NIGHT TRAIN TO MELBOURNE
SO THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS IN THE 880KM AND 11 HOURS BETWEEN AUSTRALIA’S BIGGEST CITIES
Uber driver Fadi bursts out laughing when I say I’m taking the sleeper train to Melbourne. “What for?” he roars. He used to work at Flight Centre and once tried talking two elderly ladies out of riding the Ghan from Adelaide to Darwin.
He suggested they’d save time and money by flying. But, like me, they fancied a nice train journey instead.
It’s certainly far cheaper to fly. A return ticket to Sydney with Virgin in March cost me $98.41. The one-way fare on the XPT sleeper costs $271.29.
I flinched but paid anyway, for research purposes. Post-lockdowns, there’s been much speculation about how we’ll likely travel more sustainably and “consciously”, which I gather means going by train, bus or car instead of mega-polluting planes.
And it’s true there’s been a surge in Australians taking long-distance trains. So naturally I need to ride the rails myself, see what it’s like. The last sleeper train I took was the Orient Express so my expectations are modest.
I climb the stairs to Central just after 8pm and enter the graceful arched concourse with its warm golden light and a chill wind blasting the waiting benches. My fellow passengers huddle in hoodies, beanies and fleeces.
Locomotive 621 pulls into platform one about 20 minutes before departure. We clamber on. The XPT is more practical than palatial. With a corrugated metal frame trimmed in blue and yellow, it looks a bit like a fancy toaster.
There are two economy carriages, two first-class and a sleeper. First has fewer seats – 54 vs 68 – so there’s greater leg room and recline but there’s no way I’m sitting upright for 11 hours. Unless flying to Europe, obviously.
The private cabins in my carriage sleep one up, one down in lockable quarters. An upside to COVID is that cabins can’t be shared so I have one to myself. Sadly, all restrictions were lifted on April 19 and strangers must now share again.
Mick’s in charge of the sleepers. I couldn’t ask for a friendlier, more attentive attendant.
“Mate, anything you need during the night, hit that blue buzzer and I’ll come down,” he smiles, handing me a welcome pack of biscuits, a sealed cup of water, refresher toilette and a lone mint.
Passengers also receive a bathroom kit of the cheapest-quality including toothbrush, comb, “conditioning shampoo” and a concertina plastic cup that leaks from at least three different places.
The service is definitely the highlight on the XPT. The amenities, not so much. There’s no Wi-Fi, no USB ports and, unlike other advanced economies, no high-speed rail.
XPT stands for express train but there’s nothing express about taking longer than a car to cover the 880km between Australia’s two largest cities.
Mick takes my breakfast order (cereal, tea, apple juice) then transforms my velveteen bench into a bed, a magic trick accomplished with a simple key. The bed has fitted sheets, a doona and two pillows. He mentions the buzzer again. I tell him I plan to be asleep all night. “Good luck.”
Every two cabins share a compact wonder of a bathroom with fold-out handbasin and toilet bowl, even a hot-water shower.
Fun-fact: Orient Express sleepers generally do not have showers. This is the only area in which the XPT outranks the world’s most luxurious train.
We ease out of Central right on time at 8.42pm. It’s pitch black in Sydney so there’s nothing to see except the occasional blaze of light and bland architecture as we whoosh by suburban stations.
The tannoy fires up with announcements. They’re often amusing. One concerns the buffet carriage which offers drinks and heated meals, including spaghetti bolognaise and fish with pumpkin gnocchi. The buffet is staffed by Jessie and Paul.
The same announcer warns that antisocial behaviour will not be tolerated. “So please, don’t be a goose.”
I’m not hungry but feel obliged to eat so order a Thai vegetable curry. It will be ready in 40 minutes, I’m told. That’s around 10pm, which seems late to be eating unless you’re Spanish.
When the meals are ready I walk through the first-class carriages to the buffet, its vitrine stacked with drinks, cakes, chips and chocolate. There’s beer and red wine but no white (a supplier issue, I’m told).
My curry, eaten back in the cabin, is fine. Totally edible and not bad value at $10.50. I finish it at 10.10pm which, coincidentally, is also when lights are turned off for the night.
I fall asleep around 11pm and stay that way, on and off, until six-ish. The ride’s a little rough – less a gentle rocking than a jerky, groaning grind – but I suspect even light sleepers would get some rest. Imagine trying to sleep through an 11-hour earthquake; eventually everyone passes out from sheer exhaustion.
Breakfast arrives in the pre-dawn light. It’s nothing to crow about but nor are the drab industrial outskirts of metropolitan Melbourne. The sky is low and grey; drizzle smears the windows.
Fourteen stops, 880km and 11 hours later, we slide into Southern Cross on time at 7.45am. It’s freezing outside. Welcome home.