City downtown. For anyone without the above frames of reference, Kalgoorlie ‘s Hannan Street is a wide boulevard with small, mostly independent shops on each side selling everything from computers to arts and crafts, with a healthy smattering of restaurants.

And a public brothel that gives tours (no, I didn’t go in).

I ended up stopping for a meal at Paddy’s Brew House. After eating nothing but airplane food, train food and fast food over the past three days, I was looking forward to some pub chow – maybe some fish and chips or a steak. Strangely, when it was my turn to order, I asked for the buffet, which included pork chops smothered in barbecue sauce, a pasta bake and fish plus sides all sitting under heat lamps – that included the tartar sauce for the fish. As you can imagine, I ended up wishing I'd ordered something else.

The pub had the local able sports channel up on the big screen and at first it seemed it would be fine, with a tennis match onscreen. But right after that, some miniature go-cart race came on, with the local channel giving it the same attention as the U.S. networks would give the Daytona 500 – pre-race handicapping, in-car cameras during the race and post-race analysis and interviews. Needless to say, when my food was gone, so was I.

Which gave me a chance to walk around town a bit. Downtown I described above, but it should be noted that – as I anticipated – I couldn’t find an open wi-fi network. One network supposedly pointed toward a nearby Internet café, but there was no café at the address stated.

So with almost two hours left to kill, I walked the streets of Kalgoorlie, ranging a bit off the downtown strip (but not far) in search of both adventure and wireless Internet. I really didn’t find either

Instead, I stopped at a quickie mart where I found that an orange Fanta and a drumstick costs $7.80 AUD ($5.15 US) then trudged back to the train station where I plugged into an outlet on the platform and typed into a cold breeze until a janitor who needed the plug for his vacuum kicked me out.

Before getting to Kalgoorlie, we stopped briefly in the decrepit siding of Rawlinna, which is notable only because about 10 years ago I named a floppy disk Rawlinna because it seemed like a random, in-the-middle-of-nowhere place. Below: Rawlinna.


One last sleepless night, then arrival in Perth on Tuesday morning at 9:10 a.m. While I’ve wanted to visit Perth for years, I’m just as much looking forward to sleeping in a bed for the first time in four days (I originally mis-typed “years,” which is only what it felt like).

Roadkill, drop bears and ghost towns – across the Nullarbor

They finally let us off the bleedin' train!

WEST OF COOK, SA -- Greetings from the Nullarbor Plain of southwest Australia, site of the longest stretch of straight railroad track in the world: 297 miles. I’ll be darned if the advertising isn’t right: not a curve to behold.

Unfortunately, not many sites to behold either. The Nullarbor gets its name from the fact that there is null (zero) arbor (Latin for tree), just 360 degrees in panorama of flat sagebrush. Not that the fact that we’re speeding at 65 mph down the middle of the desert is unimpressive. But I’d really like an observation deck that one could go into and take pictures of the straight track ahead or behind. But the front is blocked by the locomotive and the rear by the auto-carrying carriages.

We, within the last hour, left the ghost town of Cook, South Australia. Once one of the many towns that popped up to serve the transcontinental railroad, complete with a small neighborhood and a two-level schoolhouse, Cook is now the domain of just five hearty folks who cater to the tourists while the train refuels and waters. There’s no road to the town, save for the railroad and a couple dirt tracks. With just five residents and about 15 houses, I’d imagine the inhabitants could pick a new home to sleep every night.
Cook, a ghost town in the desert.

Close quarters in the cheap seats do make things more social. As my wife would no doubt attest, I’m not the most outgoing of folks. But – motivated more by the need to recharge my laptop in one of the few spots available to “daynighter” class than the overpriced food – I’ve spent ample time in the dining car.

Last night I spoke with Chris, from Albuquerque, N.M., who’s on his 10th day in country out of will be a year-long stay in Australia. He was a military brat who went to school in Colorado and has gone to the Coachella music festival annually (save for this year). He’s heading into Perth to meet an American-born friend who immigrated to Australia.

We exchanged pleasantries with a pair of older ladies whose names I didn’t catch. One was returning back home to Kalgoorlie after a trip to Sydney. The other was from New Zealand. She visited her son in Brisbane and had always wanted to take a cross-country train ride, so she set it up while she was here. She noted that about 800,000 New Zealanders live in Australia, which brought out my response of “There must be no one left there but Hobbits and Orcs.”

When we pulled out of Adelaide, they didn’t turn the train around, they simply moved the locomotive to the other end and flipped the back of the seats so we were now moving forward. They also loaded up a lot more passengers – I now have a seatmate: Nicol from Germany. Nicol, like Chris, is also spending a year living and working in Australia, but she’s 10 weeks into her sojourn. This will be her first time to Perth, but she told me that she found Darwin’s climate a mite oppressive. Nicol and I haven’t spoken much (her English is good, but she still feels the need to carry a German-English phrasebook). She also has fondnesses for salami and cream cheese sandwiches on white bread and laughing at some German comedy on her iPod Nano.

I spent breakfast with another fellow named John, but he was from Brisbane, not Burbank. He was taking the train over for a visit and was going to drive back east “this time.” I asked what he meant, and John told me that had three times bicycled around Australia on a fundraiser for the Sydney Children’s Hospital.

John and I spent more than an hour yapping on various topics, including why I had chosen to visit Australia (there should be a FAQ for real life) and what my initial impressions of Australia were (it’s more America-like than I thought, but my observations only consisted of a few hours in Sydney and a lot of time on the train – both hardly representative).

He told me, based on his bicycling adventure, that he will never eat parmesan cheese again because the smell is similar to that of a decomposing kangaroo (I still have yet to see one, alive or dead) and that he had a buddy who gave tours to unsuspecting Japanese tourists and regaled them with tales about drop bears and rumors that most bush fires are caused by koalas who spontaneously explode after ingesting too much oil from eucalyptus leaves.

As he began speaking about how alcohol is the source of most problems in Aboriginal areas, I thought I’d be getting another lesson on the evils of socialism, but John instead poke of his grand plan to organize a bicycle circuit around Australia for Aboriginal youths, complete with training, caravans and other logistics, in order to help young people get exposed to the wider world. A logical plan and I wish him the best of success (plus I gave him the address to this blog, so I can’t share some of the more risqué stories he told).

Back to the subject of the intimate cheap seats on the Indian Pacific, Bill Bryson, in his 2000 book “In a Sunburned Country,” wrote the following (page 41):

“… Looking up, I discovered we were in the forbidden coach section. I have never felt so stared at in all my life. As we followed David through the two coach cars, 124 pairs of sunken eyes sullenly followed our every move. These were people who had no dining car, no lounge bar, no cozy berths to crawl into at night. They had been riding upright for two days since leaving Sydney still had twenty-four hours to go to Perth. I am almost certain that if we had not had the train manager as an escort, they would have eaten us.”

Except for the fact that we did have access to a dining car, it’s not a bad description.

We just crossed the border into Western Australia and passed the Indian Pacific going the other direction – waves all around. Next stop, Kalgoorlie, world famous for its brothels. Sadly, I only have three hours there. (Ouch! Claire just somehow mentally kicked me in the shin.)

Baa, Baa, Baa and first impressions of Adelaide

West Terrace Cemetery -- the first thing a train visitor to Adelaide sees.

ADELAIDE, SA (Nov 2, 2008) – After pulling out of Broken Hill, I decided to try my luck with the shower on the train. I certainly needed one, having been in the same clothes for 40 hours and doing a lot of walking in them yesterday (my exercise program has paid off: I wasn’t tired or winded, but I certainly did sweat).

I was pleasantly surprised at how well the shower worked. Some initial fiddling of the knobs aside, I was able to get a nice warm stream of water with fairly decent pressure. I scrubbed up, changed clothes and returned to my seat refreshed. The water went down the shower drain clockwise (though considering the drain was to the upper right of the shower, it was not surprising) and fell straight down onto the visible tracks below.

(Drain tally, as of this posting – Clockwise: 3, Counter-clockwise: 1, Unable to determine: 3. Kangaroos seen: 0.)

The countryside, once we got past the slag heaps near Broken Hill, has mainly consisted of flat valleys devoted to either wheat growing or sheepherding. I’d honestly think South Australia grows nothing but grain if I didn’t know better. I did later see some vineyards. Below: I saw miles upon miles of wheat.

After arrival at Keswick Station, I walked into town and I’m now sitting on the steps of a car audio place right now leeching off someone’s unencrypted wi-fi. Adelaide looks nice and clean, but I’m only here for about three hours, so I don’t know if the part I’m in is going to be representative. I will say one thing: putting a cemetery next to the interstate train station makes one appreciate history.

Next, off to get some food (both for now and tonight), then back to the train station and the trip west. I probably won’t get a cance to post again until Tuesday, so my best to you all!

Note: I've added pictures to yesterday's Sydney post. You might want to check it again.

This town is Broken

Right: A reminder of Broken Hill's brave past.

BROKEN HILL, NSW (Sunday, Nov. 2, 2008) – What does a mining town do when the mines run “dry?” Broken Hill, NSW, will have to face this possibility soon and the outlook isn’t good. Founded in the 1880s after a chance discovery of gold, silver and tin, Broken Hill in 2008 has basically worked itself out – the remaining mines are expected to soon exhaust whatever capacity they have left, probably within the next 10 years.

As the Indian Pacific rolled into town about 7 a.m. this morning, the announcement over the train’s PA system noted how Broken Hill officials are going to try to cover some of the gap with tourism. And, I admit, the town has potential. The big wide main street just off the railroad tracks, Argent Avenue, certainly gives the city some charm. The shops on each side give the feeling of a 20th century small town. There are supposedly exquisite art galleries in town, but none of them were open that early on a Sunday.

Below: Downtown Broken Hill.

What’s worse, I can’t find an open wi-fi network anywhere, not even the library. I’m writing this in the dining room of a Hungry Jacks, as it is the only place I could find with power.

Hungry Jacks is what they call Burger King in Australia. If I recall my Wikipedia right, when Burger King first went to expand into Australia, there was already a small shop in South Australia using the name. So they named their business “Hungry Jacks” after the franchisee. Eventually the “Burger King” name came available, but Hungry Jacks was so established by that point they kept the name.

The lunch menu is almost exactly the same as in the United States, although the breakfast menu is a bit different. They serve pancakes and don’t serve croissants, for example. All the brekky sandwiches are on English muffins. In fact, the sausage and egg muffin with single large hashbrown I had this morning was explicitly similar to the offerings at … McDonalds.

I actually slept pretty well last night. We picked up some more passengers in some Po-Dunk outback town (Orange, NSW), and although they took up most of the empty seats on the train, the seat next to me remained clear. I got about eight hours shuteye, despite waking up in the middle of the night and watching some video on my MacBook for about an hour.

Sitting in the lounge car

The Blue Mountains as seen from the Indian Pacific.
NEAR KATOOMBA, NSW (Saturday, Nov. 1, 2008) – The Indian Pacific is, as I write this at 5:32 p.m. Sydney time (11:32 p.m. Friday in San Francisco), wiggling its way through the scenic Blue Mountains, having just passed the hamlet of Katoomba.

Luckily most of the little towns along the route have small train stations with their names, making it easy for me to chart our progress on a map. We’re actually making decent time on a far less-than capacity train – one more benefit of travelling in the off-season.

The scenery so far has been rolling hills covered with gum trees broken up by sheer rock cliffs. We’re at nearly 1,000 meters above sea level right now, so a lot of the views have been blocked by a heavy fog.

With both the seat next to me and the ones in front of me, I’m optimistic that I can get some sleep tonight, despite the cramped conditions. The train will likely take on more passengers in both Broken Hill and (especially) Adelaide, so I’ll enjoy it while I can.

Let me be one more of a million voices decrying the degradation of the American trans-continental railroad system. I’ve heard some horror stories from people who’ve travelled across the United States on rails, although the trip from Los Angeles (or Glendale) to San Diego is the previous longest railway trip I’ve ever taken.

(We just got passed by a Prius on the frontage road – obviously we’re going uphill.)

We just passed the town of Blackheath, which looks like a pleasant country town: a busy main street, social hall, fire station, cemetery and small train station with the built-up area ending just a couple blocks off the main drag. I get the feeling that a lot of these towns are filled with summer homes and retirees. Just out of Blackheath, there was a great view of a farming valley underneath a giant rock cliff. Of course I was too slow on the camera.

I’m sitting in the lounge car because it’s the only place on the whole train (outside of private cabins) with power. I’m not keen to pay for overpriced train food, so I bought a sandwich at a Subway in downtown Sydney to eat tonight (I’ll ease out of the lounge when the dinner rush begins). The décor and the sandwich itself was much the same as one would find in the States, save for the “u” in “favourite.”

But most interesting was that this particular Subway – and I don’t yet have enough of a sample to determine if this is Australia-wide or just this particular franchise) does not serve chips (or crisps). With your sandwich, you can get either sliced fruit or “yoghurt.” Healthy to the max.

Overnight, we’ll head to the old Outback mining town of Broken Hill, where I’ll try to post this from. (But the chances of finding working wi-fi at 7 a.m. on a Sunday morning in rural Australia are remote, so I may not get this up until I’m in Adelaide).