Time Share - oh yeah!

Still on the subject of hard sell, years ago I was suckered into a attending a time share 'presentation'. I got a random phone call to say a friend had entered me into a draw to win a new car and all I needed to do was come along - with my partner - to the presentation.

The sellers should have cottoned-on quicker. Here's a snippet of the call:

'Who entered me?'
'We don't know. A form was filled in at the airport and deposited into the box.'
'Okay... but I want to see it when I get there so I can see who's handwriting it might be.'
'Sure. Now when can we book you in?'

Trust me. There never was a form.

We arrived at the location - a large office space housing an example of the style of apartments in Yarrawonga that you'd be buying into, an audio visual of how amazing the destination was (it wasn't - ithe area is actually prone to flooding and extreme storms) and an area of desks for one-on-one consultations. There was a big display board covered with photos of happy, smiling buyers and I kid you not, they all looked to have some kind of intellectual, social or economic disability. It made me angry just looking at it. I cannot stand predatory selling.

We were assigned a 'seller' and off we went, starting with a quick survey on how much we spent on accommodation on our last holiday. It was trekking in Nepal and about $7 a night each - not the answer they were hoping for - still, she soldiered on.

Her, armed with a chart to illustrate: 'Did you know that in winter, Yarrawonga gets more hours of sunshine than the Gold Coast?'
Me: 'Yes, but what's the average temperature? I can't imagine it's warm.'
See chart below - the maximum is less that 15C - hardly ideal for all the water sports they promised!

And...
Her: 'If the dates of your 2 week allocation don't suit, you can swap or rent it out, assuming someone wants those 2 weeks.'
Me: 'Yes, good point! That reminds me, what is your occupancy rate in July?'
Her: 'I think I need to get my supervisor...'
Me: 'Good idea!'

It wasn't her fault she'd been drinking from the Kool-Aid.

As Geoff and I were biding our time, watching the animated discussion going on in the glassed-in office between our sales person and her supervisor, I glanced around the other other desks - and spied the number $45,000 written on a note pad between the salesperson and the hapless couple opposite. Perfect! Now I had all the info I needed. And here comes the supervisor for a second crack....

After him having a pathetic attempt to win me over and me having none of it - just complaining bitterly about their selling tactics and getting us here to waste time, it did become a little heated.
Me: 'Seriously, if I stuck $45,000 in the bank at 5%, that's well over $2,000 a year towards two-weeks accommodation somewhere a lot fancier than Yarrawonga! It's ridiculous. We could go to Hawaii for that.'
(Just a reminder this was a long time ago when prices were low and interest was high.)
Him, going very red in the face and increasing to a yell: 'Where did you get that number? Did she tell you that number? Where did you get it?'
Me: 'I just made it up. It's just a guess.'
Him: 'I want to know where you got that number.'
Me (equally forcefully): 'I told you, I made it up.'
I got a whiff of victory as he pushed back his chair.

Him: 'Alright, you're obviously not interested. '
Me: 'What about my chance to win the car?'
This was killing him.

We were taken back to reception and asked to select a key from a small box of about 10.
Me: 'So is the winning key actually in here? Do I have the same chance as everyone else to win? According to the Bingo and Lotteries Permit Board.... blah blah blah'
Him: 'Just take a key...'
We were ushered down to the basement car park where he managed not to murder me - probably because Geoff was there! - where a sad little white car covered in flashing Christmas lights sat, bound in plastic-tubed chains held together by a padlock that my key didn't fit. Who'd have thought?

On reflection, I'm quite sure I did have the same chance as everyone else to win - none!

The Train

Yes, where have I been....

Actually, on holiday as you know with crap weather, but we are now home.

One of the anticipated highlights was the trip across the Nullarbor on the Indian Pacific train. By comparison to our train travel in Vietnam and Egypt, this was truly civilized. There were clean sheets, en suites and even..... toilet paper. Wow. You might recall after two consecutive nights on the trains in Vietnam, enthusiasm for train travel was waning, so it was quite remarkable that I managed to convince the crew to get on another one. Oh that's right, I didn't ask them, I just booked it.

We arrived at the train station in Perth and it was like pensioner's day at the pokies. I'd joked that Geoff and I would drag down the average age by 20 years - but it was true. It was us, two other families and 200 people aged over 70.  'Don't think it'll be rowdy' I quipped on FB. 'Just wait til bingo!" responded my friend Deb. But there was no bingo.

Having boarded the train just before noon, we sorted out our cabins and set off for the lounge and dining car. And that's where we found everyone - in the bar - and drinks are included! And it's not the cheap stuff either - I kicked off with a glass of Vasse Felix bubbles and pretty much took it from there. We played Scrabble, Uno, dominoes and Connect Four. (Geoff asked what the point of that game was. Elle and I thought it was pretty apparent, but apparently not.) We read books, napped, ate and drank - and then did it all again.

The train pulled in to Kalgoorlie about 10pm and those of us who'd stayed up late (many of the oldies had indeed gone to bed) piled onto buses for a town tour - which was surprisingly good - or maybe it was that I was kinda relaxed on the Vasse Felix! We saw the gold mine that runs 24/7 and climbed into one of the huge trucks they use to transport the dirt to the extraction plant. And of course we had a quick look at Hay Street where the ladies of the night still run a reasonable trade, despite the population shift away from being mostly blokes and at least one brothel now being a 'romantic' bed and breakfast.

Indeed, for a town that's less than 30,000 strong, 26 pubs, many bragging 'skimpies' (girls clad in not much), does seem a tad excessive and not quite as 'family' as they now like to think they are.

The next day was again filled with eating and drinking and views of the desert. Here's a picture.

And here's another.

And one with a filter.

Get the picture?

In fact, the name Nullarbor is Latin (not aboriginal as sometimes thought) and very obvious. 'Null' as in none/nothing and 'arbor' as in trees (as in arborists the tree doctors or arboreal animals, meaning tree-dwelling).

Just before (or after - I can't remember!) pre-lunch drinks on day two, we pulled into Cook, a tiny town just inside the South Australian border. I actually did this same train journey in reverse when I was about 13 and Cook was a highlight. The kids from the school were so excited to see people from the train. But these days, the school is closed, the pool is filled with dirt, the tennis courts are decaying. the jails are empty and the population is a staggeringly tiny four.

At one stage, Cook boasted a hospital which they viewed as their salvation as the privatisation of the rail system threatened the town's continuance. And someone should have been in advertising!

Back on the train for a bite of lunch and a glass of very lovely red (or two) before yet another nap. Then it was time for pre-dinner drinks and dinner and bed. It was extremely relaxing! 

The train arrived in Adelaide at just after 7am where we disembarked for a weekend of more wineries and touring.