There is a species and vintage of Australian man devoid of grace, wit and native charm; unable to function in normal social intercourse except if the subject is cricket or football. The type of man who could benefit greatly from a charisma transplant. The patron saint of such men is John Howard.
What I am leading up to is my experience on the second part of the Ghan journey from Alice to Darwin, where I arrived this evening.
At meal times Ghan passengers are invited to enter the dining car and the waiters fill the tables so that one has to share tables with other diners. Last night I shared with a couple who were drinking a bottle of wine. I ordered a glass of wine. It did not come. We'd finished our entree and the main course was served. The wine still did not come. I asked for the waitress again.
Now, I ask you, wouldn't it have been a very natural thing to offer me a glass of wine from their bottle? Wouldn't you have done that in their situation? I know I would have. I can't understand the mean-spiritedness that stopped that man from perceiving my discomfort. I can't imagine a man from another country behaving in this way. I can't begin to understand the missus either. We'd been chatting about our jobs. We seemed to be getting on. I just don't understand it.
I was disappointed in the Alice to Darwin leg of the journey, and it wasn't just because of this interaction I have just described. Most of that journey took place in the dark and so the passengers missed out on seeing a lot of the landscape: the very reason I chose to travel on the Ghan. And it did get to me how old and infirm most of the other passengers were. They took the Ghan so they wouldn't have to walk anywhere. I found their advanced ages depressing this time; one of the old ladies was in an especially bad way: she looked a bit like my mother just before she died.
Off to Kakadu tomorrow. Won't be able to access an Internet cafe until I get back, so no more photos for a few days.
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