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I still remember the first time I commuted to work from my new home in Sydenham, waiting to cross the road at the intersection by the station. In the few minutes I waited for the lights, I got blasted with fumes by passing buses, watched the regional XPTs rumble in and out of the neighbouring maintenance yard and witnessed an inbound international flight screeching overhead towards the airport at a frighteningly low altitude.
And in the midst of all this, among the gaggle of harried commuters anxiously hoping to make their train, I proceeded to grin like an idiot. Where else could there be such an aggressively nonsensical hive of activity?
On paper, Sydenham is an absurd place to live and makes virtually no sense at all – hemmed in on all sides by chaos. And yet that’s what makes it so appealing to me and the handful of other residents mad enough to call it home.
It’s a place where you can practically count the teeth of the passengers through the windows of the A380 roaring mere metres above your front door. Where the IKEA superstore down the road at a neighbouring suburb is rightfully considered one of our favourite local spots to eat, on par with the convivial General Gordon Hotel by the station. Where you occasionally stumble across an illegal yet welcome heavy metal gig taking place in the skate bowl, and where the murals and community art at Sydenham Green criticise that leafy park’s very existence. There’s something about the absurdity of this area I just can’t get enough of.
In truth, it’s a suburb that has been heavily defined by the transport infrastructure around and through it. Unlike many places in Sydney where locals define and riotously protect the “character” of their surroundings, staunchly opposing change, the community here in Sydenham today is founded on the very opposite – adapting to the eccentricity of the area as it is drastically reshaped by successive governments, and embracing the chaos. Or, at the very least, nonchalantly shrugging off the madness.
While it might be a different story for those who once had generational roots here, anyone who decides to live in Sydenham now and complains about the noise really only has themselves to blame. If you’re visiting, don’t bother getting pious – muse about it and move on. No one who lives here is fazed by the cacophony because it’s part of the fabric of where we live. In a funny way, our ability to accept and embrace it is almost a point of pride.
And yet, out of nowhere, it’s midnight, the traffic is gone, the airport curfew kicks in and suddenly Sydenham gets a short window to be a tranquil slice of leafy suburbia – albeit only for those awake at stupid hours of the night. Even in the peak hours, when traffic clogs the roads, the surprisingly plentiful parks and tree canopies can still provide a sense of calm and reprieve.
In a roundabout way, we’re almost a social experiment – living proof that you can, in fact, live happily and peacefully in a noisy area. It’s about attitude – people residing in a vibrant Sydney nightlife area who dare to complain to authorities about “disturbances” from live music and popular bars should take particular note and get over themselves.
Take the murals and artworks in Sydenham Green, the park built on the site of houses bulldozed for the infamous third runway flight path in the ’90s that’s now a testament to the madness.
The brick walls around the barbecue area are laminated with old newspaper articles critical of the impact of the flight path. The novelty oversized living room furniture, itself a reference to the park’s past, is adorned with art submissions from local schools, largely depicting stick figures complaining about aircraft noise.
And that’s to say nothing of the vaguely dystopian mural on a nearby wall: kids playing under terrifyingly low-flying aircraft. And yet the neighbourhood is still defiantly charming and full of young families who have no qualms about letting their kids play outside while jets roar overhead. Character-building, I call it.
Of course, any place with character usually has its pitfalls. If you’re someone who loves a giant grocery shop to set you up for weeks at a time, this might not be the place for you. The nearest supermarkets are at least a 20-minute walk away. But for everyone else, the essentials are taken care of, courtesy of a pair of convenience stores, a petrol station, bottle shop and a hodgepodge of brilliant food spots covering all bases.
From the Vietnamese cafe and bakery on the corner to our local pasta and wine bar that’s always booked out several weeks in advance, and an underrated Filipino restaurant, a great pub and, yes, IKEA – which my housemates and I frequent at least once a fortnight – we’ve got all we need. And for those willing to venture a bit beyond the borders, you’ll find the madcap Camelot Lounge, and Batch Brewing Company, marking the start of the famed Inner West Ale Trail. There’s plenty for you if you just know where to look.
If you made it through this piece and are still thoroughly confounded, I don’t blame you. Sydenham’s a place that you have to adapt to and embrace, industrial mayhem and all. But, if you really get it, it’ll surprise and entertain you to no end. And for those living near the flight paths of Western Sydney Airport who are getting nervous about what life will be like when it opens, it’s not actually that bad. Your community, your neighbourhood, your place, will survive – and hey, it might even thrive.
Nick Wallace is a musician and marketing co-ordinator.
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