The four of us boarded the train at Central, which was already idling at the station 20 minutes before it was due to depart. Had we known how long we’d be on the train once it actually started moving, we probably would have opted to do something with our extra time besides sit aboard it. We stopped at station after station, making progress seem slow. Judging from the leisurely rate at which the scenery slid past the windows, progress WAS slow. Trees and faces of sheer rock crowded the sides of the track, and a thick mist was settling over everything. I was quite restless by the time we reached Katoomba, the town from which we would access the popular scenic overlooks of the mountains.
With the increased elevation, the weather had changed from bordering on chilly to definitely chilly. I was relieved to pull on the long-sleeved shirt I’d brought against the possibility of brisk air. A very light rain or heavy mist was falling. This deary weather and our early departure time made us all feel a bit dull and sluggish, so we decided to stop at a café for some coffee and lunch before attempting to determine which of the many transport links to the mountains was best.
Feeling renewed after our collective caffeine infusion, we discovered which bus was cheapest. It was a replica of a historical trolley bus, which a plaque on the interior informed us had begun running in 1951. Ellina joked that they could have at least improved the suspension. We sat on the wooden, slatted, park bench-like seats with our backs to clear plastic windows that could be opened and closed with zippers and snaps.
We jounced on to Echo Point, which overlooks the Three Sisters rock formation. From our elevated vantage, the entire tree-covered valley spread below us in a blue-green swathe. Three pieces of rock jutted into the sky in an orderly row. We, along with several other tourists, walked up to the railing and admired the view. Despite the completely different topography and vegetation, it reminded me of Gooseberry Falls State Park. It was a wilderness attraction, but sufficiently crowded, paved and safety-railed to make you feel as if you weren’t too deep into the wild.
After gazing at the expanse for a while, we walked down a path that led to a very steep staircase. The trail was lined with trees that had strings of bark moulting off them. Ellina’s dad laughed that they were strip trees. The walk also featured tall surfaces of rock, thoroughly coated with messages carved by the many passerby. We climbed down the narrow steps at the end of the path, sharing the tight space with others huffing mightily as they made the brutal ascent. We went as far as the point where one of the three sisters broke from the surrounding rock, and decided that was sufficient.
When we reached the top of the stairs again, the mist had turned into a dense fog. Most of the valley was now invisible. We went back to the bus stop and waited to be taken to Scenic World. From there, you could board a cable car that traversed a steep ravine and take a different cable car down into the valley. When the trolley finally arrived, we found the same elderly driver who’d taken us to Echo Point. He explained the three modes of transport—the Scenic Skyway, Scenic Railway and Scenic Cableway—and assured us we’d have time to do all three before the final bus went back to Katoomba.
We boarded the first mode of scenic transport, the Scenic Skyway, eagerly anticipating the thrilling, slightly dangerous-feeling trip the bus driver had described. But unless you’re scared of heights, the ride proved to be very tame. The car inched along the cable perfectly smoothly. The entire experience lasted about a minute. We disembarked at a payment station, where I learned that that minute of bare-minimum adventure would cost me 10 AUD. This was definitely a tourist destination.
After paying, we were routed through the gift shop to the Scenic Railway. Its operator, wearing a stereotypically Australian Akubra outback hat, asked us if we were interested in a ride. “Ah, we are still deciding,” Ellina said. She asked for details, and learned that the 7-10 minute ride would cost somewhere around 20 AUD. We all agreed that we’d been taken for a ride on one of the rides already and opted not to do so again. We loitered around the gift shop for a while and then walked back outside to wait for the last bus back to the Katoomba train station.
It was being driven by the same man who had been shuttling us about all day. “How much is it?” Ellina asked, though we all knew what the fare would cost by now. He waved his hand, dismissing our obligation to pay a third fare that day. He seemed to have become rather fond of us. He asked what our plans were for the evening. When he learnt that we were heading back to Sydney yet that night, he asked, “So you’re looking for somewhere to eat first?” We agreed that we may indeed do that, and he began raving enthusiastically about a restaurant where he ate regularly.
“You can get a meal there for $5,” he said. This is unheard of in Australia. Even fast food costs just under $10. And the food he described sounded amazing.
“They have steaks about that thick,” he elaborated, holding his thumb and forefinger a good distance apart. “And a family burger that needs a spear in it just to hold it together.” We confirmed that this sounded like a good dinner option, and he directed us to it when he dropped us off near the train station.
“Just tell them Peter sent you,” he said. “And I’ll join you there in about an hour.”
We walked in to find the sort of dining room that would perfectly suit an elderly gentleman like our bus driver. The soundtrack featured jazz tunes from the 1930s, and the atmosphere was quite anonymous. The waiter was much less enthusiastic about the restaurant than Peter. We glanced at the menus he handed us, looking for the $5 meals. Nothing cost less than $9.50. Every price Peter had quoted was absolutely wrong. What was going on? Did he have some sort of arrangement where he received commission from the restaurant? Is that why he told us to tell them he sent us?
We didn’t mention him to our server, and we didn’t hang around long enough for him to meet us after his shift. We paid for our average meals and dashed for the train. At least Peter was more accurate with the train departure times than the restaurant’s prices. We crawled along towards Sydney, finally arriving home two and a half hours later. Despite the excessive travel time, outrageous prices for scenic rides and faulty food recommendations, it had been an enjoyable day trip. I think the guidebook was right in suggesting it as a destination close to but outside of the city. But, like my Sydneysider friend, I’m also a little bemused by the publicity it receives. After all, the mountains aren’t actually blue or anything.
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