I have caught the Murrays bus from Sydney to Canberra, and vice versa, more times than I can count on two hands. Like a ritual, I plan my journey: I bring a book (or two), I bring unfinished classwork, or a series of menial life-admin tasks I must urgently complete. Every time, without fail, I am drawn into the world of the Murrays Bus, head pushed back into my seat, askew and lost. This is something I say with my chest: I wish I could live in this suspended state of time, trapped on the route from Sydney to Canberra forever.
The first bus leaves at 6am. If you are lucky enough to have the seat next to you unoccupied (though this is unlikely in the early morning because of the commuters), you can take this as a good omen. Without fail, the driver will play a short introductory recording, though by this time you’ll already have your earphones in, savouring the last few minutes of dawn before daylight comes once again. If you boarded the bus at Central—the first stop— you’ll drive through Redfern, through the airport, before the cityscapes turn to highway, and then to bushland. This is the best part of the journey. If you take this bus two, three, four times, you will find that what was once an indiscriminate landscape becomes accustomed and recognisable. Trees tangled together, their bodies like frozen lightning. By this time, you will have truly abandoned your quest to do any sort of work, and given in to the landscape entirely. You’ll pull into the Jolimont Centre in Canberra City right on time, as if the bus ride didn’t happen at all. It’s a return to real life that feels like a betrayal.
Though my trips to Canberra are now less frequent, catching the Murrays bus is still a religious experience. It’s tiredness, then calm, and then anticipation and restlessness as you approach the city. You’ll know when this is the case as the air gets colder, temperature begins to drop, you may find you need your jacket — this means you’ve made it to the city. Though it is colder here, the air is fresh and icy and clean. It doesn’t feel as though the city and the bush are fighting a battle here, as it can feel like in Sydney. Instead, you’ll have your time to explore the mountains, the parks, the lake, the scenery that is an inextricable part of the town. I don’t buy into the Canberra hate, myself.
Always, always, always: the drive back into Sydney is too short (it seems to be far shorter than the drive into Canberra). You may even consider extending your stay in Canberra, as I have contemplated a few times. You could change your ticket and board the bus to Narooma or Wollongong instead, as the signs at the Jolimont Centre advertise. This time, book your ticket in the afternoon to make the most of your final day in the capital city. It is far more likely you will have the seat to yourself on this leg, though I am still not too sure why. Plus, the morning buses can get hectic, and it can be a frenzy trying to navigate the rush of people. This way, you’ll catch the soft hues of the sunset across the Australian bush, and half the bus ride will be in complete darkness which is conducive to peace and rest. Though by this time you’ll miss Canberra, entering Sydney again in the evening is returning to the glitz and glamour of the big city, though you know it’s all much less exciting than it seems. But, you’re only human and there is something mesmerising about the lights of the city in the evening as you approach its grounds like a guest to a kingdom, looking to stay the night.
Alighting the bus is undeniably sad, though you know there are far more exciting things here. For students at Sydney Uni, the drive down Elizabeth Street and through Redfern may even feel somewhat sentimental. For enthusiasts of the Sydney to Canberra route, you’ll be pleased to note you can join Murrays Loyalty Club. I personally wear the Frequent Traveller mark like a badge of honour. The good news is that Canberra is not too far in distance (though it can seem like worlds away) and good old Murrays will always be ready to take you there.
