Christmas in the Outback by Julie Miller

It’s 9 a.m and already 36 degrees in the shade. A long silver beast pulls up in the middle of nowhere. Out jump four clean-cut men in immaculate navy suits and patent leather shoes, followed by an anomaly in red with a white acrylic beard. A stream of curious onlookers ensues, armed with cameras and stepping gingerly in the gravel and thorns underfoot.

We’ve arrived at Watson, population zero, on the edge of the Nullarbor Plain. There’s literally nothing here, no platform, no shops, not a tree in sight. Just a bunch of laidback dudes sprawled laconically on the bonnets of dusty four-wheel drives parked by the railway track and around 70 excited Aboriginal kids, anxious for the circus to unfold.

The occasion is the arrival of the annual Indian Pacific Christmas in the Outback train. The guys in suits are the award-winning Motown quartet, Human Nature; the jolly old fellow in red goes by the name of Father Christmas. Around 100 people from the remote desert communities of Oak Valley and Yalata have travelled for four hours to witness the train rolling in, to meet Santa and be part of a 40-minute trackside concert.

For the kids, it’s the highlight of the desert social calendar. Only those with perfect attendance records have been allowed to come, sleeping overnight in their classroom in nervous anticipation. Most of them have no idea who the guys in suits are; some are even confounded by the bizarre sight of a fat bearded man sweating in inappropriate red clothing. What’s important is, this is their moment to shine, as bright as the gleaming silver train that’s appeared out of nowhere.

And shine they do. When Human Nature launch into an acapella version of their hit, ‘Every Time I Cry’, the kids belt out the chorus with such unbridled gusto, it literally knocks the band off their feet. There is a roar of appreciation from the gathered crowd and more than one tear trickles down a dusty, fly-blown face. It’s the perfect example of how music crosses cultural barriers, uniting people from all walks of life.

That, in a nutshell, is what Christmas in the Outback is about - spreading Christmas cheer, bringing joy and laughter and music to people of remote communities of outback Australia. Approaching its 8th year, the event has seen some of Australia’s most legendary artists perform along the 4,352 kilometre route from Sydney to Perth, including Nikki Webster, Jimmy Barnes, Marcia Hines, Guy Sebastian and, in 2006, Human Nature. This year, swing performer extraordinaire David Campbell will bring his old-school showtime sound to the tracks, promising a trip of entertainment and musical extravaganza.

The mood of this memorable journey is set even before the train leaves the platform at Sydney’s Central Station. A crowd of school kids wearing Santa hats and reindeer horns gathers for the first of a series of concerts, to be performed at railway stations en route. Slick and professional, Human Nature delight with their perfect harmonies and choreographed movements; they then sign autographs as Santa hands out candy and gifts, and the hat is passed around to raise money for the Royal Flying Doctor Service. Then it’s all aboard and the adventure begins in earnest.

The romance of long-distance train travel is captured perfectly on this epic cross-continental journey. The Gold Kangaroo first class sleepers are small yet functional, the double bunks converting into a comfy lounge area to watch the passing scenery during the day. The en suite bathrooms are ridiculously tiny (to quote a line from Sex in the City, “No wonder there was murder on the Orient Express!”)… but natty levers and buttons provide hidey-holes for everything from towels to the toilet. Hours of exploratory fun!

As the train begins its arduous climb across the Great Dividing Range, passengers make their way down the narrow corridors, bouncing off the walls and fighting to stay upright as the train wobbles and jerks on the dodgy NSW tracks. Arriving in a plush lounge, we settle in for pre-dinner drinks, champagne flutes threatening to spill, enjoying the sort of camaraderie with fellow passengers that’s only experienced at a well-stocked bar. Then it’s onwards to the dining car, evocatively decorated with stained glass, chandeliers and white linen tables cloths, for a hearty dinner. This is no meat-pie and chips affair – passengers on the Indian Pacific are treated to a parade of treats, including freshly baked bread, pastries and chocolate whipped up in the impossibly small galley kitchen.

Around 9 p.m we step off onto a chilly, wet platform at Bathurst, where Human Nature launch into yet another slick performance, delighting the (largely schoolgirl) crowd with Motown hits such as ‘Dancing in the Street’ and ‘Reach Out’. Entertaining done, autographs signed, money raised, smiles all round, then all aboard … and back to the bar. We are starting to appreciate the rhythm of life on the rails.

In the wee hours of the morning, we stagger back to our sleeping compartments to be lulled asleep by the rhythmic clackety-clack of the track… or so the theory goes. Have I mentioned the state of the NSW railroads? Frankly, sleep on the first night of this journey does not come easily, with frequent jolts and inexplicable bumps requiring the use of crash helmets in the narrow berths. Bleary-eyed and suffering from whiplash, I join my companions in the dining car for breakfast, only to be reassured that the trip becomes smoother on the South Australian side of the border.

A morning concert at Broken Hill brings out all the characters in the Silver City, from ladies in bonnets walking their dogs to tattooed miners climbing poles for a better view. In the brilliant outback sunshine, Toby, Phil, Andrew and Michael – once again immaculately groomed in matching shiny suits - let loose with unswerving professionalism, delighting the capacity crowd that’s gathered in the outback sun.

In Adelaide, passengers are given the opportunity to explore during a four-hour stopover. Some even take off to the beach for a quick surf, having had the practical sense to travel with swimming costumes.

After another night of eating, drinking - and yes, thankfully sleeping - the next day dawns with our first sighting of the Nullarbor Plain. Literally meaning “no trees”, this massive flat dustbowl is the size of an average European country, a 260,000 square kilometre expanse of nothing. But strangely, it’s a mesmerising sight, ever-changing in its monotony, with hopping ‘roos, feral camels and the odd wedge tail eagle soaring against an azure sky providing moments of profound pleasure.

From the whistlestop in Watson, it’s literally straight ahead to Western Australia, along the longest straight stretch of railway track in the world. A vestige of that monumental engineering feat is Cook, once a booming railway hub of 300 people, now a ghost town with just seven permanent residents (three generations of the one family, with another on the way). Here, passengers alight to explore the eerie remnants of civilisation, including a schoolroom covered in graffiti, box-like jail cells and a grassed-in swimming pool, an incongruous sight with the mercury pushing 41 degrees.

In fact by now, Mother Nature is venturing into overdrive, delivering oven-blasting conditions not fit for human habitation. Escaping back into the comfort of the air-conditioning, we continue our journey across the Nullarbor as flashes of forked lightning illuminate the furious, purple sky. By the time we reach Rawlinna, the heavens have opened with huge, wet raindrops sizzling as they hit the baking ground – a godsend for the small crowd of stockmen who’ve travelled hundreds of kilometres to hear Human Nature sing. As one woman, who lives on a property 55 kilometres down the track tells me, it’s enough to make her want to “dance on the ute” with joy!

As evening falls, the rain continues to lash the windows of the Indian Pacific and the red dust turns to mud, resulting in a late entry into Kalgoorlie. With a reduced stopover, a bunch of us decide to ditch the by now familiar Human Nature performance in favour of a local pub, a must-do in a town of many drinking establishments. A few beers later, we dash back onto the already chugging train, feeling a little stymied by the all too brief visit to this vibrant, fascinating mining town. Next time.

Compared to the five-hour flight from Sydney to Perth, the 64 hours spent on the Indian Pacific may seem like a crazy and unnecessarily long option for crossing the continent. But as we pull into the sparkling city of Perth the following morning, the chorus of Human Nature’s hit “Reach Out” stuck in my head, I begin to feel sad that my on-track adventure is drawing to a close. Not only had I become inordinately fond of my fellow passengers, but I’d also grown attached to my tiny bunk, showering over the toilet, the rollicking movement of the carriage – yes, even those jolting halts in the middle of the night.

Most of all, I’d fallen in love with the outback scenery, the vast, rich emptiness that promises so little yet delivers so much. Travelling by train is the perfect way to absorb and appreciate every nuance of this beautiful, bleak world. And if you really want to experience life in remote Australia at its best, consider the Christmas in the Outback experience, where voices sing and spirits soar as high as a wedge tail eagle.