It’s already an Aussie legend – now The Ghan offers premium pampering in what could be the world’s most exclusive rail journey. By Kris Ashton

Horrid Sydney weather delays an already late flight to Darwin and it’s 1am when my fiancé Kellie and I shamble into our room at SkyCity Casino, sandy-eyed and weary.

When I open the shutters five hours later I’m astonished to see a lush golf green and a pristine beach, both invisible in last night’s darkness. Not far away is one of the most gorgeous pools I have ever laid eyes on. We have a train to catch, but we vow to come back here.

Just yesterday I was on my way to the office rugged up in a jumper and jacket. Now, our group of 18 boards a shuttle bus wearing shorts and T-shirts. Traffic on the roads proves next to non-existent. I have time to wonder if a sea change chez Ashton might be in order before we pull up at the railway station and get our first glimpse of The Ghan.

Its red locomotive stands proud and powerful beside the platform. Behind it, a seemingly endless procession of silver carriages trails away toward the horizon. The train lives up to its iconic status – and the addition of a new Platinum Service has redoubled its refinement.

Refurbished carriages are redolent with the Tasmanian myrtle wood used throughout. Kellie and I are shown to our room, which features an electronic lock that opens with a swipe card. Scones with jam and cream and two glasses of champagne await us. We sit on our spacious two-seater lounge and partake in the first of many indulgences to come.

While we’re waiting to depart, we explore our room. As well as a coffee table and two ottomans, there is a separate en suite with a shower, sink and toilet. Behind the lounge is a fold-down, queen-size bed with a mattress so comfortable it could be in a fairytale.

As The Ghan chugs away from the station, we discover our room’s best feature: an enormous picture window. It’s like a state-of-the-art LCD television, except it has no ads, no bad language and we never once see Paris Hilton. During the next 50 hours it will broadcast just about every landscape Australia has to offer, from treeless red deserts to sweeping humpbacked ranges to pastoral land so lush and verdant it strains your eyes.

At 11am we pull up in Katherine and alight. It’s all of the forecast 35ºC and then some, and I can feel my pasty winter-white skin drinking in the vitamin D. We take a charter bus through the Katherine township and along its almost empty main street, wedge-tailed eagles circling overhead as if caught in a willy-willy.

We arrive at Katherine Gorge and board a boat where we’re greeted by our jocular captain and guide, Russell. His people, the Jawoyn, are the traditional owners of the gorge. Nearby, some people are bathing in the river. Russell quips that rangers patrol the waterway and they’ve only caught a couple of saltwater crocodiles in the past 15 years. Or at least we think it’s a quip, until we pass our first croc trap.

As we proceed along the river, my mind retrieves everything about Katherine Gorge I’ve ever read, seen or watched. None of it comes close to capturing the true essence, the spiritual resonance in this place. Afterwards, I try to relate my feelings to my fellow trekkers and can’t find the words. Here’s what I wanted to say: As we slid along unspoiled waters beneath a perfect azure sky and disembarked on a small sandy beach to observe millennia-old Aboriginal artwork on towering stone cliffs, it was as though I’d found a part of my Australian identity I didn’t know was missing.

That night, we Platinum passengers convene in the lavish Queen Adelaide Restaurant car. As the darkened Territory streaks by, we rediscover the wonderful art of conversation. We also learn The Ghan’s chef is a gastronomic genius, turning out five-star grub from a kitchen as big as your average bathroom. This feat later earns him a spontaneous round of applause.

We then move on to the Outback Explorer Lounge to see out the evening. Its warm and inviting décor is every bit as opulent as the dining car and the perfect setting in which to get to know our travelling companions.

Kellie and I return to our room to find our bed prepared and nightcaps (the alcoholic kind) waiting for us. We drift off to The Ghan’s gentle rocking as it hurtles south.

We wake to a knock at the door. One of our genial hosts enters with coffee and tea on a tea tray. If there’s anything more relaxing than sitting up in bed with a cuppa and watching an ever-changing landscape glide by your window… well, it probably involves a strong sedative.

It’s late morning when we roll into Alice Springs. The concept many Aussies have of the Alice – an overgrown country town – is no longer true. It’s verging on a city now, comparable in size to Bathurst, albeit less suburban. Kellie and I are lucky enough to fly over it in a helicopter. At 3500ft Alice Springs starts to look small again, a civilised splat on an epic canvas of red earth and geological monoliths.

That night we’re dining with a German journalist, Barbara, and her English partner Tim. As I wash down a kangaroo steak with fine red wine, Tim helps put our experience in perspective. “I’ve travelled across Europe and Asia on trains, sometimes in economy, sometimes in first class. This is the absolute apogee in train travel,” he says. He recommends we walk through to the Gold and Red class carriages so we really appreciate what we have.

We do as he suggests, and he’s right. By the time we get to the front of the train, where passengers don’t have a bed (let alone a queen-sized one), I feel like royalty – a king visiting a neighbouring third-world nation. We return to our cabin and I look anew at our spacious seats, our panoramic window and the 24-hour room service button. Calling this Platinum Class is no exaggeration.

The Ghan veers south-east at Tarcoola, heading for Port Augusta and on to Adelaide. Our window shows off South Australia’s farmland to its fullest advantage: blankets of impossibly green hills with loud yellow canola fields stitched in for contrast. When houses announce Adelaide’s outskirts, we check our camera and see we have taken more than 300 photos in three days.

Our journey ends at Adelaide Parklands station and when we detrain it’s like emerging from a luxurious bubble.

We farewell fellow passengers and The Ghan’s staff as if they were old friends.

Adelaide’s a beautiful city, but as we pass through it on our way to the airport we can’t help being a little glum. Compared to a premier rail cruise through Australia’s red heart, regular travel pales to the pedestrian.

Open Road November/December 2008