Fish Market

Well there are no prizes for guessing what the centrepiece of the next stop on the light rail is.  With a name like "Fish Market" it was unlikely to be the setting for Sydney's only colony of wild flamingos.  What the station is the setting for is motorway ramps.  If you look towards the water when you get off the light rail you'll see a motorway ramp, beyond that is a motorway ramp.  Beyond the second motorway ramp is a motorway ramp.  If you look directly up you will realise that the station is directly under yet another motorway ramp.  If you look to the right you will see the headquarters of the National Parks Association of NSW which has been built there apparently without any sense of irony.

In an attempt to ensure that the National Parks staff don't completely forget what trees look like there is a narrow park just across the lane called Paradise Reserve.  Frankly that name is writing cheques the reserve can't cash but it actually refers to the name of a quarry.  I'm now in the suburb of Pyrmont which is about fifty percent motorways and fifty percent high rise residential.  In days gone by, however, it was the source of Sydney's stone.  In fact the best way to see Pyrmont is to wander around the CBD and check out all the old buildings.  The honey coloured sandstone that most of them are built from came from Pyrmont.  There were three quarries named according to the difficulty in extracting the stone; "Paradise", "Purgatory" and "Hell Hole".  Now Pyrmont's history as a quarry is largely to be seen in the fact that about half of it seems to be about fifty feet higher than the other half.  I walked up a quiet (except for the everpresent roar of the motorways) residential street and came to a park which ended at a sheer cliff on top of which were more houses.  The cliff was fenced off, apparently to stop it biting people.

With my stroll through the park brought to an abrupt halt by the fence there was nothing for it but to somewhat reluctantly wander back in the direction of the motorway ramps.  Nestled in amongst these was Sydney Fish Market.  I've never been to a fish market before for the very good reason that I don't eat fish.  However given the name of the light rail station and that fact I'd run out of other things to do decided to brave the carbon monoxide and the concrete dust (remember the cement works I mentioned in a previous blog entry?  Well, its right next door) to deliver a report to my loyal readership.

The smell of seafood assailed me as I approached.  At least I presume its the smell of seafood.  Its always present around seafood.  Possibly its the smell of salmonella breeding.  The markets themselves look rather like a large warehouse surrounded by an even larger carpark.  Dotted about the carpark at more or less random intervals are fish shops which sell direct to the public (unlike the market itself which I presume sells direct to the fish shops).  The wholesale fish auction took place at 5.30am (ie well before I was out of bed) but if buying fish in ocean depleting quantities isn't your interest then you can take the guided tour which starts at 6.40am (well before etc etc).  If a guided tour of somewhere you have no interest in doesn't take your interest either you're reduced to wandering around a large carpark looking at people wandering in and out of fish shops.

To show willing I also wandered into a fish shop.  What can I say?  There were fish of all shapes and sizes (incidentally nothing looks creepier than a whole dead fish) and for some reason the place was also selling lemons at $1.50 each.  Forget fishing, start up a lemon orchard and you'll make a fortune. 

Once I had exhausted the amusement value of walking around a cold, wet shop full of things I didn't want to buy or, in the case of the lemons, couldn't afford I stepped back out into the carpark and straight into the middle of a drama.  A savage brawl had erupted between about fifty seagulls (and one ibis) for possession of several inches of something.  What I'm not entirely sure but I'm going to assume it was organic.

Tucked in next to the auction house was a food court where a bold attempt was made to pretend they sold things other than fish.  There was a bakery and a bottle shop and a place selling cheeses.  Unfortunately it was all buried waist deep in fish.  Having had enough of our finny bretheren for a while I left them to it and made my way back through the cement dust to the light rail station.