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Experience the ultimate pub crawl through Sydney as you explore the vibrant neighbourhoods along the new driverless Metro line between Sydenham and Rouse Hill. Starting at Sydenham’s new General Gordon—this pub did not burn down in extremely suspicious circumstances in 2018. From there, this adventure takes you through a carefully selected list of pubs, each with its own unique character. As you travel further up the Metro line, you’ll find yourself diving into a rich tapestry of Sydney’s pub culture, from classic local favourites to more modern venues.
However, be prepared as the day culminates at The (Mean) Fiddler in Rouse Hill. Known for its lively atmosphere, this iconic pub has a reputation for being one of the roughest in the area, particularly as night falls. Finishing your pub crawl here can be a recipe for disaster, so keep your wits about you—it’s sure to be a wild and memorable end to your journey.
To make sure the information is up to date, I did this yesterday.
General Gordon Hotel, Sydenham Station
As stated above, this pub burned to the ground in 2018 and nobody knows why. Who cares? Because this is where the Sydney Metro pub crawl begins. The pub rose from the ashes and is now the first stop. It’s a brand new pub and a great meeting place to kick this off. Depending on where you’re staying, it’s not that hard to get to. It’s pretty easy to have a bacon and egg roll on the train before you get there. I’d recommend eating before you see your mates; you don’t want them laughing at you for lining your stomach. Enjoy an ice-cold schooner when the clock strikes ten. No midstrength! This is Sydney!
Abbotts, Waterloo Station
The Abbotts is a gentleman’s pub over the road from the new Waterloo Metro Station. It’s actually quite friendly and does good food. But don’t even think about eating—we are in Sydney! Full-strength beer only! That said, make sure to get the full experience by enjoying a smoke on the footpath while your schooner rests hidden in one of the planter boxes out front. This would also be a great opportunity to take part in some casual gambling in their large pension-harvesting room. The bottleshop does a good price on Guinness cans if anyone in your party is hungry. Don’t wait around too long; the day is young, and there’s lots of country to cover.
Madison, Strawberry Hills (Central Station)
Near where you pop out of the Metro entrance at Central, this is truly Sydney’s Bermuda Triangle but for time. The Madison, Strawberry Hills, RoyChange, and the Irish Slaughterhouse—you can end up there after a nice dinner and look up from your flat phone to see that it is now daytime, and some digital serf in chinos is trying to get past you on the way to his little job. But hopefully, you should arrive here around lunchtime, ready to enjoy this magical patch of new Sydney culture while relatively sober. Lots of shift workers and construction personnel drink here, so try not to get stuck in conversation. Be polite, be firm, and get back on the Metro in good time.
Criterion Hotel, Gadigal Station
Over the road from the new Gadigal station on Park Street, The Critter is a weird pub but it’s in a strange place. I went there once in 2016 when we met with some book publishers. It was the publisher’s idea to meet there. I was staying in a hostel in Kings Cross, so it was just a short walk down one of the great boulevards in Australia—William Street. A windswept scar down the spine of what everyone believes to be a nice city! But this pub gives me the impression that there are no locals, and if there are, they don’t live there. Unless they live in the park, which is possible. But back to the meeting there. The publisher asked if we’d like a drink, and I said, “Yeah sure, it’s been a short walk in the February heat; I will have perhaps one or two with you.” They didn’t ask what I wanted, so I just waited to be surprised. Back they came with three schooners of Fat Yak on a tray. I should’ve asked, because I spent the whole meeting not listening to anything but trying to understand what led them to get Fat Yak and why they needed a tray. Anyway, it all worked out in the end, and we wrote a good book. I don’t think you’ll be there for too long, but don’t linger.
CTA Business Club, Martin Place Station
This windowless slice of heaven is under the golf ball-looking building in Martin Place. You will need to sign in at the front desk because it’s a club. Don’t try to sneak down without doing it, because if you get caught, you will need to walk up the hill to Verandah Bar, where you will be required to consume one penalty Sauvignon Blanc while your friends are downstairs in the CTA enjoying the carpet and in-bar poker machines. I would absolutely love to have a Peter Stuyvesant Classic out of a soft pack in this bar—slumped in a booth with a $16 jug of something exotic like James Boags or whatever. But times have moved on, and thankfully the CTA has not. They just don’t build places like this anymore, so enjoy it. Maybe even have some potato chips there.
Lord Nelson Hotel, Barangaroo Station
Bit of a hike from the station, this one unfortunately. A walk around the new swimming area (fucking yuck) and up through a park, up some steps. If you’re not old or fucked, then it’s not bad. Bad if you are old and fucked. You could go to the Palisade; it’s a bit closer, but this place is better. They do their own beer here, so buckle up and get ready to ride the craft pony. I would also recommend having a pint here for the full cultural experience. Get something different, like a pint of 9% stout or a brown ale. Here is where Queenslanders often come unstuck. It’s a very big culture shock for them—to drink in a building made of sandstone and beer with alcohol in it. From here, resist the urge to go to the Casino. Stay on task! It’s time to make your way back to the Metro. Make sure you have your e-tag because you’re about to cross the harbour—possibly for the last time ever.
Rag And Famish Hotel, Victoria Cross Station
\Channel Nine moved to the godless shithole that is North Sydney a few years ago, and when we went to visit a while back, we stopped off here and had some cold beers before we went in. It’s actually not bad; if I had to go back, it wouldn’t be kicking and screaming. There are some very low joints in this part of the world. SEN is near this place. Not that SEN is a low place. I’ve just been to SEN and found myself looking for a venue afterward. But on the whole, there’s nothing redeemable about North Sydney, in my opinion. It’s hell on Earth. There are only a few places in Sydney that are worse. One of them is the next stop.
Crows Nest Hotel, Crows Nest
The Crowie, or “Crow’s Nest Hotel,” is one of the great hellholes that sits at the junction of two stroads in North Sydney. This is where elite private school boys come to get caught with a cocaine-like substance. This is where many Section 19 or whatever they’re called in NSW begin. If it’s not the man-boobed elite looking to end a night here, there’s the broken people of the local advertising industry. Wow! We’ve just won the Tooheys account! Everyone, tools down! We’re going to the pub! Which pub do they go to? They go to the Crowie. Crows Nest is, on the whole, a massive shithole. It’s best visited at 7,000 feet as your Boeing lands into a strong southerly at Kingsford Smith. But this is where the bad times end; from here until the end, it’s a trip through Sydney’s Tuscany. The Hills.
Orchard Hotel, Chatswood
This pub is right next to the station in Chatswood, and for your convenience, there is a 7/11 in front of it. If you enjoy your gaming, this is the pub for you. Of all the pubs on this list, this is for the man who enjoys playing the brickie’s laptop. But you need to do it like the locals do—with a hot schooner of Great Northern and a fresh deck of grey-market Double Happiness smokes. Standing up as you slap and tickle the dragon, goading it into making this day cash neutral. Stay for as long as you want. I would just stay for one. I would also buy a Gatorade from the 7/11 and pour it out on the ground. This is so you have something to piss in for the trip ahead, into the great unknown: Hillsong Country.
The Epping Hotel, Epping
Now, you’ve stayed on the Metro for a few stops because there’s not much around Macquarie Park when it comes to having your 10th schooner of the day. There’s only a graveyard and some offices there. There’s a pub called the Grosvenor, but it’s not worth getting off for. It’s a fair hike from the station, and it’s uphill all the way back. So alight at Epping for a great example of a pub in Sydney’s leafy Bible Belt: The Epping Hotel. It has the atmosphere of one of those outer metro airports in London. It’s next to a busy road, and the people who drink there seem like extras from The Truman Show. Nonetheless, this journey is about cutting a new path through the lantana—drinking in new places, meeting new people. Whether you’re an uptown freak from Sydenham or some brain-dead cash pig that keeps Brian Houston’s bum in a private jet, there’s something in this for everyone who lives along the Metro line.
Moreover, I have actually had some drinks in this pub. I went to the 40th of a Bulletin writer years ago in Beecroft, another one of ‘those suburbs,’ and this is where we met up before. I can’t remember what it looks like inside.
Hillside Hotel, Castle Hill
From Epping, I invite you to stand up on the Metro and look out at the suburbs whizzing by. Stand at the glass like you’re Captain Marlow, drifting down the Congo. Deeper and deeper into the heart of darkness we go. We stay on the Metro at Cherrybrook. There’s nothing in Cherrybrook besides mortgage stress and Korean cars on novated leases. But when we pop out in Castle Hill, or ‘Kasselhill’ to our Victorian cousins, the Hillside Hotel offers some respite from the surroundings. We actually went there for a bit of a debrief after filming part of our Hillsong documentary, which is available on Paramount Plus, Channel 10, or Qantas in-flight entertainment. It’s pretty nice; they do American-style food there—ribs and stuff—but I needn’t remind you that we’re in Sydney! No eating! There’s really not much to look at in this part of town, so I’d hoover your 11th schooner of the day and get back on the Metro. The end is coming.
Castle Hill Tavern, Hills Showground
A little slice of suburban Brisbane in suburban Sydney. A short walk from the Hills Showground Metro, the Castle Hill Tavern offers the full outer metro Brisbane pub experience. There’s a carpark for your car, a play area for your kids, and many different themed bars for you to choose from. Then, when you’re good and pissed, you can collect your kids and strap them in for the ride home. At least, that’s what happened when I was a boy—kicking the driver’s seat to wake up Dad because he’d fallen asleep at the traffic lights, sitting in the car with him smoking with all the windows up, forgetting to put the headlights on. This is what I imagine when I see pubs like this with ample parking and a place for the kids to play. Anyway, it should be dark now, and you’re a long way from the city. This is where the mood should shift. We’re getting to the pointy end now.
Bella Vista Hotel, Bella Vista
This place is about 800m from Bella Vista Metro Station, so if you can’t be fucked, then that’s OK. This one should be optional. I went to it because, why not? It also gave me an opportunity to get some air and help dilute the 12 or 13 schooners sloshing around inside of me. It was about 9 p.m. when I arrived here, and the place was going off. I didn’t feel unsafe; I just felt that there was trouble there if I felt that way inclined. It’s like the previous place, but this is what I imagine a pub would look like if the happy clappers are right and there is a God and heaven. I have a feeling that heaven will look like The Hills District and hell will look like the Carriageworks Markets. A never-ending Carriageworks Markets that you can’t leave, and you’re always thirsty, and drinks cost $9. There were a heap of kids there, which was funny because it was so late, and the level of intoxication in the venue was high. But, I’d go back there. It’s actually pretty nice. I got the giggles when I found their podcasting studio. I’m getting them again now just remembering it. Two women were recording a podcast in the corner while I saw a grown man get lifted out of the pub by his belt by two bouncers. They would’ve been able to see it. Fuck, I laughed. But the time for laughter is over. Take the walk back to Bella Vista Metro Station to get ready for the final stop. The final boss.
The (Mean) Fiddler, Rouse Hill
The end. This used to be one of the most violent places in NSW. We used to read about it up here in Brisbane, and the stories would chill your blood. More dangerous than the yard at Long Bay. More assaults here than in nearby Parklea Prison. But times have changed. Those days are gone now. As it turns out, all they had to do was drop ‘Mean’ from the name, and all the mean people just stayed at home. It’s now the Friendly Fiddler, or just ‘The Fiddler,’ which still doesn’t sound very nice. But walking into this place at 10 p.m. on a Monday night, with 14 schooners of heavy down the throat and no food, I didn’t know if I was going to kill or be killed. It must be how lions feel every day. Am I going to catch and kill a pelican today that’s too full of African yabbies to take off? Or is my pride going to finally turn on me now that I’m old and weak? But there was nothing to worry about; the place has changed, and it’s actually quite nice. The security man was nice; he looked at me a little bit funny when he said hello, and I said ‘Bonjour’ in reply. I decided to eat here and have a rum just to tie things up and pep me up a bit for the ride back into town to where I was staying. The nachos were very nice, and the rum was well mixed. I walked back to the Metro station and got heckled by a speeding Nissan Qashqai, red P-plates flapping in the winter chill. I won’t repeat what they said. I didn’t say anything back either. I didn’t want them to turn around and flog me half to death on the side of Old Windsor Road. It’d been a long day. Once I finally got back on the Metro, I immediately passed out. I woke up in Sydenham to a guard poking me with his umbrella. “End of the line,” he said. So I got up and left the station. It was 1:21 a.m. I walked into the General Gordon and had a light beer while waiting for the DiDi to come and take me back to my hotel room next to Randwick Racecourse.
All in all, a good day out.
