Dulwich Hill

 But wait, there is one more light rail station that I didn't somewhat dubiously immortalise on the pages of this blog.  None other than Dulwich Hill itself the start point (or, if you're traveling in the other direction, the endpoint) of the line.  The reason for this shameful oversight is simply that this is where I started so I began the series with the first station I traveled to, Dulwich Grove.  Now a sense of duty and completeness (and not at all because I'm running out of things to write about) compels me to correct this grievous oversight and give Dulwich Hill it's day in the sun.

Unfortunately there's not a lot to say.  Dulwich Hill is the end (or beginning) of the line for the very good reason that less than a hundred metres from the end of the track is a quadruple set of heavy rail lines plunging across its path at right angles.  Dulwich Hill is where the light rail stops unless you want to build an expensive bridge or dig an expensive tunnel.  So far neither of these options have appealed to those in charge.  The station itself clings to the side of a modest cutting, above the station is a small carpark and a stretch of homes and shops.  There isn't another side to the cutting as that location is covered by railway tracks.

The light rail station is about two minutes walk from Dulwich Hill heavy rail station and the one thing they have in common is that neither is particularly convenient to Dulwich Hill.  The suburb's shopping precinct (well, shops) and the bulk of the housing stretch some twenty minutes walk away to the North.  In fact the stations are only just within the boundaries of Dulwich Hill at all.  I live five minutes walk away from them and technically I live in Marrickville.  Not that the stations are particularly convenient to Marrickville either.  What this means is that mostly what surrounds the stations is suburban housing with a handful of shops that have no doubt clustered to take advantage of commuter trade.

If nothing else I certainly picked a good day to find nothing much to write about.  The late Winter sun was shining and the air was almost sort of warmish.  This precursor to spring was heralded by the presence of birds.  Cute little birds with green breasts, dull grey birds with spiky heads plus of course the ubiquitous pigeons which had apparently taken time out from crapping on my balcony to follow me and see what I was up to.  There was even a butterfly looking somewhat lost and no doubt feeling a little foolish when it realised that none of its compatriots had joined it.

Adjoining the station (on the non cutting side) is a skate park.  The local council have taken a part of the desolate wasteland that accompanies all railway lines like remoras on a shark and have converted it to a place where adults can legitimately abandon the more irritating of their children.  There is grass, there are trees and in the middle of this are curved concrete depressions, skating; for the purposes of.  There weren't any kids skateboarding when I wandered through, in fact the kids there seemed to be using every form on non powered wheeled conveyance except a skateboard; scooters, bikes, I'm pretty sure I saw one kid performing aerobatics in a shopping trolley.  While I was there a single girl turned up on a skateboard and paused with a somewhat defeated look on her face.

If rolling over curved concrete isn't your idea of fun fear not, the local council also installed a basketball court.  A measure of how popular basketball is in Dulwich Hill can be gained by the fact that there was a tennis net stretched across it.  Not that anyone was playing tennis either.  The public toilet nearby was a square concrete building with steps on either side just in case anybody felt a burning urge to climb to the top of a toilet block.  From the top you get a panoramic view of the skate park and nearby houses, pretty much what you can see at ground level.

But I was done with the skate park for through the trees and houses I had spotted an expanse of lush open green and headed towards it.  When you get such a broad expanse of greenery in the middle of a city it means only one thing, a golf course.  On the way to the favoured venue for those waiting for death I passed an infants version of the skate park.  It was small, fringed with trees and had a bunch of climbing equipment in the centre.  It was also locked and chained up, despite this there were families and kids playing there, I can only assume they climbed the fence.

 Marrickville Golf Course stretches alongside a wretched channel of stinking poisonous ooze (that's the Cooks River to you).  Fish live in this biological disaster area and if the clean up continues at the present rate will be safe to eat in a few centuries.  Tales of fishermen being dragged to their death by horribly mutated river dwellers are probably exaggerated but you wouldn't catch me out on the water after dark.  Misdirected golf balls which land in the river dissolve before they sink to the bottom.  A couple of property developers have actually built rather handsome housing estates on the banks hoping to attract customers with a desire for riverside living and no sense of smell.

In my meandering along the golf course I looked up and was reassured by the sight of the dilapidated bulk of my own dear home looming above the surrounding houses.  The whole suburb is "in transition" which basically means it is being simultaneously demolished and built over.  Dull, uninspired suburban homes are being replaced by dull uninspired blocks of flats at a startling rate.  A new development is actually being built just a couple of houses down from me.  When its finished the block of flats will completely ruin my view of the block of flats behind it.

Being possessed of neither a set of golf clubs or a skate board (I'm too young for the former and too old for the latter) left me with little to do in the designated recreation spots within easy reach of the light rail station.  Fortunately my apartment is also within easy reach of the light rail station.