Feb 09 - Uluru and Fooluru

The next morning we woke very early and ate packed breakfasts in our cave hotel rooms at Coober Pedy. Then it was time to rendezvous with the rest of the group at the cave hostel and board our bus. Today we had yet another epic drive in store, further up through the central deserts of Australia.

As we left town the sunrise cast long ghostly shadows over the unearthly terrain. The surrounding landscape was strewn with piles of rubble from the opal mines. Soon the mines petered out and we were heading through the great nothingness of the Stuart Highway again. The vegetation was much sparser, the horizon utterly featureless.

Our destination was Uluru, the world-famous landmark known in times gone by as Ayer’s Rock. Uluru means different things to different cultures – to the Aborigines, a sacred worship site; to tourists and travellers, a big fun rock to climb on. As you might imagine this has caused a little bit of tension between the two parties down the years. Climbing the rock is now officially discouraged, but not forbidden.

“What colour is your urine?” demanded a sympathetic sign at the next roadhouse. Pale yellow is good; your body’s fully hydrated. Deep yellow is cause for concern – drink more water straight away. If it’s orange then you’re f**ked, no two ways about it. Drink water immediately and seek medical attention. It wasn’t as hot as it had been in Adelaide, but here in the red centre it can reach an amazing 60˚C in the summer, so drinking enough water is crucial.

Soon we left South Australia and crossed into the Northern Territory. The clocks went back an hour. The Northern Territory doesn’t do daylight savings time it seems. Working out the time in Australia when it’s summer gets a bit difficult; half the states put their clocks forward, the rest don’t bother. The same weekend the clocks go back for winter in Europe, they go forward for summer in Australia, and vice versa. Depending on which state you’re in and what time of year it is, you could be anything between 7 and 11 hours ahead of the UK.

Eventually the giant monolith appeared on the horizon; not Uluru, but Mount Conner, an Uluru-shaped mountain that was plainly just put there to confuse people. Mount Conner is nicknamed ‘Fooluru’ due to its resemblance. Fifty miles past Mount Conner, we glimpsed the real Uluru, shimmering majestically in the desert mist.

At the end of the day, yes, it’s just a rock, but it’s a bloody impressive one. Uluru dwarfs the landscape around it, measuring a good two or three miles from end to end. It is set in bushland in the midst of a giant national park. There used to be a resort complex next to the rock itself but this got bulldozed years ago so the area could return to its natural state. Over time the local Aboriginal communities have gradually been able to assert their control over this spiritual site, though it is still a bit of a tug-of-war between them and the government at present.

We began our pilgrimage to the mighty rock by checking into a permanent campsite at nearby Yulara. Here there were water taps, barbeques and washrooms in a basic but clean environment. There were a few different tour groups knocking around in the high season. It became apparent there were two strata of tourists doing this trip through the desert: us, the backpackers, travelling on a budget; and the coach tours full of the elderly and wealthy, waited on hand and foot by phalanxes of guides.

Making the most of the daylight, we did a brief walk past one side of Uluru, going along a path through some trees to a water-hole. The rock towered over us, reflecting beautiful orange light all through the glade. I shot a few videos on my camera, trying to capture its immense scale close up. My mum and Anthony missed the rendezvous back on the bus because they followed someone who was wandering about confused. Esther flew into a panic, convinced some terrible fate had befallen my mother, but eventually they found their way back safe and happy in time for the sunset.

Nick drove us round to a great vantage point where the sun was setting behind us, bathing the entire rock in light. It was a magnificent sight – I’d not been so awed since I visited the Taj Mahal in India. Slowly the sun dipped below the horizon and the colour of the rock changed from deep orange to dirty brown. The daylight was fading and darkness would not be far behind.

Lower down the hill, a massive group of people from the coach parties had been enjoying some sort of exquisite dinner served on long plastic tables with tablecloths. Meanwhile we munched boxes of crackers and drank Asti Spumante from plastic mugs. And I was perfectly happy with that. We were living on the edge, experiencing the raw thrill of the outback. The toffs from the bus were floating along on a cloud of luxury, out of touch with reality; none of them would get to climb the hill and eat our crackers, and it was their loss.

Afterwards we went back to the camp at Yulara and laid all the swag-bags out in the open. Swag-bags are outdoors sleeping bags, traditionally used by bushmen and wandering travellers in place of a tent. We hid our shoes inside the swags so dingoes wouldn’t steal them, and then slept out under the stars, the bushland lit by brilliant moonlight. It was amazing. Quiet was all around, save a bit of muffled snoring, and the weather was perfectly still. I dreamt more vividly than I have since childhood, strange dreams, dark dreams, my brain dazzled by the light from the sky.

We got up in time to witness sunrise at Uluru. Not much I can say about it except the rock turned from brown back to bright orange, so it’s exactly like the sunset in reverse. We began a long hike all the way round the rock, an exhilarating two-hour journey on foot wearing our hats and fly-nets. The flies were everywhere.

Up close the rock has a lot of detailed features where bits have eroded; once again, a geologist’s wet dream. Certain sections of the walk cannot be photographed, as the features on the rock carry spiritual significance to Aborigines. There was a stiff $5,000 fine for taking pictures in these bits and we all nervously followed it to the letter.

It was quite a hot day, though not as hot as the heatwave down in Adelaide. Over in Victoria the bushfires were now raging. We’d hear the apocalyptic news reports every time we passed a TV on the fuel stops. Meanwhile up in Queensland there were tropical rainstorms and flooding. This country is so huge it can have any number of weather-related emergencies happening around it all at once. And I’m buggered if I can understand all that meteorological gubbins, but the rule seems to be there is no rule.

After several miles we’d done the full circle round Uluru; what an epic journey. Next, a short journey to Walpa Gorge in the Kata Tjuta national park and another hike for those that could be arsed doing more walking. My dad and I joined the group exploring the area while my mum and Anthony stayed back to rest their aching feet.

We’d glimpsed the Kata Tjuta hills on the horizon the previous evening; they are a series of dome-shaped rock formations (always with the rock formations) that have significance in the Aboriginal Creation Time stories. Walpa gorge was a narrow pathway running through a very steep rock valley – the sky shrank to a narrow band of blue up above as we walked through. It wasn't quite as impressive as Uluru but still pretty memorable.

Nick told us another grim story about how hundreds of Aborigines had been slaughtered in this gauge by ruthless farmers; as they weren’t classed as people in the olden days, legally it had been seen more as a ‘cull’ than a massacre, abhorrent as that sounds. Next thing we know Esther starts chipping in and he got into heated debate with her about whether the old Christian missions were a good thing. She believed they were, but he pointed out they had been partially responsible for destroying the Aborigines’ traditions and culture. Thankfully somebody interrupted with another question, otherwise it could have turned ugly!

After the standard lunch of burgers and salad at the campsite in Yulara, it was time to pack up and leave. Then another long drive, back out on to the Stuart Highway and up to King’s Canyon. Another campsite settlement awaited us there. The time had really flown by since we left Adelaide, and tomorrow would be last day of the trip (not the last day of our holiday though).

I think all four of us really enjoyed doing the backpacker trips – there was a good mix of people, the sight-seeing was interesting and the guides had both been great. Anthony and my mum and dad got a great introduction to Australia, and it added immeasurably to my experience of the country; prior to this I’d travelled plenty but seen very little of what it has to offer.