New York, New York

We arrive in New York City at lunch time, heavy packs weighing on our shoulders, like a bad conscious we carry them around for the afternoon, trying to see the city but weighed down with our stuff. If there ever was a pictorial description of the western world, it is us... Carrying packs filled with stuff, inside a city surrounded by wealth. Our packs force us to make decisions about what we will do until we can check in to our apartment.

Check In and Back Again

After finding a laundromat we check in and then catch the subway back into the city. The trains run with out delay, swaying back and forth as it rockets underground.

Times Square is a symbol of all the wealth (read: all that is wrong with advertising), spent in glowing neon signs and moving billboards. People stand on the side walk, yelling to us as we pass by, trying to engage with us so to reveal in their services. A comedy club, a gentleman’s club, fast talking and quick hands trying to gain our attention.

The lights glitter, selling technology, style, fashion, food and sex. The size and scale is appealing and appalling at the same time. Tempting and yet repelling. The smell of flame-grilled steak calls our name, as we begin to feel hungry.

Rockefeller Center has some ice skating on when we get there. Performances by people we do not know. They twist and move gracefully while we look around, finding the flags and the golden statue more interesting. The Centre doesn’t feel as it has the same sense of grandeur as I did while watching the end of Home Alone 2, but the signs made me think of 30 Rock which made me happy.

Checkpoints

The skyline above us extends up and up. Buildings towering above us, enclosing in the sky and making it a thin slither of blue between the man made buildings. God has an obstructed view of what happens on the streets around New York.

The Empire State building has a classic noir feeling, marble floors, hard edges corners, I feel using the word “Baby” at the end of my sentences. There are straight lines everywhere. Hard edges, hard marble.

Another security checkpoint. Another line. Standing in line to see a nice view feels like a waste of time. Stand, wait, move forward a little. Step by step, edging toward the elevators.

80 floors. A few seconds. A wonderful view. The lights from below sparkle, mile after mile they stretch out toward the horizon. Takings photo doesn't give enough charm to the scenery. We stand as the wind blows from the south, whistling against the thin metal cage. We walk around the side to see as much of the horizon as we can.

There is another line to stand in going down.

Central Park

I am familiar with Central Park from the first Ninja Turtles movie. The blue stone fence brought back memories from when Casey Jones attacked some low-life scum-bags.

I am amazed by the contrast of the city against the park. The paths stretch for kilometres, running around lakes, beside roads and around baseball fields, and yet on every side the park we are surrounded by a concrete jungle, apartments and places of business that stretch into the sky.

Bullets Over Broadway

There has always been some part of me that didn’t like the idea of watching a Broadway musical. I do not know if it was because of the years I spent growing up with my sisters doing calisthenics, or because I had never taken the chance to spend a few hours watching a show.

A fast talking man approached us about getting tickets. He approached us while we were watching the Broadway price listing tick over, sliding up close by and asking a quick question to a pair of suckers. He suggested a few shows, trying to fast talk us into tickets. “You sure you wanna see something like that one? We have some cheep tickets to a comedy show, or a gentleman’s club” - I guess we look either cheap or on a night out away from our wives.

No. We tell him that we were trying to decide what to see, the pressure of a sale never motivates us to make a purchase. “I understand. Look, I have some tickets here to a show called Bullets Over Broadway, Woody Allan wrote it, That Guy from Scrubs has a lead role. Funny and serious, right up your alley. Tickets half price - whadda say?”

No cash, no worries. He would walk us down to the closest ATM and stand by while we get money out. While Roger got the cash I searched the internet to try determine if they were a credible company - with no results.

Everything about this situation felt odd, a forced sale with a motivated salesman. Despite the uneasiness we purchased the tickets, figuring if they were worthless we’d have a story. For the remainder of the afternoon, before the show, we were worried if out money had been exchanged for fake tickets.

We ended up being in the orchestra rows. Sitting on the floor with a great view of the performance. Bullets Over Broadway was entertaining, the songs were fantastic and catchy (you can see one here Let’s Misbehave I enjoyed Helene’s accent). It was a good introduction into musicals and I am very glad we went.

Cronuts

A quick morning train ride and we are standing in line for a Cronut. A fried croissant-doughnut pastry that looks like a a thousand leaves of glorious food. It is supposed to be amazing, but I am thinking about how my hips are going to look, surrounded by more fried food. I will make a resolution to catch up on exercise when we get home.

We stood in line, waiting and hoping that we would be allowed to get some. There is a line every morning until the limited number of Cronuts are sold. We were in the last batch, four people from the end of the line, but went in under the understanding that we may miss out.

It was not to be and we got the second last pair of Cronuts. We sat at a table with chess embedded in the concrete, sitting below bare trees with tiny, new buds, the sun shines in a street basketball court behind us. The Cronut is the king of all fried goods. The pastry is fantastic, encasing a pineapple gel the drips from inside. The sugar, the scenery and sitting in New York. New York.

I realise once again, sitting there with Roger, that we are doing something grand. We are in New York. New York. The city that has songs named after it. New York, on a Saturday morning eating Cronuts.

Washington, The Museums and the Nationals

We walk down the street to the intersection which is blocked off by yellow tape that reads “Police Line Do Not Cross”. Police officers are standing around inside the tape, talking. A crime scene, bright and early on a cold morning in Washington DC.

I read about many shootings in America, but I never imagined that we would be less than a block away from a man who was shot. The Washington Post had a report - Man fatally shot on street in Anacostia - and of it we have heard nothing more.

We talk a different way to the station this morning, walking down “W” street, instead of “V”. Walking down the streets, past houses and people as they get ready for their days.

Museums

Body scans. Bags open. Belts off. Walk through the X-ray machines. Talk to the guards, who are poking a stick around in my bag, to make sure I am not hiding anything illegal. I don’t feel safer entering, I feel a little violated.

Every building of interest in Washington DC requires a scan to enter. We have two days to see the sights, and we are visiting many of the major memorials and museums, we have been scanned so many times that it feels normal. Been searched this frequently shouldn’t feel “normal”. I guess this is the Freedom that I have heard America talk about so much…

Holocaust Museum

We were told in North Carolina to visit the Holocaust Museum. We find the building, have our belongings, as a planned stop we It was an overwhelming experience, fantastic in how it was presented and devastating in the size and scope of the lives that were murdered. I knew about the brutality in the war, but I never imagined just how big, and devastating it was; how planned and precise the murders were.

We enter the display via an elevator that takes us up to the top floor. We are given a small card that tells the story of a person that survived the horrors of a Concentration Camp. Then we are lead into the museum, which tells us the story of how the Nazi regime got into power.

The displays are engaging and explain step-by-step how things got so bad. We spend time reading displays, watching short movies and moving through the museum not saying many words.

American History Museum

The Smithsonian Museum of American History is a wonderful place. From the first display I was hooked by the stories and displays around the place. Walking into the darkened section to see the original Star Spangled Banner was just the start. 13 metres long and under a blue light to preserve the fabric of the flag. It was huge, an inspiration, a surprise to be standing beside a piece of history.

Then walk from the Tea Party and some Boston history, through life in the 1800’s, to General Washington. We stop and look at General Washington’s actual uniform, and along side in a glass case, his sword. We read history, consuming the words and the visual artefacts.

The Civil War showed us nonpartisan history. It seemed strange to have no bad guy in the process - usually wars have a Good side and a Bad, fighting against each other. Yet the Civil War was presented in a way that both sides had heroes, and the villains were absent.

We finished for the day in the Second World War display and vowed to return the following day to continue on into the Cold War.

Capitol Building

The Capitol Building is surrounded by tourists, walking in small groups with a guide leading them around. In pairs, dotted about the building are guards, probably discussing their lives, but standing with rifles waiting for the slightest situation to begin. Despite all the tourists, this is a place of business.

Once again the scale of this place sends me into a mental shock. From a distance it looks small, up close it appears majestic, regal and huge. It gets bigger was we walk behind the building. A huge stone covered square extends behind the magnificent sandstone building. Tall columns hold up the roof, the has a statute carved above the main entrance. The American flag waves in the wind, a gentle breeze pushing it in the wind.

Library of Congress

The Library of Congress has limited viewing area on the inside, but what we can see is beautiful. The paintings on the roof, the gold leaf covered plaster flowers covering the domes, the patterns on the floors. I recall All The Presidents Men, a movie I love, as we look down upon the main reading room.

The Gutenberg bible, read about exploring the Americas, and have a look at Jefferson’s library.

Air and Space, Naturally

The afternoon we went through some museums. The NASA Air and Space museum kept us occupied for there hours. We took in the engineering elements of the space and flight exhibits at a slow pace, reading the details about flight and looking at the displays with interest.

It made me remember The Right Stuff, it is a movie about the Space Program and here real items that were used, including the Bell X-1, are right in front of us.

After that we spent time walking through the Museum of Natural History. Again the size of the exhibits and the detail that they went into was fascinating.

We were kicked out of the Museum of American History as they were closing early. This was most disappointing as we were catching up on what we missed out on yesterday. Through the World War 2 memorial and just getting started on the Cold War when we were ushered out.

Ball Game

We walk into downtown and find a taco place to stop for dinner. We enjoy the lingering evening and discuss heading back earlier to get some rest, because of travel the next day and so we aren’t out in the streets after dark.

Back to the station and while we on the train a public announcement comes over that there is a ball game on tonight. Red caps and jackets stand on the platform of the next station and with a brief discussion we decide that we will go and see what a ball game is like.

We follow the caps and jackets off the train, up the escalators and to the stadium. Washington are playing Miami Marlins in opening week. We buy tickets, grab a cap and jacket (so we don’t feel left out) and find out seats. We are a long way up in the stadium, but it gives us a good view of the game.

The game drags. Washington down on the score board and not bringing a good showing. Wind blows through the stadium as the game wears on. We are charged too much for a hotdog, and getting bored like the other spectators around us. A hit in the eighth inning turns the game around, Washington gets the lead and the stadium erupts.

We get home later than we had planned, but it was worth it to see a ball game.

Washington, The Memorials and Long Streets

Washington is on a scale I never thought it would have. No television shows I have seen paint such a marvellous picture as walking through the streets. The buildings feel as if they are cast within an Ionic dreamscape. Everywhere you look is an important building, or something of historical significance.

Our train pulls into the station. We disembark and find our way into the streets, below the gaze of the solemn faces above us in Union Station. Outside, it is cold, overcast and late in the afternoon. With full packs we decide to walk to our AirBnB for the night - 7km away.

Memorials

I stand in front of the Lincoln Memorial. His face crafted in stone and etched in eternity as a president who survived the Civil War but not an assassins gun shot. Each part of the statue looks as if it was crafted with a fine eye for detail, from his boot that hangs over the edge, to the hair on his head. I wonder if the artists took shortcuts when working on the hair we cannot see.

We turn to leave Abe’s stollen face and turn towards the Washington Memorial, a great distance beyond the Reflecting Pool outside. I shake my head in disbelief that it can be this big. So much history, so many years. I have not seen revolutions like this city has been through, wars, upheavals, dreams...

Washington seems to be crafted in time, on a scale I keep trying to comprehend, but can’t seem to get my head around. Abraham Lincoln was carved from 28 blocks of marble in New England and then transported to Washington where he was finished. Marble from four states was brought in to create the memorial. A scale I cannot comprehend.

Martin Luther stands stoic, over looking a sea of faces, all individually coloured, gathered to reflect on the life of a man who marked his place in time. Jefferson stands surrounded by his quotes that pushed for education. Roosevelt sits upon a wheel chair looking upon the bronzed bread lines he saw happen within his own country, under his rule.

Each memorial speaks to a historic figure, in a time that has not been forgotten because of strong leaders.

If the quotes of those who have gone before us echo among the hallways, and those of today fall upon deaf ears, what kind of generation are we raising? What kind of culture are we cultivating? What kind of people will we leave after we have passed from this mortal coil?

Blossoms

The cherry blossoms are out. The white and pink flowers have budded on the trees, a stark contrast to the brown branches that would have filled the sky a month or two ago. The cherry trees line that lakes and surround the FDR Memorial, which Roger and I walk through, absorbing the quotes and looking at the statutes of Franklin Roosevelt around the memorial.

Nights

We have returned to the Lincoln Memorial to see what it is like under lights. The view has softened a little, but his resolve has not. The view of the Washington Monument is even more impressive, the long tall column - that was in the background of all our walking through the day - shines off the still Reflecting Pool. We cannot see the peak of the Washington Memorial through the top of the pool.

We walk homewards. The dark city streets pass below our feet. We chat about our plans for the next day, things that caught our attention, thinking of the West Wing.

We are staying in Anacostia, a suburb that is feels a little odd. The streets have broken bricks, the sirens ring in the distance. We feel safe, but there is an odd undercurrent, a unexplained feeling that something isn’t quite right.

We walk past a sign that says “You Are Entering A Drug Free Zone”. We make a quip about necessity for a sign like that. We stroll past a few men standing behind a car. The group are not very loud, but they look like they know each other. A man walks towards them, with a greeting.

We get inside and put our bags down after a long day. Sitting down after strolling 27kms around DC. Two shots sound from outside. Roger walks back into the room asking if I heard the shooting. About ten minutes later sirens are heard in the street.

Busy day in DC.

Today, In Transition

We are in transition today.

Emotionally, I feel exhausted. The week gone by has had so many things happen and I am juggling tiredness and missing my family.

We talked with our Scottish family, getting to know them while sitting on the porch, taking late into the night. Enjoyed meals in the lovely weather that was unseasonal for the North Carolinian's. We met and spent time with new family from the South, talking with new friends and seeing where Thomas and Sarah would be living.

Long days exploring new cities and long nights talking with family. Sounds like a holiday. But after all spending so much time with families I have been missing mine. If home is where your heart is, then I think it is 16,000 kilometers away.

Jazz, in a Brewery

Last night Ron and Sharon took us out for dinner in Winston Salem. Daniel was playing drums in a jazz quartet for the evening and we were invited to attend. Jazz in a brewery and restaurant was too much to pass on, so we joined them.

A quiet night out was exactly what I needed mentally to tackle getting over the past week. Being out was like a mental debriefing after what was a busy, engaging and fun week. Long conversations with good food, good company and wonderful music.

Jazz floated through the air. Sonorous music weaved in syncopated patterns as we enjoyed locally brewed beer and hearty meals. The setting was perfect, dark wood floors, high ceiling with wood paneled walls. It felt so homely that it encouraged discussion, and relaxation, which we did.

Ron and Sharon were great hosts, we even had time between sets to talk with Daniel about music and life.

As a last night in North Carolina it was perfect.

Woke to Rain, to Catch a Train

There was a fast dash to get coffee from downtown as we headed toward the station this morning. We said our farewells to Ron, who had ferried us to the station and then we waited for the train.

The rain was heavy and cold. The strong wind felt like it was carrying icicles as it buffeted us while we stood on the platform.

It hit me at that moment that I was embarking on something I had wanted to do for a long time. A train journey in America. There is something romantic about a long-haul rail journey that tugs at my desires, even after commuting every day for almost three years.

Joining me on the journey is my brother, Roger, who also shares this romantic vision of long-haul rail journeys. Maybe that was built up over the late night discussions we had when we were younger, talking in the darkness of our bedroom.

Moving On

The long haul part is giving me time to reflect on the past week. So many new things to see, with the comfort of family to show us around. So many new people to meet, all with the common interest of a wedding. It also helps that we are a little odd, speaking with a foreign accent. Everything, including the weather, seemed to be perfect - The kind of “perfect” that makes you think about making the holiday destination your life.

I miss my family. Every day I have awoken to a new experience that they have missed. Watching the squirrels dance in the branches, Southern Food (which I am sure I will blame for an increase in body fat), and that first feeling of walking into a Walmart. Something new that I have not been able to share with them, I am sad that they miss that, I know how much they love that feeling too.

There is more for us to do on this trip. It is time to move onwards, to start our planned journey northwards. Away from new places we had made to feel like home, and into the unknown. Change, change once more.

Wedding in North Carolina

The day of the wedding has arrived. It is barely dawn, the cloud outside is thick and the breeze is cold. The temperate in the room is cold and I am awake before my alarm is set to go off. I wonder if Thomas is awake yet.

Today is starting early for us, but it started earlier for the Bride and Bridesmaids. Their scheduled time to wake up was 06:15, I was still sleeping then. Downstairs, in a place that everyone can see it is an excel spreadsheet, labeled the “Master Plan”. It lays out the schedule for the day, where everyone is to be and what they are required to do.

Roger and I get ready and walk down to the Faust’s house. Ron is walking around in his red boxer shorts, organising breakfast. Thomas is chatting to Mum when we walk inside, he is eating breakfast and drinking coffee. He doesn’t look nervous at all. We take some of the left-over breakfast that the ladies had started on for breakfast and enjoy some of Ron’s cooked bacon.

For the Groom and his men, the first item of the day is some photos. Our sister Purdey, the Photographer, arrives and things get serious, breakfast is forgotten and we are required to be in position for photos.

We start by posing, stand about near the stairs, get dressed in our suits, smile and laugh, and then help the groom get dressed. Yes, despite the fact that Thomas is 25 and has been dressing himself for at least 10 of those years we are to help him get dressed.

We four groomsmen help Thomas put on a jacket, smile and stand close. With the Groom’s photos finished Purdey disappears to the next place on her schedule. We finish breakfast, finish getting our suits on and leave home, according to the schedule.

The Castle

The grounds for the wedding are beautiful. Thin trees, bare from a cold winter, surround the grounds of a castle. The ground is covered in leaves that had fallen months ago and had been covered with snow. The nice weather during the last week brought the green leaves, and small flower buds out from their winter slumber.

These trees surround a castle which was converted to host weddings. Wooden palisades and a small pond are at the bottom of a long path which separates two wedding venues. The castle, which makes a lovely spot for photos, and the upper venue, with large glass panes opening onto the wonderful trees, castle and pond outside.

We followed Purdey around and stand for photos. Hide behind trees, stand on the bridge, smile. More photos. More photos. We try and relax, even though it seems difficult. The wind is cold and the suits don’t stop the chill from coming through.

The sun shines from behind the clours and we sit on the rocks, waiting for the bride and her maids to walk down the path to join us for more photos. The groom is blindfolded for the ‘first sight’ photo, and then the whole wedding party walks around the castle for more photos.

The Ceremony

The ceremony is both beautiful and funny. The bride walks down the isle in a flowing wedding dress to meet her waiting groom. The pastor talks about their life between two countries, how they met, how they dated and how they got to be standing in front of everyone here. After the confession of love and the kiss, the bride and groom update their Facebook relationship status from the alter.

Beautiful and funny.

The ceremony was broadcast over the internet, for all of our immediate family, who could not make it to America. At 2 o’clock in the morning, sitting under heavy covers they watched a wedding ceremony on the other side of the world.

We moved right onto the photos after the ceremony, in accordance with the Wedding Time Schedule. The photos were done in an ordered fashion, we did what we were told and they were over with no hassles. Then it was on to the reception.

Music. Dancing. There was plenty of food and lots of talk. We celebrated the bride and the groom. We talked to new extended family and friends and tried to soak in the culture of weddings in the US of A.

I assume that because of the plethora of embarrassing tales from their younger lives, the speeches from the Matron of Honour and the Best Man took place at a small family gathering last night. Today the Father of the Bride, the Father of the Groom, the Bride and the Groom each gave their speeches.

Between the speeches and goodbye circle, while sitting back watching the MC pass the microphone, I realised that it would be the last time I saw Thomas and Sarah for a long time. I made my brain slow down and repeat, “This is the last time, for a long time, that I will see Thomas and Sarah.”

Since the first invitation to be a member of the wedding party, traveling 16,000kms overseas, and standing beside Thomas as he was married, I had not thought about the bittersweet departure. After all of the things that had happened, everything we had talked about, at the finish of the reception I didn’t know how long it would be before I saw my brother again. I had never had to consider that before.

The reception ended soon after the speeches and dancing, good things cannot go on forever. The Bride and Groom said goodbye and then departed, they did have a long way to drive to find the coast for a week away.

Lifting and Lilting

It felt like a the pressure of the wedding had been lifted, but there was a sadness in the empty place. The reason for traveling overseas had finished, we had come all this way to have it finish so soon. Months of build up and planning, all done a week after we landed in America.

There was something to look forward to. Left over food and drinks back at the house of our new extended American family. Southern food and southern hospitality.

Greensboro - North Carolina

A dull roar of traffic is faint and distant. Birds chirp and sing in the wonderful spring sky, hiding in the dull tree branches. Flowers have blossomed in the trees, the tiny yellow buds pop open to get as much of the sun as they can.

We have been in Greensboro for a few days, tackling jet lag and talking to family, extended family and American friends. It has been fun. Today different groups went in different directions and I am by myself, walking to the mall.

A mailman with a broad smile carries his satchel back to the small US Mail truck. A man, with his light southern accent says "Well, it's good to see you again." Everyone seems polite in these parts.

Squirrels bounds over the grass. Their light feet catching my attention as they scurry away from me as I walk down the street. They look cute, that is an illusion, small cute animals that appear everywhere usually are pests.

It is 80 degrees out today. If you wanted to paint a picture of spring in Greensboro, this is it. It is beautiful.

Today I am walking the streets to find a store. I started in a small neighbourhood, away from the traffic and busy roads. Google Maps helping me set a path towards my destination, four miles away. The cars get louder as I find my way to the main roads.

I have trouble crossing the roads. There are lines on the street for pedestrians, but not many lights to signal me to cross safely. I can’t remember which way the cars are coming from and end up running to get out of the way of turning vehicles as they make unexpected turns.

After finding the store I try to find a snack at Ben and Jerry’s. I can’t make a decision and feel uncomfortable with standing around, so I ask for a bottle of water. It seems that Australian “water” is pronounced differently, so I repeat myself. The attendant looks at me and questions, “Do you mean Warder?”. I nod.

Language differences are subtle in these parts, but fun to navigate. My accent stands out I catch myself feeling like a stupid Australian when I speak in public. But I like that, I do enjoy being different especially with everyday language. Still, no-one has asked where I am from, I want to tell a story so I want someone to ask.

From the mall I walk Downtown to find a coffee shop. The sun is wonderful, all the talk we had about ice storms and freezing cold has been turned on it’s head. I am walking and it is beautiful.

I walk down the main street of the town of Greensboro, the buildings have grown tall. The streets are busy with cars. I check the map to ensure I am heading in the right direction. Without too much time passing, walking past some chain-food places, I arrive at the coffee shop where I can do some work.

More Timezones than we can Handle

It is 12:18 pm, just after midday your time. It is 20:18 our time. We are sitting in an American Airlines airplane making our last transfer on the third aircraft of the day. It has been a very long day.

I awoke at 5:15am, after a restless sleep, never feeling that I was actually sleeping. I got up and put on my clothes layed out the night before. Levi and Nathanael woke up to their alarms to say goodbye, we hugged in the dark and I left with my backpack.

Purdey and Phil were waiting with Lottie. We continued driving in towards Geelong and picked up grandma, who made a wise-crack about us being 5 minutes late. As it turns out we got 5 minutes down the road and she remembered that he coat was hanging on the door, so we turned around and drove back to pick it up.

The road to Melbourne airport had little traffic and made the way up easier. We found a park in short term parking and made our way into the terminal to wait for Roger to arrive.

Check in. Five travellers. Lots of bags. Everything was checked and ready with little hassle.

Plane flights are exciting because of the destination. The journey, the plane flight, is as boring as you choose it to be. I have not travelled across this many timezones before and do not know what to expect. Will I feel tired or sick?

Tomorrow will be a single 24 hour period, in the same Timezone. I am looking forward to that.

Beginning. Without the Ones I Love

I cannot explain the mixed emotions I am feeling right now. Tomorrow morning, at 5:30am I leave my house for almost four weeks. It is a planned journey to be in a wedding party for my brother Thomas. He and his wife-to-be are exchanging vowels in North Carolina and I was asked to be in the wedding party - a duty that will be shared with my brother Roger. We planned a trip over there to see some sights and to be where we need to be.

But I am sad.

I am sitting on a bean bag, in the little boys room, writing. I feel like this will be a trip in a foreign country, without my favourite people.

I looked back over the photos in my iPhoto albums and all of them have my family. Photos of the boys growing up, photos of them as babies. This will be the longest I have been away from them since three years into our marriage, when I went to Singapore, and a lot has changed since then.

I am not feeling excited. I am not feeling elated. I am feeling sad. I am leaving behind my family. I leave behind those who have supported me, who talk to me, who share life with me.

How will it go? I am unsure. I am looking forward to it and dreading it at the same time.

Scenic Railway to Kuranda

Dear Adventurous Reader,

An old railway runs from Cairns up into the mountains beyond. A railway constructed by the labor of many men, facing hardship and death everyday. Today we took the easy path and paid money for the train ride to the small town of Kuranda.

We love trains and railways. All of us like old railways with a story to tell, especially one of hard work, of toil and men of the past shaping a peaceful path through a treacherous mountain. Before the steam engine could make the journey, men went before to forge the path. Pick axes and dynamite used to blast and hack their way through the difficult terrain.

Today engineering is a different feat, we have made it easier for ourselves. In the days of old paths were created on the sweat and shoulders of people who would dare to prove what seemed impassable was not.

There are 15 tunnels hewn from the mountain side, the longest 490 meters. There are many bridges spanning gaps small to large. One bridge is built on one of the two switch backs where you can see the engines pulling up front and the last carriage following behind.

The train slows down on one switchback as it passes a large waterfall. People move from one side of the train to the other, making sure to take a photo or to store an image in their mind. The rain from a few nights ago not going to waste with the magnificent scenery.

The Kuranda Scenic Railway has a video that displays photos at opportune story moments, telling us the tale of the railway's creation. It is neither loud or annoying, often times the children's excited voices drown out the words it speaks to us. It tells tales of wonder and explains magnificent views.

Tourist Town in the Mountains

We pull into Kuranda. The station is surrounded by wonderful green trees and large flowers. There are some steps leading toward the town which we follow.

Kuranda reminds us if Sorento, across the bay from where we live. The prices at the shops also remind is of Sorento. The town seems to run on the tourist dollars that arrive, there are many indigenous, new-age and specialty stores along the street, all catering to the whim of someone looking for a bargain or for a memory.

We walked into the rock candy store, just standing inside that place made your teeth start to decay. There were so many colours and flavours of rock candy to choose from, with a video to demonstrate how it was made. We put that on the list of places to visit on the journey back towards the train.

We ate a cheap lunch of Nutella on bread. We took a brief stroll though the rainforest before rushing back towards the train for the ride home. We spent more time sitting on the train than wandering the streets of Kuranda, although if we had more time we would have walked the rainforest instead of finding shops to take our money.

Down Again

Back down the mountain, making the slow trip with the train again. The same video played but reversed the explanation points. The boys hopped between seats trying to find the best view as the train slowed at important sections, once again. Adeline had the afternoon sleep she had been fighting since lunch.

Kuranda Scenic Railway was a slow ride through some beautiful scenery. We loved the idea of seeing that part of the world by train, in old style carriages, going slowly up the mountain to see the views of Cairns and the forests below.