Dulwich Grove

Surely there are fewer things of greater social utility to an inner urban environment than a disused freight line.  The benefits such a thing brings to the local community are broad indeed.  It provides a playground for children, a gathering spot for disaffected youth, and a discreet venue for gangland "disagreements".  Additionally it is a handy receptacle for refuse, dead pets, used needles and of course vomit when you stumble out of the pub at midnight and realise to your horror that you're not going to make it to the doorway of the bridal boutique just down the road.  Finally it helps to lower property values in the immediate area thus making inner city living that little bit more affordable.

Sadly it has been some years since my neighbourhood had such a vital community resource.  We used to have one but at some point the state government decided to build a light rail route on top of it.  Why?  I'm not entirely sure but I suspect it had something to do with being able to claim to have built a chunk of public transport infrastructure without actually having to do very much work.  Questions such as whether it actually went anywhere people wanted to go seem to have been somewhat secondary.  Nevertheless it has actually been a bit of a success.  Partially this is because the urban has sprawled a bit since the original freight line was constructed and partially because in a city as short of lateral public transport links as Sydney you could build a light rail pretty much anywhere and guarantee patronage.

In keeping with a threat I issued on this blog recently I have decided to hop on this light rail, get off at random stops and see what's there (that strangled hiss you hear is the will to live slowly escaping from my tech support).  I will continue to do this periodically until I get bored (likely), lazy (very likely) or find something better to do (statistically improbable).  Brimming with enthusiasm I contacted my Tasmanian correspondent and told her the exciting news.  To say that she was impressed would be an overstatement.  Still one aspect of it did please her.

"Well at least if you're buggering about with that you won't be pestering me for content when I'm supposed to be out bushwalking."

That strangled hiss you hear is my correspondent throttling a brown snake with her bare hands.

With that somewhat qualified endorsement ringing in my ears I set out on my journey stopping only for a coffee and a smiley face cookie at the cafe on the corner.  Dulwich Hill light rail station is about as close to Dulwich Hill heavy rail station as can be arranged without precipitating a terrible accident.  I padded down to the station and hopped on a waiting; tram? light train? generic rail vehicle?  It's an indication of how little thought was put into the light rail that services run every few minutes.  Planned services are generally much less reliable.  The journey to Dulwich Grove took about two minutes.

According to wikipedia a grove is "a small group of trees with minimal or no undergrowth".  The only part of that description that Dulwich Grove meets is the "minimal or no undergrowth" part.  Overgrowth is also minimal or no.  The light rail station itself is in a cutting.  I'm not fond of cuttings, they strike me as being lazy tunnels. It's as if the engineers got three quarters of the way through the job but couldn't be bothered putting the roof on. You wouldn't want them building your house.

If you want to enjoy the sights of Dulwich Grove the station is the best vantage point because you can't see much of them.  As you ascend the stairs towards ground level your field of view widens and your expectations plummet.  The stairs spit you out into an almost solid bank of carbon monoxide.  Somewhere in there is New Canterbury Road performing the vital function of taking everybody on it somewhere else as quickly as possible.  Grove propaganda notwithstanding the light rail station essentially dumps you on the edge of Dulwich Hill shops.  Since the freight line never intended to stop at Dulwich Hill the station is actually about five minutes walk away from the main shopping precinct allowing you to stroll past the various lower rent shops and suburban offices that hang around the fringes of such an area like a gypsy encampment outside a town.

They have made an effort with the main shopping area, there's a supermarket, restaurants and loads of nice outdoor cafes just in case anybody wants to cripple their lungs without going to the expense of buying cigarettes.  Here you can purchase your weekly groceries, sip a latte and enjoy the sight of a vast number of cars and buses churning up and down the road.  If these things don't immediately fill you with a visceral delight it has to be admitted that Dulwich Hill is scraping to come up with a Plan B.  Having already done my shopping and being desirous of coffee with a slightly lower lead content I abandoned the light rail for the nearest bus stop to Newtown.  That strangled hiss you hear is the drunk fifty year old Irish woman next to me at the bus stop attempting to simultaneously drag on a cigarette, express her contempt for the people enjoying a coffee across the street, juggle a cask of wine and stay on her feet.