My thirteen year old granddaughter, Angela, and I were touring Northern Australia. We were on the train from Sydney to the Lightening Ridge Opal Mine, chugging through pastures of sheep, sheep and more sheep. I was describing the landscape into my hand-held recorder while Angela sat gazing out the window. The conductor came around to check our tickets and gasped. “You’re on the wrong train, miss.”
I could have swallowed my tongue. “How do we get on the right train ─ to Lightening Ridge?” I asked.
“Sorry, miss, you’re out of luck. I’ll have the engineer radio ahead to the bus depot. Take the bus to Warris Creek where you’ll pick up another bus to the nearest town of Dubbo. You’ll have a one day layover until the train to Sydney comes through again.”
We stood beside our luggage at the side of the narrow, deserted highway and watched the bus chug away in a puff of smoke. I took in our surroundings. Warris Creek was exactly that…a creek with musical frogs. I glanced down at Angela’s stricken face, gave her a hug and told her the next bus would be arriving soon…not to worry. But what if it didn’t? We were stuck in the middle of the outback somewhere between Warris Creek and Dubbo and it was already late afternoon. Yikes. Snakes!
The angels were watching over us. A half-hour later, at dusk, a bus with a sign reading Dubbo arrived. While boarding, I asked about payment, but as before, I was told by a stony faced driver, it was taken care of. Okay. We like that.
During the trip to Dubbo, a matronly woman stilled her frantic knitting needles, stuck her thumb up and said, “Waiting so close to the road is dangerous, dearie. You should have just hitched a ride.” Right. Why didn’t I think of that?
Angela asked the bus driver why the kangaroos were at the side of the highway with their legs sticking up and not moving. I knew they had been run down. He quickly answered that those were Australia’s infamous “sleeping roos.”
The driver was kind enough to drop us off at the entrance to the Cascades Motor Inn. It seemed hospitable and the staff friendly enough. The food was plentiful and delicious.
After dinner, we were both yawning and decided to retire early. Our room was clean with twin beds ─ nothing fancy. What I thought peculiar was the heater fastened very high up on the wall. Water marks were evident above the baseboards and the beds were up off the floor. My first thought was flood.
It was sometime after midnight when we were awakened by rain pounding on the roof; our teeth were literally chattering. I mumbled something to Angela about turning on the heater and climbed out of bed. I crawled up on the sink, but I had forgotten to turn on the light and couldn’t read the furnace dial. It seemed, the more I flicked the light switch, the harder it rained. I tried again. Oh no! The electricity was out. That meant the furnace wouldn’t work. I told Angela not to worry and gave her my extra blanket. It was a very long night.
The next morning, I complained nicely to the clerk. She explained that rain on a metal roof sounded twice as loud, and the electricity often went out during a storm. One more night to go. I asked her if there was anything interesting in Dubbo to fill our day. She recommended a Dubbo coffee shop for local color and a visit to the Western Plaines Zoo.
Angela grinned and said, “Let’s go, Grandma.
We ate a perfectly prepared breakfast at the coffee shop, amidst curious stares from the locals, and took a taxi to the zoo.
I expected a run-down zoo with flea bitten animals. Boy was I surprised. The beauty and the thought that went into planning this wonderful haven for animals were remarkable. There were amazing creatures representing most of the countries in the world, from massive Bengal tigers to a hoard of rogue chimps. As Angela interacted with the animals, I realized she hadn’t been this happy since we arrived in Australia. I sorely missed my tape recorder and would rely on memory until I could purchase a new one.
That night we were treated to another special meal at the Cascades. We learned from the waiter that the cattlemen held their conferences there and they expected the best meat and all the condiments.
We were rather sad to leave Dubbo and board the train back to Sydney. This time, when the conductor came by, he held out my recorder and asked, “Is this yours?”
I nodded and grinned. “Why, yes. How did you remember me?”
“We had a good laugh about the American lady and her girl that boarded the wrong train. When I found the recorder, I could tell by your accent it was you.”
Accent? Now it was our turn to laugh.
Angela and I had a real unplanned adventure, more so than crawling around in a musty opal mine. We may have been lost for a time, however, we found a little slice of Aussie paradise.
Lost and Found
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