For 24 hours, the landscape paraded through the window. 24 hours, the time it takes the Indian Pacific train to link Sydney to Adelaide. Like voyagers of a past century, we would spend the night in sleeper cabins, rocked by the humming running gear and intermittent whistles from the locomotive. Meals were served in the main restaurant cabin; a subtle connivance had developed amongst passengers and lonely diners ate in tete-à-tete with the changing panorama. Progressing towards the western coast, the landscape started becoming dryer. Barren hills appeared successively like golden waves, inhabited by a sparse population of sheep.
Mid-way, the train halted in front of a lonesome town known for its copper mining industry, Broken Hill. Tumbleweeds and swinging saloon doors were the only missing pieces to this far-west looking place.
Reaching our final destination a day after leaving Sydney, we disembarked from the transcontinental convoy. The Barossa Valley, a region located northeast of Adelaide and known for its local specialty of Shiraz wine, was going to host us for the next couple of days. Driving under the afternoon sun, blond hills spread endlessly as the wind brushed vast stretches of high grass.