UPDATED: Turning Sydney's Boring New Driverless Train Line Into A Dangerous, Exciting Pub Crawl

ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact

Sydney has lengthened their train that drives itself. A truly Godless invention for a Godless people. So I have lengthened the original pub crawl and updated some venues. Good luck.

Naturally, the sensible thing to do with this enormous piece of public infrastructure is use it to visit pubs between Bankstown and Rouse Hill. Twenty-two of them, finishing at The Mean Fiddler after a day spent discovering how many different tasteless public houses Sydney can squeeze around a dark cave full of pension harvesters.

There are rules. Pubs only. Most are within 250 metres of a station, with a few walks stretching towards 500 metres. Anything requiring a death march through some feckless inner-our-outer western hole becomes a skip stop. The Fiddler, once touted as the second-most violent acre in The Hills behind Parklea Correctional Centre, gets a special exemption because every journey needs a destination.

I completed this journey yesterday, on my own. It's very doable, not very enjoyable mind you, but I think it was a worthwhile thing to do in the end. You don't really get to see the nice parts of Sydney. It's not like going out in The Rocks or enjoying a cold beer at the beach. No, this is more like Narrow Road to the Deep North where you are Dorrigo Evans and alcohol is Major Nakamura. And as Winsto Churchill once said, ”If you are going through hell, keep going.”

1. South Terrace Hotel. Bankstown.

A ten in the morning straddles the line between degeneracy and gentlemanly. I was there as the doors were unlocked and I shuffled in with some others, more eager to feed Pelican Pete their paycheque than I was. I went straight to the bar and asked for a Tooheys New, a local beer to Western Sydney as I'm lead to believe. It tasted like beer-flavoured milk. Smooth and heavy.

The South Terrace is close to the station, making it a convenient meeting point for the people who thought you were joking. My friends and colleagues assumed I was. Establish the route now, while everybody still understands what a route is. Anyone announcing that they know a better place around the corner should be reminded that this is not supposed to be fun or easy. Anything worth doing is neither of those.

2. Mirage Hotel. Punchbowl.

One station down and the voyage already has momentum. You have successfully used a multibillion-dollar transport system to move between two pubs. Somewhere, John Bradfield is smiling. I've only really heard about Punchbowl from the news so it was good to put a face to a name. I had another Toohey's New and had my first slip up, I said to the bartender 'Tusind tak!' which is Danish for 'a thousand thanks' and he pulled me up on it, and I had to explain it, and that only made things worse.

The Mirage is another short walk from the station. Keep this stop tidy. There is a lot of Sydney ahead, most of it ugly and unlike the Sydney you know, and almost all of it believes it deserves its own lengthy discussion about Chris Minns filling it with new apartments and new Australians.

3. Wiley Park Hotel. Wiley Park.

The heavy Tooheys branding had me thinking this was similar to what the Breakfast Creek is to the XXXX Brewery. I was a fool to believe that. This is a dark place full of dark humans. Everyone was nice though. Being early to the pub might suggest a problem in other circumstances. But not around here, where they are just a legal requirement to have a gaming multiplex. You might even be pissed enough to do a $5 bomb in Big Red by this point. I know I was.

Wiley Park Hotel sits on King Georges Road, a road similar to Brisbane's
Wynnum Road. Except Wynnum Road goes somewhere nice, KGR goes to Blakehurst (shithole) Make your way across properly, visit the pub and return to the station. Resist the urge to sightsee.

4. Lakemba Hotel. Lakemba.

Lakemba introduces the first substantial walk. Roughly 400 to 450 metres. The Daily Telegraph once labelled this place the 'last Anglo hold out' in the suburb. Don't they make Tooheys in Lidcombe? That's just down the road, right? Or up it?

Head along Haldon Street to the Lakemba Hotel. Consider the walk a brief cultural excursion into the world outside licensed premises. Smoke a cigarette on the footpath. Yell at someone. There are shops out here that sell things you don't really find anywhere else. People just walking around. It looks like a UN Meeting, if it was in an RSL.

While I was in there, a few men of Middle Eastern appearance came into use the ATM. They starred longingly at the Tooheys New tap. I wouldn't have said anything if they had a sharp one, we've all been there. Apparently, you can stay the night there. By this point, I was certainly tempted.

5. Belmore Hotel. Belmore.

Just a short walk from the station. Mercifully. It's just up from where the Bulldogs play on occasion. You get such a sense of Sydney's girth here. Fuck this place is big.

Hopefully by now, someone will have appointed themselves the group’s transport minister. Let them have it. There are worse things a person can do with a Saturday than stand near a pub door saying, "We should probably start heading back" and "We are running late, no more gambling!"

Doing this on your own is like climbing Everest without supplementary oxygen. No sherpas, no base camp. Nobody is coming to save you.

6. Oasis on Beamish. Campsie.

Oasis on Beamish sounds like something a property developer would describe as "resort-style living just 15 mins from the airport". Fortunately, it is just a pub.

I actually hammered the Beamish in Ireland last week. It's like Guinness but not owned by some hedge fund. It's not as good as Guinness but at least you're keeping tyres on some cuntoid's BMW in Kerry or wherever the fuck they make it. Sorry, where were we.

It is also close to the station, which is the sort of convenience that matters. Drop into the front bar and take stock of the expedition. You have made six stops before lunch. It’s an impressive life achievement, even if all your friends have fucked their lives up with kids, marriages and mortgages. They're at 11am soccer in some hole like Lane Cove, you are six schooners deep in Campsie. Maybe time for a packet of chips. The Chicken Twisties are good here.

7. Canterbury Hotel. Canterbury.

Canterbury is the last stop before the first drinks break. So admire this stunning example of Art Deco architecture and steel yourself for the afternoon ahead. I thought the building was pretty but the font choice is horrendous. One more Tooheys New and outside for a bit of fresh air beside Canterbury Road.

After you see the bottom of your glass, get back on the Metro and stay there through Hurlstone Park and Dulwich Hill. Their longer pub walks have been rejected by the committee. The committee is time, which waits for nobody.

Skipping a station is not failure. It is how this remains doable, we still have a lot to do between now and the Mean Fiddler. And you're not missing much.

8. The Montague Hotel. Marrickville.

Lunch. Get one of those pork rolls. Or if you are one of our Muslim or Jewish brothercousins, there is a chicken alternative. I had the chicken alternative because fuck it, it's Sunday.

Walk up Illawarra Road to The Montague and allow about 40 minutes. It's about as good as it gets in Marrack-a-ville. You might even see Albo and get a selfie with him. But anyone who reckons eating will "slow us down" can explain how much time the group will save later when they need to be collected from a station by a disappointed partner/parent/Uber driver.

Marrickville allows for some pensive introspection. Sit down, eat something and briefly discuss a subject other than how many pubs remain.

9. General Gordon Hotel. Sydenham.

The General Gordon is opposite the station, none are closer to one on this ride to hell.

After the walk and lunch in Marrickville, this stop requires very little negotiation. Get off the train. Locate the substantial pub nearby. Enter it. For a brief moment, Sydney is straightforward. This pub, like many before it, mysteriously burned down a few years ago. It could've got turned into more human pigeon holes for entry-level management consultants, instead it was saved and is still enjoyed by the light industrial workers around it. It still has the soul of a Gold Coast real estate agent, however.

Enjoy that feeling of getting back on the horse. This is a loosening delivery outside off that gets left alone. We are leaving the suburbs behind now. Good riddance. It's time for battle.

10. Abbotts Hotel. Waterloo.

Waterloo has acquired a shiny Metro station and in return, they had to give up some housing commission flats that the government promises to rebuild (they won't and they will probably end up in Mount Druitt) but the Abbotts was spared.

They were telling me that someone down the road got stabbed in the tummy just a few days ago, outside the corner shop. Pretty strong cup of tea for a desert mouse like me. This place once banned moustaches and man buns. I didn't think you could deny service to a bloke just because he bowls from the Paddington End anymore. Maybe you can in Waterloo.

Head inside and appreciate what Sydney used to look like before they ruined it with property speculation and avocado toast.

11. Eternity. Central.

You might not think this bar is much just by looking at it, and you would be right. It's an airport bar without the charm of being in an airport. When you leave to get on a train at Central, you're going nowhere quickly. I recall a few years ago, I got a sleeper back to Brisbane with some colleagues, on a whim, and we got so unbelievably carried away in Eternity that they cut us off. So we poured into the XPT, put our bags down inside. Retrieved the red wine from my briefcase and enjoyed some of that.

At the first stop, I think it was Strathfield, I heard a loud bang against the wall of my compartment. I didn't think much of it as I was dealing with 35 units of alcohol and no dinner. I was steeling myself to journey to the buffet cart to get something to eat but wasn't sure if I was able to walk when the train was moving. Anyway, as it turns out, this loud bang was Clancy's nude, limp body being thrown from the top bunk as we pulled into the station.

Eternity is on the Grand Concourse, which I guess is pretty grand if you're from Dubbo. So just get the lifts all the way up to the top from the Metro and you're pretty much there.

12. Criterion Hotel. Gadigal.

Christ alive, I've seen many types of commuter in Sydney but never have I eyeballed the bendy bus people.

This pub is full of people going to make believe places like Gladesville and Kellyville. Watching the buses pull up with their final destination on the front. Can you imagine getting a bus to Chiswick? Where the fuck is that? But inside this pub, there were men wearing lanyards, satchel on the hip, just hammering schooners for young and old. Hammering them. Then when a bus would pull in, they'd hammer their last and get on. So strange. I can't think of anything worse than drinking 5 schooners in 20 minutes then getting on a bus for an hour. You'd have to bring a piss bottle with you.

I had a Guinness here because I thought it'd be like cracking an egg in a broken radiator. It was not.

13. The Grand Hotel. Martin Place.

Martin Place is surrounded by equally grim venues except for this one. Follow the signs toward Hunter Street and treat yourself to a nice venue. This isn't all about going to places with bad Feng Shui. Although this pub has bad Feng Shui, but it's easy on the eyes and the degenerates in there are harmless, unlike the other places where they are harmful.

Escape to the Grand’s traditional ground-floor bar on Hunter Street. It provides a useful change of setting before the harbour crossing, and an opportunity to sit somewhere without being asked whether you have considered refinancing.

14. Hotel Palisade. Barangaroo.

This one is a little walk but it's kind of welcome, I guess. It's good to get the bloody going a bit. But don't dawdle, we have more piss to consume later and in lesser venues.

For this trip, head to the Palisade’s ground-floor Public House. You can drink on the street like you're in a real city. The short approach includes stairs so if you are in a wheelchair, God help you. I think there's a lift somewhere, though.

There will be other things nearby trying to attract your attention. Do not give up and bum around The Rocks like some fat cruise ship yank waiting to have his camera yoinked. Resist. You are going to North Sydney, which is a sentence nobody should have to write on a weekend.

15. Rag & Famish Hotel. Victoria Cross.

Under the harbour you go, emerging in North Sydney. One of the great holes of Australia. This part of the country is irredeemable in my view so lets get it done. Much like the namesake of this station. Victoria Cross. Awarded to blokes who have well and truly gotten it done. It was at this moment I brought up a picture of BRS on my phone and cheers'd the screen. We are both in the thick of it right now.

The Rag & Famish supplies a welcome pub stop a short walk from Victoria Cross. Go inside, settle briefly and appreciate a building whose purpose is immediately clear. Power-drinking.

16. Crows Nest Hotel. Crows Nest.

The sun was all the way down by now and the business end was beginning to whip. The Crows Nest Hotel, or the Crowie as the sucked mango seed looking fuck behind the bar kept referring to it as, is an interesting place. Like many of the pubs in the city, I feel that pubs in North Sydney are for people who don't live there.

I saw a man in a puffer vest do the robot on a dance floor at 6:30pm. He then quite obviously dropped his guts and ruined any chance he'd ever have of impressing any female coworkers. In the kitchen, a man went to swap his buzzer for a pizza. Which the guy dropped, face down on the carpet. He picked it up, brushed it off, and kept walking to his table. Where his unsuspecting coworkers hooked in. Fuck this place and the people in it, too. My blood is too thick for North Sydney.

Walk over from the Metro and visit the main bar. If there's another bar, I don't want to know about it. Get in and get out.

17. Orchard Hotel. Chatswood.

In keeping with the theme of North Sydney's conga line of misery, The Orchard is close to the station. To spice things up, I had a Hahn Super Dry and I went and drank it out in the mall beside the pub, just to see if anyone would stop me. Nobody did. I took my glass back and it was back on the magic slug.

Keep the visit brief, then return to the Metro and stay aboard through North Ryde. There's nothing at North Ryde for nobody. The Governor is easier to reach from Macquarie Park and there is no prize for approaching a pub from its least convenient station.

If anyone objects, let them race you from North Ryde.

18. The Governor Hotel. Macquarie Park.

Private hospital or pub? Every building looks the same out here. Macquarie Park is an excellent place to visit if you have ever wondered where your employer keeps its other office. This is where I plan to send Wendell one day.

The Governor gives you a reason to be here voluntarily. It sits at the outer edge of our walking allowance. Allow around 35 minutes. This might also be the last chance for dinner if you didn't get something in Chatswood, which you probably should have. Anyway, the Hahn Premium Light I had here expired in 2017 but it was very cold so can't complain.

Afterwards, stay aboard through Macquarie University. This is a pubs-only expedition and a restaurant bar does not become a pub because the group is getting tired. There could be a uni bar there but who knows, the only person I know who went there is Raygun.

19. Epping Hotel. Epping.

Epping brings you back to a pub close to the station. And a pub that lets you know we are back in the suburbs now. The high-powered mutants you saw in the city are gone. You can relax. I did relax here. I bought a packet of Peter Stuyvesants on the company card and enjoyed one while I marvelled at the lift out the front, which is in a glass box so you can see everything move. Here, I had a Coopers because they support the Bible Society and if anyone was going to help me make it to the Mean Fiddler, it was the big man upstairs.

Visit the Epping Hotel, then get back on the train. Cherrybrook is a skip stop. There is no need to turn the evening into an Mawson-esque expedition wandering through residential streets saying, ”It looked closer on the map.”

20. Hillside Hotel. Castle Hill.

You have reached Castle Hill. It's a long way from Bankstown. I actually didn't mind this place, pretty quiet. Nobody gave a fuss about anything. People just enjoying a meal. People talking in groups. Then there was me. Christ, I've become that person.

The Hillside is close to the station. Call into the public bar and just try to stay awake at this point. Back on the Metro, skip Hills Showground. The longer tavern detour has not become shorter because it is dark.

21. Mullane’s Hotel. Norwest.

It might not look like it but yes, it's a pub. Not the headquarters for a payroll software company.

Your destination is Mullane’s ground-floor Public Bar. I had 20 schooners and a pot of cider onboard by this point. Moral was low but the prospect of it being over soon was enough to make short work of this premises. This is the penultimate stop, so resist the temptation to conduct a full debrief. There will be time to decide which pub was best after you have actually visited the last one.

Return to the Metro and stay aboard through Bella Vista and Kellyville. Rouse Hill is next. The finish is finally within walking distance, although naturally it is the longest walk.

22. The Fiddler. Rouse Hill.

The last ride. Not because we are making any claims about it being over, but because you have spent nearly fourteen hours getting here and must now walk another 750 metres. They dropped the 'Mean' from the name because they were concerned it was making people mean to each other, which they were.

Leave the Metro at Rouse Hill and head to The Mean. Tallawong can continue existing without you. The train goes there; this crawl does not. There's nothing at Tallawong besides a carpark. If you want to shotgun a warm can of New there at the end, go for it. I won't be there.

Once inside, find somewhere to sit and let the day catch up. I had a Tooheys New. No, this is not sponsored by Tooheys New. It's an OK beer but not for me, I'm only drinking it because it's local.

Twenty-two pubs. Eight skipped stations. One pork chicken roll. About an hour all up of escalator time. The driverless train has performed its duties. It's time for a car with a human piloting it to take you home.

More to come.