Shitkanless: Sydney to Newcastle without the Shitkansen

Ah, the Shitkansen, our much beloved train from Sydney to Newcastle. Where would we be without it? Without its strange smells, its majestic purple hues, its constant delays and disruptions, the ever present threat of violence to keep things from getting dull? (Stuck in Sydney, Newcastle or - gasp - the Central Coast is where we'd be). Heck, the ride has even served as a muse:

But for some of us, the Shitkansen just isn't enough. We dare to dream higher. That, or we're just sick of the damn thing. Anyway, there is a way to travel from Sydney to Newcastle entirely on public transport, without needing to avail yourself of the Shitkansen. I must warn you though, it isn't really an alternative in the sense of being just another way to get from one city to another in a reasonably straightforward fashion. No, going Shitkanless is an adventure. An odyessy. It requires time, patience, dedication. With great effort comes great reward. But it's not easy. Not all of you are going to make it. So if any of you little Betty Crockers out there think you're just going to be teaching toddlers to bake cuppy cakes, then you can leave now.

But for those of you who wish to soar with the eagles, here is how you go Shitkanless - Sydney to Newcastle, by public transport only without catching the train. All the times are current as of writing this post, for travel on weekdays. Be warned (again), some of these legs are long. Pack snacks. Bring water. Use the toilets in between trips, but don't count on having time to get food.

Ready? Here we go.

1. 5.33am Stand B Wynyard: Bus L90 to Palm Beach; arrive 6.41am

Yes, it's early. Really fucking early. You can get a coffee now, before you board, but my advice is to wait; it will give you a chance to snooze on the L90, Sydney's longest bus route at 45km, as it goes over the Bridge, through North Sydney and then on the long trek up the Northern Beaches to arrive at the northern tip of Sydney, summer playground of the rich and famous, Palm Beach. You'll have nearly an hour to kill before your next leg, so now you might as well get that coffee. I don't know if anything up there is open at this hour, but given that rich baby boomers love getting up early, I'm guessing there's an early open cafe somewhere. Just make sure you're on time for the ferry.

2. 7.30am Palm Beach Wharf Ferry to Ettalong arrive 8.00am

You'll like this bit (bring your camera!); the ferry ride across Broken Bay, at the mouth of the Hawkesbury River, to the southern end of the Central Coast. Please note this is the only leg of the trip where you can not use an Opal card; you can buy tickets on board, $11.60 for adults and $5.80 concession. Anyway, you've made it to the coast. On arrival in Ettalong, stroll down Broken Bay Road to the little strip of shops, where there are several decent cafes where you can grab a quick breakfast, although my preference is to get something from the bakery and eat it overlooking the water (I lived in Ettalong for the year preceding my recent time in Sydney; I found it quite a lovely little place, when the isolation and quiet were not sending me quite mad); there's public toilets there too.

But don't get too comfortable; make sure you're at the bus stop in front of the Memorial club/Mantra (you can't miss it, the thing is huge and I've no idea how it got planning approval) in time for your next leg.


3. 8.47am Ettalong Bus 70 to Gosford arrive 9.39am

There's not a lot to say about this leg. You'll go through the suburbs of the peninsula - Ettalong, Blackwall, Woy Woy - and then get some pretty views of Brisbane Water before swinging past the bulk retail and light industrial areas along the Central Coast Highway before arriving in Gosford.


4. 9.49am Gosford Stand 2 Bus 19 to Wyong arrive 11.26am

I apologise in advance for this leg. Wait, no I don't; I told you it wasn't going to be easy. The 97 minutes you will spend on the 19 (assuming it runs to timetable) will test the patience of the hardiest traveller. The Central Coast has many bland, uniform housing estates and the 19 visits them all, some of them multiple times, from lots of different directions. When you, at length, finally reach Wyong station, you may well be tempted just to get the train back to Sydney. Don't. You've come so far. Grab a bathroom break if you need, a drink from the vending machine, and then saddle up.


5. 11.41 Wyong Stand A Bus 12.07 to Lake Haven arrive 12.07pm

You're more than halfway through the journey now. You've got 28 minutes to kill. And there is, at Lake Haven, a dine in, all you can eat Pizza Hut - one of only five in NSW - for the measly price of $10.

It wasn't as good as I remembered; YMMV.

What you do with this knowledge is up to you. However believe me when I say you cannot miss the next leg of the journey.


6.  12.35 Lake Haven Stand 3 Bus 99 to Charlestown arrive 14.11

This bus runs only twice a day, the other departing at 7.19am; so this is why you had to get up so early, all connections have been leading to this and you can't miss it. It's another epic leg, northwards out of the Central Coast via Charmhaven and Doyalson, then on up the south eastern side of Lake Macquarie, through townships such as Catherine Hill Bay and Nords Wharf, over the entrance to Lake Macquarie at the Swansea Bridge, then up through the east lakes suburbs of Belmont and Charlestown where your humble correspondent spent her formative years.

Anyway, after all that, you'll fetch up at Charlestown, no doubt tired and cranky and hungry and wondering why the hell you ever did all this. From here, you don't have to keep a strict schedule. There's a great big boondoggle of a shopping centre (very much changed from when I lived there, which disconcerts me mightily). Take a chance to get something to eat, if you didn't over indulge at Pizza Hut.

7. Whenever you fancy, Charlestown Stand A, Bus to Newcastle

On a weekday, there's a tonne of buses from Charlestown to Newcastle; just show up and one should arrive in ten minutes or so. The 320, 350, 310 and 349 are generally the fastest; however, if you want to really round out your experience, why not take the chance to catch the Famous 100 bus? Sure the 100, connecting Newcastle and Charlestown with some of their less salubrious suburbs, takes a darn long while and you've probably had your fill of long bus journeys, but I can guarantee you'll have an experience to remember, as long as you don't receive a concussion on the trip.

You've made it to Newcastle! 

Well, you've done it. The complete Sydney to Newcastle without using the Shitkansen. Have a drink, have a meal, have another drink if you want I'm not your mother. (Unless I am your mother, and if you're reading this you're too young to be riding around on your own like this young man). Anyway, sooner or later it's time to go home. Let's just hop on the train...no wait. If you're the type to read this, then I'm sure you're aware that the State Government closed the rail line between Newcastle and Hamilton on Boxing Day 2014. If I live long enough to see that, as with trams in Sydney, they one day regret the closure and rebuild it, I will find all the ministers in charge in their respective nursing homes and slap them silly.

Anyway, you'll have to get a shuttle bus back to Hamilton. Then, you can finally board a Shitkansen, the delays and meandering detours of which you will never complain again.

Now you're probably wondering the obvious question by now. And the answer is - not really much of a singer, though I've been known to do a mean "Oh, Sherrie" after a few hard ciders. The answer to the other question? No, I haven't done the whole journey myself. I mean, I've done all the individual legs of it, sometimes in combination, but not all in one go. But that leaves the greater honour to you, going first. Let me know how you get on.

The Joy of the Shitkansen

You can hear their bravado; those who declare, despite the guffaws from friends, that they will be commuting from Newcastle to Sydney by rail. “No, five hours a day on the train is fine. I can read, watch movies, sleep. All that time to myself. Looking forward to it, actually.”

Three months later, they are pale, glassy eyed,unable to read as they stare into middle distance; “no more”, they whisper, “please. No more.” They have been broken by the train journey known to locals, with a certain crude brilliance and no affection whatsoever, as the “Shitkansen”.

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The Politics of the Shitkansen

Newcastle has been a Labor party stronghold pretty much forever - and people have been blaming all Newcastle's problems on this for about as long. "Sydney/Canberra takes us for granted, does nothing for Newcastle, because they know we'll always vote Labor. We need to kick them out to get anything done here!", so ran the thinkingv

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The Shitkansen Crisis

What's the only thing worse than riding the Shitkansen? Not riding it, at least when there's a shitkanhitsthefansen like yesterday. Yep,  it was one of the worst delays to affect the Newcastle line in years...and we were right in the middle of it, returning from Sydney after a long weekend of celebrations for my mother-in-law's birthday with exhaustion, many bags, and an overhyped BabyG. We had collapsed into our seats at Central, knowing that in three short hours (hehe) we would be home. Little did we know. Everything seemed fine as we thrummed along quietly, BabyG even dozing off in his Ergo, when an announcement came on just north of Sydney saying there was an overhead wiring problem at Gosford, and the train would be terminating at Cowan with everyone switching to buses. I may have said a swear. I definitely said three more swears after that.

So we reached Cowan, where the train just sat idle for fifteen minutes or so, before the driver announced that the platforms at Cowan were too short and we were heading back to Berowra. (It soon became clear the drivers had little more information than we were given). At Berowra, we were told to get off and wait for buses. So we did, our full train joining the several trainloads of people already waiting (well over a thousand by the end, I'd guess). So we waited, and waited, and waited; fresh trains of people kept arriving and adding to the crowds. There was no shade, nowhere to sit, and no buses. Occasionally an empty bus would sail by without stopping; we began to suspect they were phantom buses, one rogue driving being an asshole driving past and getting everyone all excited. I checked twitter, and was slightly bemused to find that I seemed to be a source of information, rather than being able to get any from any official channels. After well over an hour of waiting, word came through that the train on the platform was, in fact, going to Gosford. We boarded the standing-room-only train which seemed to be an all-stations train (bad), but was a "Newcastle service" (good - we didn't know if the line had reopened or not, it might be a slow train but it would get home eventually). However, as we approached Gosford station, it was announced the train was terminating at Gosford after all; they hoped eventually they could rustle up some buses for the thousands of people descending on the station. Well, at that point we bailed. We took our next-door-neighbours (who when they die, if there is such a place, will go straight to heaven) up on their exceedingly generous offer to drive the three hour round trip and pick us up, and spent the waiting time not-uncomfortably in the leagues club - not the sort of place I'd normally attend you understand, but there are few places to take a one year old in Gosford on a Sunday night.

And that was that, but I found the media silence on the issue a bit odd - when there's a major breakdown on the Shitkansen's sister road, the F3, there are outraged drivers on the news and calls for the transport minister's head on a pike. Today nothing, until the lovely Carol Duncan of ABC Newcastle spoke with Tony Eid, manager of Railcorp Operations. The conversation was not reassuring. No reason was given for the breakdown in communications that led to being detrained at Berowra. Even worse, we were told that although Railcorp got in touch with over thirty coach companies, they were only able to source twelve buses when they needed at least fifty. Now, we all know things can go wrong - in this case, an earlier train somehow became tangled in the wires and they needed to cut the power to free it. But surely there's some sort of contingency plan, some deal with bus operators that doesn't involve having to cross fingers and do a ring around? Mr Eid claimed, erroneously, that there were delays of "up to two hours". Well, we were delayed two hours just getting to Gosford - only halfway there. If we'd had to wait for the bus to Wyong then a possible train to Newcastle, god knows how long it would have taken - seven, eight hours I've heard from other passengers. And that was the thing about info, too - we had to rely on other passengers. Twitter, probably one of the best sources for breaking info we have, was great for staying in touch with other passengers and folks back home, but the transport info centre didn't update their status for over six hours at the height of the crisis. It needs to be remedied. An SMS alert service would be useful as well. I wouldn't use it - I only take the shitkansen once or twice a month at the moment and wouldn't want to be beeped every time something's up - but I can see why it might be useful for others.

That's my gripping account of the Great Shitkansen Crisis of 2012, anyway. See you next time something goes wrong.

The Railway to Hell - A Trip on the Shitkansen

I'm a railfan. Trains are one of the abiding passions of my life. But I kept it hidden for many years. It wasn't until recent years with a supportive partner that I was able to come out of the trainspotters closet. Now I'm free to live my passion. I collect train magazines, take photos, go to expos and conventions, watch DVDs, have taken about every scenic rail journey in NSW. Passion collides with reality however, as I am forced to spend much of my time nestled in the metal bosom of a much less salubrious train service - CityRail's "Shitkansen", the Sydney-Newcastle service. It's operated using 1960s era V-Sets (did you know the V stands for vacuum flush toilet? Aren't you glad you read a nerd's review rather than one written by a normal person?) along a track following a meandering 19th century route through bush and along the Hawkesbury. Due to the track and speed restrictions on the line, the timetabled duration for the Newcastle-Sydney trip is now longer than it was in the 1930s, when the service was run using steam engines.

Despite the fact it is metal, fairly round, on wheels, and smells, it is a train and not a garbage bin.

Inside, the carriages are fitted out in a bilious green and yellow colour scheme. Chilled water used to be provided, but was discontinued in 2004 due to fear of diseases breeding in the water tanks. They have however left the toilets in use. I'm currently having to make this journey at depressingly regular intervals, and here's a taste of what I'm going through:

162km (all distances are measured distance from Sydney Central):  Broadmeadow station. Commence my journey. The door is hard to open - how do the elderly manage - and the carriage smells lightly of feet. Pick a fairly quiet-looking carriage.

158km Drop my pen down the side of the seat. Looking at all the dreck and debris down there I think "err...you keep it".

150km Cockle Creek station. It's a little used station with open shelters now, but when I was in my early teens I remember the original grand station buildings were still there, albeit boarded up. It was once a major transport hub for Lake Macquarie - trains would connect with ferry services to Belmont and Swansea. I could just weep that I was born too late for this.

146km The guard keeps making announcements about the new "quiet carriages" trial. The carriage I'm in seems okay, but there's no guarantee that in future some dubstep-blaring piece of distended monkey rectum won't join us and ruin everything, so I go to have a look. Forget it. The upper deck is filled with a group of elderly Greek people returning from a day out, talking loudly (it could have been worse I suppose - Greek is far more pleasant on the ears than Strine).  Downstairs features the usual assortment of people talking on the phone, listening to music, and in one case ranting to themselves in the corner. Where are the transit police when you really need them? (Hassling commuters who didn't have time to wait for the long line at the ticket machine because all the others were broken at their station that morning). I return to my own carriage.

127km Dora Creek. An assorted group in their thirties, clad in tizzy bogan-night-out clothes, boards the carriage. The leader of the group seems to be a woman whose pale ears and toes seem to highlight her choice to immerse her herself in layers of fake tan apparently spiked with tandoori sauce, clad in some oddly draped dress and those open-toed bootie shoes, with her hair braided in a truly bizarre fashion, whose birthday it is. They are heading to Sydney to mark the occasion; specifically the Rocks and Star City. I get to hear all about it over the next ninety minutes, as they get drunker and louder as the journey progresses. But for now they are reasonably quiet, and innocent of what is to come, I doze off.

80km Gosford. I am startled awake by a screech of "Why are there fucking Eels fans everywhere?" from Orange Woman. There's a Central Coast Mariners soccer game at the nearby stadium, and their blue-and-yellow strip bears a resemblance to the colours of the league-playing Parramatta Eels. Orange lady demands all this be explained to her. She then regales the carriage with how she really wants to play OzTag, soon as she learns how.

68km "Why are we in a fucking tunnel?" shouts Orange Lady. They've been drinking since Dora Creek, and it's starting to tell. The group then returns to watching music clips on their (I assume) iPad. Orange Lady explains how "when I'm on the dance floor, I just carve it up. I don't care if I look like a moron" (a good thing, otherwise she's going to feel terrible tomorrow). Apparently she used to be really into shuffling, but now she's into planking, proving with age comes no good sense for some people. At this stage we're passing some truly stunning scenery - the train is passing along the edge of the Hawkesbury River, with the water practically lapping the train, and steep tree-covered embankments rising dramatically from the riverbanks - but Orange Lady and friends just want to know "how do you become a member of You Tube?"

50km Orange Lady still shrieking. One of her friends is calling apparently everyone he knows to tell them "We Are On A Train. To Sydney. Big Night!". I almost feel sorry for them if this is their sphere of reference. Not quite. But almost.

25km Hornsby. As we approach the city thoughts turn to the night ahead. Orange Lady decided she wants to see strippers, and have a lap dance; she's never seen strippers before, though she has seen a fat-o-gram. Anyone who gets kicked out of the clubs gets no sympathy; she will meet you back at Dora tomorrow. She won't be kicked out; the doormen love pretty girls like her.

11km Strathfield. Orange Lady has, for no apparent reason, launched into a graphic description of the use of various types of menstrual protection, and her opinions of those who use them in a sexual and hygienic manner. As I, weak with relief, disembark to switch to the Inner West line, I can't help but sneak a glance at the woman who has so infected by brain space on this trip. It was momentary, but she catches me, and shrieks "that woman looked at me!" (maybe she was under the impression she was invisible?) as her friends calm her down and I beat a hasty retreat. If you're reading this, I just want you to know: I was looking at you, and what I was thinking is you are the worst person it has ever been my misfortune to turn my nose up at. You are so obnoxious that in fact I have to thank you, for helping ensure that by the law of averages all my train journeys are quiet and pleasant from now on.

So that was that, really. I've completed the journey through to Central many times, and it adds not a whole lot of excitement to the experience; you're invariably stopped just passed Redfern for no apparent reason (well, unless they're not telling us about a major problem with cows on the tracks), then are disgorged from your metal womb, aghast, only to be hit up by people just looking for money to get home, and far more obnoxious, charity muggers who pretend to be your friend so they can hit you up for direct debit plans that profit themselves. High speed rail would be great, but there's no reason we couldn't have faster better trains now; I would pay more for a cleaner better premium service (and have done, taking Countrylink when I travel with BabyG). In the meantime though, we're stuck with the Shitkansen, and it seems to drive everyone a little bit insane.