Don your sunglasses, shorts and cameras round the neck, exhausted expressions and sunburn optional. It's time to play 'pretend I'm a tourist in my own city'.
Parramatta Rivercat. One of those things I'd never got around to. Don't think of Parramatta as a river kind of destination. Hopped on the 'Marjorie Jackson' (the specially designed rivercats are all named after female athletes) for a trip down river. Or up river. I don't know. It's a terribly smooth ride, with barely a wobble when you cross another boat's wake, and a lovely way to see parts of the harbour I never get to. If you can ignore the 'Life Jackets under the seat' signs that are EVERYWHERE. This cat had onboard wifi and was comfier than it looked.
We drifted up/down river, and I got to shudder at some of the indescribably fugly foreshore architecture and play 'if I inherited the fortune of a benevolent millionaire which house would I buy.' (Victorian era, preferably with turret, or maybe art deco, smooth lines). There's all these little parks and wharves I had no idea were there, and although it was a bit of a stretch to imagine you're ferrying down the Seine, there's a point at which the highrises suddenly end, and it's nothing but mangroves. Feel free to indulge in Heart of Darkness heading to see Kurtz and my doom fantasies at that point.
The 50 minutes flew by, and we were deposited on the little wharf at Parramatta, handing over the cat to a troop of schoolkids dressed up like urchins in mobcaps and backpacks. Reading the plaques on the wharf, just imagine what it was like in colonial days, the first boat built to navigate up there was called 'The Lump' by the convicts, and the round trip could take a week.
The trip back I caught another Rivercat of older vintage, after hopping on a bus to Rydalmere as the tide was too low for the ferry to make it that far. There were no signs or anything that this was happening, so keep your eye on the busstop or call the info line. read more