The Ghan Train 

Start of our Experience

Today began early.

I had gone to bed the night before around 8 p.m.—completely exhausted. I remember waking up around 2 a.m. but managed to fall back asleep until about 5. After that, sleep wouldn’t come again, so I used the quiet hours to work on a summary of the previous day.

Eventually, we got up and began sorting our luggage in preparation for the train. We had to separate what we couldn’t bring onboard from what would be checked and held until the journey was over.

Breakfast was another delicious buffet. We especially enjoyed the fresh watermelon and hearty wheat bread. While eating, I shared with Faby the summary I had written and how I’d started turning it into a poem. It was still too long and needed refining. A man nearby overheard and commented on how meaningful it was to capture our experience that way.

After breakfast, we took a final stroll along the beach. To our surprise, we spotted a sea lion swimming on its side. We suspect it may have been affected by the same sea algae that’s been harming marine life elsewhere—but somehow, it had reached Adelaide.

Departing Adelaide

We arranged an Uber and got to the train station just after 10 a.m. Many travelers had already checked in and were waiting to board. While in line, we met a friendly woman and her mother—both instantly clicked with Faby. Sadly, they’re in Car D, and we’re in Car N, so we won’t be near each other during the trip.

This train is the longest passenger train in the world—35 cars long. It’s a fully inclusive experience: meals, drinks, and lodging all provided. We’ve met plenty of kind people, mostly from Melbourne—families, couples, and solo travelers riding together.

Today’s views were mostly open landscapes with rolling hills. Nothing dramatic. The trees stood out to me—they looked like upside-down lungs.

The day was filled with slow moments, long lunches, and a late dinner—much later than my usual 8 p.m. cutoff.

For dinner, we tried kangaroo meat. It was a bit too rare for my taste, but dessert more than made up for it. Faby had a chocolate and mandarin delice, while I had a ricotta, fig, and honey ice cream. We sat with a couple who ended up chatting with us until 10 at night—a warm and unexpected end to a long day.

A more poetic version

The day began before the light.
I had drifted off early, just after eight, worn thin by the weight of the journey.
A stirring at two, then silence again—until five, when sleep slipped quietly away.
I welcomed the stillness, let thoughts settle into lines, and shaped a memory from the day before.

We packed with care, sorting what would travel with us
and what would wait beyond the train's long path.
Then came breakfast—familiar, yet rich again:
sweet watermelon like summer on the tongue, and wheat bread warm and grounding.
I read aloud what I’d written—too long, but honest.
Faby listened, eyes wide. A stranger nearby said softly,
“That’s a beautiful way to remember.”

After breakfast, we walked the shore one last time.
The ocean whispered its farewell, and in it swam a lone sea lion,
twisting on its side, adrift.
Perhaps a quiet echo of far-off algae bloom, now reaching Adelaide.

We called an Uber, bags in hand, hearts open.
At the station, a quiet hum of waiting souls.
We met a daughter and her mother—two talkers who found Faby at once.
Instant kinship, though fate placed them in Car D, and us in N.
Still, the meeting warmed the air.

Now we ride the longest passenger train in the world—
thirty-five cars strong, gliding like a ribbon through the earth.
An all-inclusive rhythm of food, rest, and quiet connection.
Melbourne voices surround us—families, couples, travelers chasing something unnamed.

Outside, the landscape unfolds in soft, unhurried rolls.
No peaks, just hills stretching like breath.
The trees stand sparse—reaching, branching, like lungs turned inward.
Breathing in sky.

Evening brought late meals and slowed time.
We tried kangaroo—too rare for me, but an experience all the same.
Faby’s dessert was chocolate and mandarin,
mine a delicate blend of ricotta, fig, and honey folded into ice cream.
We shared stories with a couple until the clock blinked ten.

A day of soft beginnings and quiet goodbyes,
of poems shared and new paths laid.
Sleep will come again, perhaps earlier this time,
wrapped in the motion of steel and sky.