Apparently, Parramatta is an Aboriginal word meaning 'where the eels lie down.' The city is right the way up the river from Sydney, and whether the eels were tired after their journey from the ocean, or whether they just couldn't be bothered with Parramatta and gave up, I don't know. If it was the latter, I kind of empathised. I was on a bit of a sightseeing kick, and feeling quite virtuous and oh-so-proactive, but sort of ran out of steam when I got there.

I took a bus up to The Rocks and then walked around Circular Quay to get a ferry. It's a touristy area and there were lots of buskers and those living statue people, and also the sorriest looking 'street performer' I've ever seen in my life. It was a person dressed up in a raggedy old horse costume just standing there on all fours, like someone doing penance for a terrible sin. I walked past but then felt awful as it looked so wretched that I went back and put $2 in the little box. It nodded its head so that the bell jangled, which was so piteous it just made me want to cry.

Anyway, I took the River Cat - a catamaran, obviously - up to Parramatta and mooched along the main street until I came to a nice looking café, where I got a hot chocolate and read the weekend edition of the Sydney Morning Herald. I finally worked up the energy to actually do something, and headed to the Parramatta Museum, which was really interesting and well-done. I then walked around the big park and saw the Governor's House and a rose garden, and took a train back to the city. Yes, it was as exciting as it sounds.