Coach transportion seems like a false economy to me. What with Virgin, Jetstar and Tiger offering fares from ADL to MLB for $1.50 and all. But strangely, I have an affinity for the bus. Perhaps not for interstate trips--done it once, never again. But for trips to the country, through sprawling picture-postcard landscapes, it's my preferred mode of transport. I like the process of stowing my luggage below, gathering my things--my water bottle, book and headphones--for the so-many-hour journey. I like sitting up high and looking at all that is below. I like the sparse commentary that isn't about the weather in our destination or the expected disembarkment time. I like the terminuses where one boards: a realm of movement, beginnings and ends, joy and sorrow. Everyone seems to have a rich story at bus depots, more so than at airports--one could be forgiven for thinking of them as the sphere of the elite. There seems to be a lot of poverty--hence the false economy reference--and an abundance of eccentricity but that's what makes the world rich, no? Imagine Kings Cross sterile and full of archetypical apartment blocks. Yuck.
The Adelaide Central Bus Station is rightfully modern. A place of hellos and goodbyes. A place of delight and regret. A place where movement begins and ends and begins again. It facilitates all this much more pleasingly than in the old days: the previous terminal depressing, I found. The Adelaide Central Bus Station is a place I like to begin my journeys to the countryside. read more