\n<\/p>\n
Kristine Carroll plopped herself down in the only shade on the beach \u2014 a triangle cast by the makeshift lifeguard station \u2014 and slathered sunscreen all over her freckled skin.<\/p>\n
Squinting at the scorching midday sun, she glanced over at her 8-year-old daughter, Zoe, who had already plunged into the blue-green water without hesitation. \u201cShe\u2019s a water baby,\u201d Ms. Carroll said.<\/p>\n
The Pacific Ocean, which gives Sydney, Australia, its iconic coastline and some of the world\u2019s most enviable beaches, was almost 50 miles away. A pod of pelicans cruised past and coots waded nearby, with not a sea gull in sight. A sign cheekily warned of wave heights of 2 millimeters \u2014 less than a tenth of an inch.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
This is Pondi Beach.<\/p>\n
No, not Bondi, the glistening backdrop of reality television<\/a>, the stuff of backpackers\u2019 daydreams and ground zero<\/a> of the Australian church of surf and sand \u2014 but Pondi, as locals have taken to calling humble, man-made Penrith Beach.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n Created on one stretch of a lagoon at a former quarry at the foot of the Blue Mountains that mark the Sydney area\u2019s western edge, Pondi, pronounced Pond-eye, isn\u2019t exactly postcard-worthy like the eponymous Bondi Beach. But it has become a welcome haven for those who live an hour or more inland from the coast and pay hefty tolls to get there.<\/p>\n Like many cities, the fringes of Sydney\u2019s urban sprawl are made up of working-class families, newly arrived immigrants and those pushed out further and further from downtown by rising housing prices<\/a>. In Penrith and nearby areas, that also means living with temperatures<\/a> that can be 30 degrees Fahrenheit higher than near the coast, a disparity exacerbated by climate change. In 2020, Penrith was briefly the hottest place on earth<\/a>, when the mercury topped 120 degrees.<\/p>\n The beach opened for a second season in December and so far has cost the state government about $2.7 million. At just over half a mile long, it is as long as Bondi Beach.<\/p>\n On a recent Sunday, when a heat warning was in effect with highs of 95 degrees, children gleefully splashed about at Pondi with snorkels or pool floats in the shape of crocodiles and unicorns. Some families tossed about a rugby ball, while others cooked up a feast of prawns, sausages and a whole roast chicken. A couple of girls lay out on their stomachs for a tan.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n Ms. Carroll, 46, a lifelong Penrith resident who works as an education coordinator in a nearby prison, has never had air conditioning at home. The previous night, she said, she drove around in her car just for the air conditioning, because it was too hot in her house.<\/p>\n Having a beach close to her home for her family to cool off, rather than having to spend a full day trekking out to the coast \u2014 paying steep prices for tolls, parking and food \u2014 has been a major help, particularly in a cost-of-living crisis she said has stretched her finances. By her accounting, that day\u2019s outing would only cost her the gas for a 12-minute drive and a 50-cent McDonald\u2019s ice cream for her daughter on their way home.<\/p>\n \u201cA lot of people turn up their noses at it, but, mate, it\u2019s free. They think it\u2019s the bogan<\/a> knockoff of Bondi Beach,\u201d she said, using derogatory Australian slang for an uncouth person, historically associated with<\/a> Sydney\u2019s western suburbs.<\/p>\n Zoe said she had been to \u201cactual Bondi\u201d on a recent weekend for a cousin\u2019s swim meet. She liked it but said the saltiness of the ocean water left her with red splotches on her skin.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n \u201cI like how soft the sand is. In Bondi, the sand was too hot,\u201d she said, burrowing her toes into the pale Pondi sand.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n After playing in the water, Elhadi Dahia and his three children \u2014 ages 6, 4 and 1 \u00bd \u2014 had walked up a grassy slope to two food trucks. The older two polished off hot dogs and a potato snack, and began pleading for ice cream. The youngest was in a swim diaper with the words \u201cFish are friends\u201d on it.<\/p>\n A native of Darfur in landlocked western Sudan, Mr. Dahia said he only knows how to \u201cdonkey swim,\u201d having grown up swimming in rivers that flooded after rain. He said that he arrived in Australia more than a decade ago as a refugee and that he has enrolled his children in swimming lessons for a true Australian upbringing.<\/p>\n They were late for swim class that day and decided instead to go to Pondi, which his neighbor had been raving about for weeks. Mr. Dahia, 38, said he was pleasantly surprised and said he\u2019d probably be back before long.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n Diana Harvey said she was skeptical of Penrith Beach before she decided to check it out on a whim on a recent weekday afternoon.<\/p>\n She needed a break from her duties as a full-time caregiver for her autistic adult son, which keeps her at home most days, and hadn\u2019t been to a beach all summer \u2014 a travesty for many Australians who consider swimming a birthright<\/a>.<\/p>\n \u201cI was basically brought up in the water,\u201d said Ms. Harvey, 52, recalling that her family would spend three hours driving to and from a beach in the summers growing up. \u201cWe are all water people here.\u201d<\/p>\n She had popped by Pondi in the waning days of summer thinking she would take a quick, 20-minute dip but ended up swimming for two hours, the Blue Mountains majestically stretching beyond and an expansive azure sky reflecting in the serene waters.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n Some residents have wondered if a beach so far inland would essentially be a glorified swamp<\/a>, and there have been brief closures over water quality concerns. Pondi\u2019s opening week in 2023 was marred by tragedy when a man who floated on a paddle board with his young children beyond the swimming area drowned<\/a>.<\/p>\n Still, more than 200,000 people visited the beach in its first season, according to the state government.<\/p>\n On a recent weekend morning, Barbara Dunn\u2019s family was first in line before the gates for the beach opened at 10 a.m. Her 6-year-old daughter Rhythm was sticking her head out of their car\u2019s back window in excitement.<\/p>\n \u201cWhere we\u2019re from in New Zealand, we\u2019d call this a lake,\u201d Ms. Dunn, 45, said. \u201cIt does the job. You get wet, right?\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n Rhythm bounded through the sand with her plastic pail filled with tools for building sand castles. For the next six hours, as the hot sun peaked overhead then began heading for the mountains, as the crowds filled in then thinned out, she tirelessly swam, played in the sand, rolled around in the river grass.<\/p>\n \u201cShe won\u2019t want to go home,\u201d Ms. Dunn said with a sigh.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n