How do you get away from it all and reacquaint yourself with Mother Nature without leaving the big smoke too far behind? If you're in Sydney, you can't beat doing something that involves water. And if you have a few days to spare, the chicken soup for the soul solution is to hire a houseboat and head upriver to where the trees are green, the air fresh and the quiet deafening.
After a leisurely hour-long drive north from the bustling CBD, we arrive in sleepy, bushy Brooklyn. We stride through a wooden marina, blue sky overhead and emerald green water glimmering below. Our home for the next two days - a big, shiny Homecruiser 47 called Lady Hawkesbury - awaits. Suddenly, shade descends and we stop. There to our right, proud and gleaming, sits the mean machine.
At 14 metres long and almost six metres wide, this vessel is more house than boat. It is the stretch limo of the waterways; a McMansion afloat. How on earth does a novice manoeuvre something so enormous down the winding reaches of Sydney's picturesque Hawkesbury River?
Fortunately, when you hire a houseboat you are not cut loose from the marina without detailed instructions on everything from lighting the stove to winching the anchor. Just in case, a detailed manual is kept to hand. And as for squeezing out of the tightest parking space you've ever seen, the staff do that for you, leaving you to your own devices only when the boat is safely in the arms of the wide green river. That's when panic sets in.
But the heart rate settles when, eventually, you realise this monster machine peaks at a paltry 7.5 knots (about 12km) an hour. And in spite of its girth the Lady Hawkesbury is a cinch to steer, with only a brief lag in response time. Besides, how can you remain stressed when you are in the middle of a gently meandering waterway surrounded by the pristine bush of Sydney's Ku-ring-gai Chase national park? It is midweek and the river is quiet. At weekends it's a popular playground, but don't be scared off. There is room for everyone, beginners included.
The first difficult decision, apart from whether to steer the boat from down below or out on the deck upstairs, is where to stop for lunch. We head for a dent in the starboard side of the river known as Little Shark Rock Point. We pick up the mooring at the second attempt, swiftly averting a marital maritime crisis. Knots unravel and time stands still as the tension leaves the body to be replaced by the all-consuming calm that comes from bobbing on the water.