fatvegan

At first glance the Adelaide public transport system appears simple and efficient. Hardly like an Australian transport system at all. However, scratch the surface and you'll discover a delightful puzzle with plenty of twists and tricks to keep the newcomer entertained for hours. Even for the shortest trips. The system is deceptively sophisticated and the disengaged adventurer may be sitting smugly on one train while the train to their actual destination departs only metres away.

Seeking fresh adventure this morning and pretty much being a Communist I decided to catch the local train to the interstate station instead of the free-market shuttle bus service. Catching a bus to a train station when you're living right next to another train station struck me as absurd. Neither did I want catch the public bus. It would surely be slow and I knew it dropped you 500m from the station, which is a long way to and old-school port like mine.

No, I wouldn't be a sucker. I would catch the train right to The Ghan, have an adventure, indulge my socialist prejudices and save money, all at once.

I walked to the station early to buy my train ticket early and find out departure times. I was totally organized. And the ticket was a mere $1.70, which only increased my resolve and self-satisfaction. Who needs privately run "direct" shuttle buses for $5 when the government has already provided for us so well.

I got back my hostel to collect my baggage with plenty of time to spare. There's a saying amongst us train veterans that The Ghan waits for no foolish time budgeted, so I was extra cautious. And imbued with the zeal of the lazy but masterful transport warrior I decided to catch the free tram from the doorstep of my hostel to save the 3 minute walk to the train station.

After waiting 15 minutes for the guaranteed 7-minutely tram I started to worry about domino effects on my precise schedule. A few minutes later the tram did arrive and I breezed onto the carriage the weight of my suitcase vindicating my strategy with every lug.

The tram did not leave and the conductor spent quite some time explaining that only people wanting to go in the opposite direction should remain on the tram. Anyone on the tram wanting to go to where the tram was supposed to go should get out and walk. To the conductor's mild surprise the train emptied. Coincedentily, not a single person on that entire tram wanted to go in the other direction. So we all walked.

The young Sudanese girl with crutches and hardly any left leg was unfussed. She obviously didn't have my finely tuned transport schedule. However, another fellow was much more reasonable and we chortled together knowingly.

Thankfully, another state-sponsored mass transit option was still available. So I walked to the station and the sidewalk we all of us paid for collectively.

I missed my the train that had been optimally temporally located, so I mentally reshuffled my morning, recalculated contingency plans and went off to buy some nuts. My destination was only one station away and the next train wasn't so far off.

Nuts in hand I embarked on the train with several strategic buffer minutes to spare. It was a surprisingly long train for a suburban service and I was once again impressed by the civic commitment to public transport.

Five minutes after the train was due to leave I poked my head out to survey the situation. The display board had changed. More troubling, the length of the train felt tangibly shorter. Plucking up the courage and my bags I walked over to the help desk, worried that I was leaving behind my last chance of a dignified arrival at The Ghan.

A little dejectedly, and fairly sure of the answer I walked up to the help fellow and asked "Do some of your platforms have TWO trains on them?"

"Oh yes," he said with an affable chuckle, "often they do."

"So the 11:10 to Brighton has left then?" I asked a little hopelessly.

"Well it's 11:18," he offered. Sensing I was hoping for slightly more he added "So yes, it's gone."

The next train was 20 minutes away and I had to block out the deafening demands for a taxi coming from my less class conscious sub-conscious. But I held firm and limply sauntered over to the platform of so-called departure. I made amply sure that I should ignore the indicator board urging me on to the train waiting there when I arrived. It was apparently going somewhere else. Once satisfied a settled myself down for a good wait against a pillar and read about cognitive fallacies on Wikipedia while eating nuts.

The train left on time and seemed to be heading on the right direction. I had a mild scare when I almost disembarked at a previously uncharted station but I held my nerve and continued on. I arrived at the interchange terminal which had a healthy number of signs to the interstate platforms. So I started walking.

It was a bit of a walk. Where was an efficient local tram when you need one, I thought. I came to a bus stop for buses to the city. And from the city. I kept on walking. I could even make out the terminal now. And what I suspected was The Ghan itself. 500 metres later I was there, and with enough seconds spare to run down and buy a drink before they closed the doors.

And now here I am, railway veteran extraordinaire, on The Ghan, on our way to Alice.