Kristine Carroll settled into the only shaded spot on the beach—a small triangle of shadow cast by the temporary lifeguard station—and began applying sunscreen to her freckled skin.
As the intense midday sun beat down, she squinted and turned her gaze toward her eight-year-old daughter, Zoe, who had already dived into the shimmering blue-green water without hesitation. “She loves the water,” Ms. Carroll remarked.
Despite the inviting scene, the vast Pacific Ocean—renowned for shaping Sydney’s breathtaking coastline and hosting some of the world’s most famous beaches—was nearly 50 miles away. A group of pelicans glided across the water, while coots waded nearby. Unlike typical seaside settings, there were no seagulls in sight. A humorous sign playfully warned beachgoers about waves reaching a height of just two millimeters—less than a tenth of an inch.
This place is called Pondi Beach.
Unlike Bondi Beach—widely recognized as a glittering backdrop for reality television, a dream destination for backpackers, and a central hub of Australia’s surf culture—Pondi is a modest, man-made beach that has become a cherished retreat for locals. The name, pronounced “Pond-eye,” is a playful nod to Bondi, but the beach itself sits along a lagoon formed within a former quarry at the base of the Blue Mountains, marking the western edge of the Sydney region.
Though it lacks the postcard-perfect beauty of its coastal counterpart, Pondi Beach has proven invaluable to those who live an hour or more inland and struggle with the rising costs of travel, including expensive road tolls and coastal parking fees.
Like many cities, Sydney’s outer suburbs are home to working-class families, newly arrived immigrants, and individuals who have been forced farther from the city center due to soaring housing prices. In Penrith and surrounding areas, residents also contend with extreme heat, with temperatures that can soar 30 degrees Fahrenheit higher than those near the ocean—an issue exacerbated by climate change. In 2020, Penrith briefly held the record as the hottest place on Earth when temperatures surpassed 120 degrees Fahrenheit.
Pondi Beach reopened for its second season in December, with the state government having invested approximately $2.7 million in the project. Stretching just over half a mile, it is nearly the same length as Bondi Beach.
On a recent Sunday, as a heat warning was issued and temperatures climbed to 95 degrees, children joyfully played in the water with snorkels and inflatable pool floats shaped like crocodiles and unicorns. Families tossed rugby balls across the sand, while others gathered around barbecue grills to prepare meals of prawns, sausages, and a whole roast chicken. A few girls lay on their stomachs, basking in the sun.
For Ms. Carroll, a 46-year-old lifelong resident of Penrith who works as an education coordinator in a nearby prison, the local beach has been a much-needed escape. She has never had air conditioning at home, and the previous night, she drove around in her car simply to enjoy the cool air, as her house was unbearably hot.
Having access to a nearby beach where her family can cool off—without the hassle and financial burden of traveling all the way to the coast—has made a significant difference. With the cost-of-living crisis stretching her finances, she appreciates that a day at Pondi Beach requires only the cost of fuel for a 12-minute drive and a 50-cent ice cream from McDonald’s for her daughter on the way home.
“Some people look down on it, but honestly, it’s free,” she said. “They think of it as a cheap imitation of Bondi Beach,” she added, using the Australian slang term “bogan” to describe the working-class reputation of Sydney’s western suburbs.
Zoe, who had recently visited Bondi Beach for a cousin’s swim competition, enjoyed the trip but found the ocean water too salty, which left red marks on her skin. “I like how soft the sand is here. At Bondi, the sand was too hot,” she said, wiggling her toes into the pale, cool grains of Pondi’s shore.
Elsewhere on the beach, Elhadi Dahia and his three young children—ages six, four, and one and a half—had just finished playing in the water and walked up a grassy slope to visit two food trucks. The older children eagerly ate hot dogs and a crispy potato snack before pleading for ice cream, while their youngest sibling toddled around in a swim diaper decorated with the phrase “Fish are friends.”
Mr. Dahia, originally from Darfur in western Sudan—a landlocked region—explained that he had learned to swim in rivers that flooded during the rainy season. “I can only swim like a donkey,” he joked, referring to an unpolished swimming style. Having arrived in Australia more than a decade ago as a refugee, he enrolled his children in swimming lessons to ensure they embrace Australia’s strong beach culture.
That day, they had initially planned to attend a swim class but decided on a spontaneous trip to Pondi Beach after hearing their neighbor rave about it for weeks. Mr. Dahia, 38, was pleasantly surprised and expected they would return again soon.
Diana Harvey, another visitor, had initially been skeptical of Penrith Beach. As a full-time caregiver for her autistic adult son, she rarely left the house and had not been to the beach all summer—something that many Australians, who see swimming as a way of life, would find hard to imagine.
“I grew up in the water,” said Ms. Harvey, 52, recalling childhood summers when her family would spend three hours driving to and from the coast. “We’re all drawn to the water here.”
On a whim, she decided to check out Pondi Beach one afternoon, expecting to take a quick 20-minute dip. Instead, she ended up swimming for two hours, mesmerized by the stunning backdrop of the Blue Mountains and the vast, cloudless sky reflected in the tranquil waters.
Some residents had initially questioned whether an inland beach would feel more like a swamp, and there had been occasional closures due to water quality concerns. Tragically, Pondi Beach’s opening week in 2023 was overshadowed by an accident when a man, floating on a paddleboard with his young children outside the designated swimming area, drowned.
Despite these concerns, the beach saw more than 200,000 visitors during its first season, according to government reports.
On a recent weekend morning, Barbara Dunn and her family arrived early, waiting in line before the gates opened at 10 a.m. Her six-year-old daughter, Rhythm, eagerly leaned out of the car window in excitement.
“Back in New Zealand, where we’re from, we’d call this a lake,” said Ms. Dunn, 45. “But it works—you get wet, and that’s what matters.”
As soon as the gates opened, Rhythm ran across the sand, carrying a plastic pail filled with sandcastle tools. Over the next six hours, as the sun rose high in the sky and later began its descent beyond the mountains, as crowds arrived and later drifted away, she swam, played in the sand, and rolled around in the grassy banks.
“She won’t want to leave,” Ms. Dunn said with a knowing sigh.