I’ve always loved the train. It’s much more romantic watching as the scenery changes little by little over hundreds of miles than simply getting from one place to the next as quickly as possible on an airplane.

Which is why Rick found himself on the Indian Pacific for two days and two nights from Adelaide to Perth.* The Indian Pacific traverses more than 2,700 miles from Sydney to Perth over four days. We joined the trip halfway through, picking it up in Adelaide.

The Indian Pacific isn’t just another train trip. The train boasts plush cabins, elegant lounges, and exquisite dining cars.^† As the train glides across the vast Nullarbor Plain, time slows, and the rhythmic clatter of the tracks lulls you into a Zen state—a rare escape from the frenetic pace of modern life.^†† The gentle sway and the ever-changing panorama create a cozy ambiance that encourages free-flowing conversations among a diverse tapestry of passengers.^†††

Here's our admittedly subjective review of what might be one of the world's most unique train experiences.

Languorous Tranquility

After a late group dinner at the train station in Adelaide, we were shown to our cabins. Softly illuminated room numbers beckon us down the narrow hall. Our cabin is retro and comfortable without being super luxurious, warmly paneled with Tasmanian myrtle and Australian jarrah that feels old-world without being worn or tired. The shiny, brass-trimmed mirror and muted green upholstery with a subtle floral pattern are all very Agatha Christie.

There are various service levels on the Indian Pacific—Platinum offers extra-spacious cabins with queen-size beds and en suite bathrooms, Gold Twin offers cozy twin bunks with en suites, and Gold Single offers stylish solo cabins with shared baths. As the impulsive, seize-the-moment recent retirees, we boldly chose to claim the mid-range service.

All are what I would call “cozily efficient”—designed to be compact but functional, like a Swiss Army knife. If you're the type who enjoys sprawling out, though, you might find the space a tad, um, intimate. Or think of it as an opportunity to get (really) close to your travel companion(s). Regardless of which cabin you choose, it will be outfitted with luxurious bedding and high-end bath amenities.

And I can tell you from personal experience, that showering on this train is an experience in itself. Yes, it’s challenging to shower while bump-bumping along the tracks, but it’s worth the laugh. Great pressure, plenty of hot water, and fantastic products. It’s amazing what they squeezed into the space while making it feel luxurious.

During the day, the cabin is made up of seating and equipped with power outlets, a safe, and a decent amount of storage. Every evening, staff converts the cabins into beds while guests are at dinner, and every morning, they convert it back to seating during breakfast.º Day or night, you’ll be able to sink into comfort and gaze out at the constantly changing landscape. Sip your morning coffee as the sun rises over the arid expanse, or curl up with a good book and let the unhurried hours stretch before you.

Culinary delights

Dining aboard the Indian Pacific is an exercise in self-restraint—or the lack thereof. Every meal is a three-course affair that challenges your capacity for indulgence. The onboard chefs curate a culinary journey that mirrors the landscape, from regionally inspired lunches to gourmet dinners, and each meal is a celebration of Australian flavors.

The staff somehow manages to conjure a parade of dishes that would not be out of place in a high-end restaurant despite the kitchen being the size of a broom closet. The Australian wine selection is so good it could make a teetotaler wobble. If you leave this train hungry, you're doing it wrong.

Menus included great options for vegans, and the kitchen seemed to easily accommodate anyone with dietary requirements. There are also choices for more adventurous eaters, the most successful being the camel curry and cured kangaroo.

The Queen Adelaide restaurant car is decorated to evoke the golden age of rail travel, with tin ceiling tiles and intimate four-tops partitioned with stenciled glass for cozy dining. If you’re in Gold Class and traveling in a group of fewer than four people like we were, you’ll join others for dinner. If you’re in Platinum, you can sit with others if you want to, but there are also tables of two if you prefer a private dinner.

The final dinner of the trip is served outside the dining car, though. Just as you near the end of the vast Nullarbor Plain, you stop in Rawlinna, which, at 2.5 million acres, is home to 800,000 sheep and is the largest sheep station in Australia. It’s five hours from the nearest big town, Kalgoorlie, at the end of a 240-mile dirt road. Rawlinna’s only permanent resident is a woman who definitely has a husband here and may or may not have a child, too. It was late, and I was just having trouble with the accent. But assume Rawlinna’s population—at either two or three—is quite small.

Here, the staff has set up a huge barbecue with unbroken rows of picnic tables lit with hurricane lamps under an endless sky of stars like you've never seen. Rick insists that I mention here that we (finally) got to see the “freakin’ Southern Cross.” I suppose he’s right—we’ve never actually seen it before, so it is a notable first. They have different names for all the constellations down here. Because they’re different constellations, I guess.

Fellowship and shared stories

The Lounge Car is the beating heart of the Indian Pacific. Probably because there was endless espresso coffee drinks and liquor, all overseen by the estimable Jackie. This is where you can enjoy a cocktail while listening to live music, play a board game, or sit quietly with a book in the window. The only downside? You might actually have to talk to strangers. Shocking, I know. But despite my curmudgeonly attitude, it turns out it can be fun.

The Indian Pacific passenger list is wildly divergent. You’ll meet fellow adventurers, retirees, and dreamers with stories to tell. We met an older couple who initially seemed wary of, you know, gay people. But after running into them several times and over a couple different meals, they warmed up to us. It’s more likely they were just wary of, you know, Americans. He was a tradie who fearlessly tried every new thing they put down in front of him. She ate only roast chicken. Ever. And she expressed an abject terror at the thought of visiting New York City.

We also hung out with a young French woman with a pretty tenuous grasp of Englishºº but a deep love of Australia. This was her fifth trip. And a lovely couple from London—presumably West London, based on their barely veiled disdain for East Hackney. And a retired Episcopalian reverend from Paris who was on an around-the-world trip undertaken ultimately to attend a friend’s wedding in Pakistan.ººº

Each conversation was a peek into other people's lives. I dreaded it, but I didn’t hate it.

Southern Australia’s majesty

But the best part of the whole trip—the main event—was crossing the vast Nullarbor Plain along a record-setting 300 miles of perfectly straight track. That alone was worth the price of the ticket. The sheer emptiness and endless horizons, orange earth and blue skies, are exhilarating and humbling, every shrub and stray emu momentarily a highlight. A minimalist painting comes to life.

The Nullarbor is called Oondiri by Indigenous Australians, which means “The Waterless.” When surveyor E.A. Delisser ventured out into the treeless plain in 1867, he called it the Nullarbor, combining the Latin words “nullus” and “arbor” to roughly mean “treeless.” Both are true.

Crossing such a vast expanse of desert might sound like there wouldn't be much to see, but we loved its stark, arid beauty. We spotted life from time to time, but sadly, no kangaroos. Mostly cows and sheep. Once, we saw a couple of emus hightailing it over the horizon. Hey, little things become exciting in this immense horizontal space. Random monuments interrupted the emptiness—mostly discarded cars abandoned in the desert and left to die beside the tracks. It's likely cheaper and easier than junking them, based on how remote this part of the world is.

Stopover in Cook

Roughly halfway through our first full day of train travel, in the grand tradition of exploring places you’ve never heard of and will likely forget immediately, we stopped to visit the hamlet of Cook. Well, to be honest, we had to stop because that’s where the train replenishes its water stores.^#

Cook, once a vital cog in the Australian railway network, is today a blink-and-you'll-miss-it kind of place, with a population so small you can count it on one hand with an amputated finger. “Welcome to Cook” and “Thanks for Visiting Cook” are printed on two sides of the same sign. Upon alighting, one is struck by the immediate realization that Cook's heyday might have been a Tuesday in 1953. Well, that and the oppressive heat, which may have a little something to do with the depressed population count.

Once a bustling railway community, Cook now feels like it was left on high in the dryer—much shrunken and slightly faded, but still hanging on. Wandering its streets street, you get the sense that the local wildlife, the flies, are the unofficial welcoming committee. They buzz with an enthusiasm that the town’s previous human residents clearly couldn’t muster.

In Cook, the silence is so profound, you can hear your own dreams quietly suffocating. Yet, there’s a peculiar charm in this desolate spot, a reminder that even the most forgotten places have stories. Probably scribbled on a napkin by a passing traveler, much like me.

After too short a time in Cook—which weirdly seemed like far too long a time—we returned to our train trip through the Nullarbor desert. It felt oddly like coming back to reality.

More than a trip—5 stars!

Over breakfast on our second morning, the landscape almost imperceptibly began to turn from orange to green. Trees began to make a comeback, along with telephone wires and the occasional wireless tower. We passed from the sheet flatness of the Nullarbor into the sheer flatness of Western Australia’s Wheatbelt and then through the Avon Valley, which opened up to hills and vineyards, olive groves, and fields of horses, cows, and llamas. And more sheep. So many sheep. We’d made it through, back to fences and cozy, suburban Australia.

The Indian Pacific is more than a train ride; it transcends mere travel. From the cramped-bet-charming cabins to the expansive views of the Australian outback, this journey is a reminder of the joys of slow travel. Sure, the quarters might become a bit close at times, and yes, the constant socializing might be a bit much for the misanthropes introverts among us. But on the whole, it's an unparalleled adventure.

So, if you're in Australia and looking for an unforgettable way to cross the continent, the Indian Pacific offers a journey that's as much about the voyage as it is about the destination.

Indian Pacific offers a wide range of options for the Adelaide to Perth route, priced from A$2,890 for a Gold Single in the off season (June and July) all the way up to A$6,590 for a Platinum Double in the high season (September thru November). It is just one of several luxury train trips operated by Journey Beyond Rail. Find out more at https://www.journeybeyondrail.com.au.

posted March 2024