Ross Thorby: We may be skirting the edges of Covid annihilation, but that hasn’t stopped us travelling

Relaxing with ever-changing scenery and accompanied by an agreeable companion and a chilli bin - what more could you ask for?

This day of departure we stand before a long steel behemoth - its modern streamlined contours detracting from its lack of private balconies.

Even though it’s early morning, the ‘berth’ is busy with the hustle and bustle of passengers; provisioners loading food and beverages for the coming journey and porters stacking luggage into the cavernous ‘hold’.

There, amongst the melee of passengers, I detect an air of palpable excitement. Here we are, boarding at the beginning of a new journey. Some are along for the scenic wonders, others as a necessity of getting from one place to another.

In any other year at this time, I would normally be surrounded by stacks of luggage about to board a ship bound for some exotic locale, but today extra bags are unnecessary. Although we are about to board a ship of a type; it is the Northern Express train - Auckland to Wellington - I have only an overnight bag. I note that my travelling companion is holding only a chilly bin.

Ahead, instead of looking forward to days relaxing around a pool mesmerised by the calm of the Pacific passing by, I will be entertained by the sheer land-based beauty of New Zealand in all its glory.

Twelve hours of rail travel across the spine of New Zealand; the ravines, rivers, forests and deltas of the North Island; its history and grandeur within a stones-throw of the steel tracks laid in the 19th century when NZ was a very different place.

We are shown to seats rather than cabins, large picture windows, shiny modern interiors accented in wood, and featuring soft reclining seats. There’s ample room for carry-on luggage and that mysterious chilly bin. The aisles and ‘companionways’ too, have plenty of room to move about with ease. The bar, the restaurant, the observation car, are all waiting to be explored.

Bruce, our ‘concierge du jour’ - like any great cruise director - will prove his versatility and acumen, doubling as entertainer, ticket master, conductor, station master, historian and general smoother of paths, and a knowledgeable repository of all things trivia.

Precisely at the appointed time, we begin moving alongside the Waitemat-a, the calm basin of Orakei and back-yards of Panmure, Onehunga and Takanini sliding effortlessly past the window; scenery ever-changing until the wide-open spaces of Pukekohe and the Waikato appear. It’s about here that the contents of the chilly bin begin to spill out across the aisle.

The tempting smell of fresh baking (home-made scones and Christmas cake) accompanied by barista-made coffee from the café, brought to sudden life the otherwise inert occupants of our carriage and they begin moving towards the restaurant car.

A quick stop at Hamilton precedes the Oakune station which seems to be from another era. The not too distant Chateau, a draw for some passengers who had disembarked there for a few days before, reboard, continuing the journey south.

Lunch from the restaurant arrives for those unlucky enough not to be seated next to a gourmet foodie who is intent on ruining my post-Covid diet.

Our lunch of panini and salad is accompanied by a fine New Zealand wine from the bar, and (extracted from the depths of the chilly bin) an extravagant pavlova, fully dressed in whipped cream and berry fruits.

The Raurimu Spiral - a technological marvel of its day, heaves into sight. With the announcement of an afternoon negotiating Victorian viaducts arching high above raging rivers and gaping chasms, we rush, wine glasses in hand, to the open space of the observation car. We spiral ahead; the train’s tail reaching back into the distance as we wind our way up and back on ourselves, rising up gradually onto the Central Plateau only to descend slowly on the other side, with the slopes of Ngauruhoe towering above the landscape and overlooking our train snaking beneath.

Returning to my seat with the intention of a post banquet doze, I am unceremoniously nudged from my slumber with a cheeseboard - grapes, brie and a fine French gruyere, the scent masked by the New Zealand blue; its heady tang now filling the carriage.

A finishing course of prosciutto and preserved fruit accompanied by another glass of fine New Zealand red is consumed as we pass along the captivating rugged Kapiti Coast. Then, as Wellington rises up against the evening calm, the orange glow of the sunset lights up the distant hills of the South Island which have never looked so good.

Give me the calm majesty of train travel over domestic flights any day. Cheers. (ROSS THORBY)


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