My journey continues on the Indian Pacific railway…
I awoke extremely early in the morning to nothing but faint outlines of trees and bushes showing through the slight glimmer of morning light. It was captivating; I was so sleepy, and my body wanted nothing more than to go back to dreaming, but I just couldn’t get myself to take my eyes off the darkness outside my train window.
I thought I saw water. I could tell because the ripples caught a little bit of the morning light. And, then I thought I saw lakes.
I knew at this time of day we were getting close to Broken Hill, so the first thing that popped into mind was Menindee, but that’s not Menindee… is it?
The sun continued to rise over the next hour as I rolled out of my (quite comfy) bed to get ready for arrival in Broken Hill until finally it was fully lit and a beautiful day – one perfect for a whistle stop tour of sorts. A whistle stop tour… how fancy does that sound? I am reminded of old movies when women boarded trains with hat boxes in both hands, veiled in a simple palette of black and white and sepia Unfortunately, I’m not that classy; I’m in Australia, too, if that matters (haha).
The whistle stop tour of Broken Hill wasn’t as spectacular as I was hoping, but I did learn a lot about a place I had already visited a little over a year ago. The thing that struck me most, and I already wrote about it over on WhyGo Australia, is that everything was so green and damp, which is about as far as it could be from the last time I was in the vicinity. In fact, it has been one of the wettest years for this part of Australia in… years… no decades.
That’s when I realized that the lakes I thought I saw in the early morning light were definitely those of Menindee, the place where – last year – dreams dried up and died [for Patrick].