Day 1: 31.08.2010 “Driving Out”
I went to bed quite early last night, after doing laundry in a bit of a daze and having to hang up half of the clothes on my hostel bed because half an hour of drying just didn’t do the job. And although the wine did finally register in my head whilst falling asleep, it was a restful night that ended way before my alarm at 5:30am. Luckily though, because it did end up taking a while longer than I had planned to pack all the hung up clothes in the dark with my flashlight in my mouth. In the end, the pick-up ended up being 20mins late due to graffiti on the bus which our guide Jason had to remove beforehand. Our group of 14 consists of the German couple, Andre and Julia, and French couple, Alex and Marge, with whom I had come up the Great Ocean Road with, a Chinese couple, a Korean girl, an American girl, an Australian Lady and a elderly Kiwi couple.
Our trip started with news about a dirt road in the desert being closed off because of frequent rains and the possibility of not being able to pass it tomorrow. We should know by breakfast if this is going to be the case. If so, Jason said there are lots of fun alternatives in the Flinder’s Ranges. Most of the morning was spent driving through lots of little (and by little I mean tiny) towns usually called Port something. These towns used to be much bigger, as they were the ports used to ship produce from the Ranges brought in by the Ghan Railway, mostly grain but sheep as well, all over the world… As we drove on, the landscape started changing, from farmland to a bit more barren. On one stretch, we had the beautiful turquoise coastline to the right and green rolling hills to the left. At some point we headed inland and into the Flinders Ranges. Here, the bright green grassy hills were dotted with darker green bushes and trees, as well as gray green saltbush. The hills grew into small mountains, still covered in green, with glimpses of rocky patches in between. Basically, we drove through nothing but green, crossing nothing but railroad tracks.
We stopped for lunch in Quorn, the last “big” town before Alice Springs, and took a short walk along the tracks of the Old Ghan Railway, which was built in the 1880s, connecting southern and northern Australia. It was built after the innovation that changed the face of Australia – the telegraph line. Before it was set up in the 1860s, it took up to 3 months for a message to reach the King/Queen in England. The towns that are found in the middle of nowhere along this line actually started out as telegraph stations and then grew from then on.
It is quite amazing to drive through such wide open and uninhabited spaces. My theory is, when you grow up and live surrounded by city, lights and life, constantly having “something” demanding your attention and keeping you entertained, emerging yourself into the “nothing” of such a landscape turns into so much more – “Nothing is definitely quite something”. I’m pretty sure some of you know exactly what I mean ;)
We got the chance to stretch our legs at the Youramballa Caves, an Aboriginal site up in the Ranges. Now, according to Jason, it depends on which book you read when it comes to the number of year Aboriginals have lived in Australia. They range from anywhere between 10.000-80.000 years. So when visiting sites where Aboriginal paintings can be found on the walls of the caves, I keep any of these large numbers in mind. In general, there is little information about exactly where and how they lived and what site meant what to their culture, because they keep it for themselves. The term Dreamtime, so I found out today, is actually not preferred by the Aboriginals, because it connotes that their stories are something untrue or unrealistic. To them, they are the truth about creation and they are very strict about how this information is passed on. They have different stages of learning and knowing – the white man always being on the lowest. The stories are not written down, only passed down orally once the person has reached the stage needed to have to learn it.
Aside from the three caves with paintings in them, we saw a few kangaroos hopping about the trees and learned a bit about one tree and its importance in particular. The White Cypress Pine that grows up in the Ranges is immune to termites and of great historical significance. When the telegraph line was being built, they had problems with termites up in the northern part and Aboriginals suggested to use the White Cypress Pine. The only problem was that it had to be brought up north from the Ranges and they did not really have the means to yet at the time. So they imported camels and camel riders from Afghanistan, which then became the main means of transport through the desert. Up to 100 camels, each carrying up to 600kg of goods (all except pork and alcohol) would march through the desert in a caravan. The railway, first called the Great Northern Railway that was then built and stole the camel riders’ jobs was then named in their honor. Today, mosques and date plantations remind of the camel era, as well as the camels which they set free back then and have grown into the largest wild camel population in the world today. They have actually turned into a bit of a pest, because they don’t have any natural predators, their population grows and when the dry season robs them of their waterholes, they overrun Aboriginal communities looking for water.
Our destination for the day was Angorichina in the Parachilna Gorge. Driving on a dirt road, nestled tightly between green rocky hills and eucalyptus trees, was like a journey through mother earth’s cleavage. To both sides, jagged rock was dotted with patches of little white flowers, softening the atmosphere. Angorichina is a small tourist village with dorm cottages and camp sites, as you can probably imagine, out in the middle of nowhere. When we arrived, the sun was about to set and the evening sun made the hills in the distance look velvety soft… After a good dinner – I must say, kangaroo meat is really starting to grow on me (a lot!) – we made a bonfire outside under the incredibly starry night sky - shooting stars and the milky way, not a sound to be heard and the faint smell of bonfire left in my clothes. Good night.
Day 2: 01.09.2010 “Blinmann’s Pools Walk and Plan A, B, C”
Maybe I should have stayed up longer by the campfire, maybe I should have had a few more sips of that Groovy rape port, but once I was nestled into the surprisingly warm and comfy sleeping bag I couldn’t fall asleep. Maybe it was the eerie silence that befell the place once the generator was turned off, maybe it was not used to sleeping so constricted, but I woke up every few hours all throughout the night. At some point at around 4:30am, the culprit for my 3rd waking was my bladder and I ihad to get out of bed, put on clothes, walk down the hall, out the hut and to the bathrooms that were located in a hut outside. Forgetting that there was no electricity at night, I didn’t bring my torch. Outside, I was baffled by how bright it was. The half moon shone and illuminated the cabin, the coal still softly glowing in the fire pit and the sleeping gorge like a far away halogen light. Shadows crept up the dirt path, as I crept to the bathroom.
Waking up and then finally getting up at 6:30, half an hour before my alarm turned out to be a blessing, otherwise I wouldn’t have caught the last colors of the sunrise over the hills and I might have had to stand in line for the showers. This way, I caught a glimpse of serene beauty waking up and was the first one squeaky clean. I also had breakfast on the benches outside and got to enjoy the silence broken only by birds’ song, before the generator rumbled to life.
On the agenda for the day was a walk through the Parachilna Gorge, not on the usual tour itinerary, but as we would find out soon enough, flexibility is definitely required out here. The Bilnmann’s Pools Walk takes you over hills, along and in a riverbed and along jagged stone walls. Again, green contrasts with the reddish sandy color of the rock, the gray of the dry riverbed and the intense blue of the sky. Because of the unusual amount of rain that the area has been having, wildflowers are in full bloom all along the path and pools which are usually dry around this time are filled and glow reddish because of some algae. We had two and a half hours to walk as far as we wanted and back. We made it till a spot in the gorge by a few larger pools, in the middle of nowhere (you might find me using that expression a bit more frequently in the next paragraphs). Back at Angorichina, we saw a huge hawktail eagle soaring over the Ranges – a majestic creature being chased by two little birds. Hardly beating his wings, he glided back and forth and further away, till his little attackers got what they wanted.
Upon getting back, we heard that the roads to Williams Creek, our initial plan, are still closed. So instead, we drove back south for two and a half hours to the town of Port Augusta, also called “the crossroads of Australia” because it is where the five major highways of the country meet. We had lunch in a park and stocked up on fuel for the bus and the travelers (alcohol gets much more expensive once heading further north). From there, we drove to Pimba (which ironically means pine tree, of which there are none in the area). The drive was long and the scenery changed from luscious greens to darker and grayer greens, from hills to flat, the trees shrank into tiny little bushy bushes and the sandy earth went deeper red. The sky became cloudy and mystical. The thin layers of gray showed patches of swirled sunlight, making it look like marble, like something from Greek mythology, expecting Zeus’ hand to reach down from one of the openings in the sky. All around, little sunbeams broke through and you could follow them down to where they kissed the red earth… But as beautiful as it sounds and truly was, the clouds meant no good. In the parking lot at Pimba, which was supposed to be our last chance to use a real bathroom, we discussed the indecisive weather. Jason declared it looking “not super awesome” but asked if we were adventurous and wanted to camp anyways. Yes! However, when he returned from the shop, he passed on the message from the local folks, who said we’d be crazy to camp because it was going to pour down for sure. So our plan B was to drive to a sheltered campsite behind some pub in the middle of nowhere, but that fell flat when Jason called and found out that there were 42 school children camping there at the moment and they were full up. So here we are, executing plan C – driving all the way to Coober Pedy, another 300km up north, and sleeping underground (which we were supposed to be doing tomorrow). Jason loaded up on Red Bull and we pulled out laptops, pillows or new cameras (the French guy is clearly having a good time playing with his new toy). Oasis is keeping me company and rocking up the repetitive scenery outside my window.
Day 3: 02.09.2010 “Coober Pedy and Bush-Camping”
Arrived in Coober Pedy in the dark and devoured the pizzas we had ordered in advanced. The accommodation was a hostel in a dugout, burrowed deep into the rock. One long hallway of little cubby holes with 2 bunk-beds each, separated by a stone wall and a curtain out to the corridor. A strange sight and feeling walking to the hole all the way at the end, but exciting nonetheless. After a beer at the underground bar in the hotel next door, we went to go sleep in our rocky shelter. It was one of the best night’s sleep I’ve had in a long time – pitch black and quiet, warm enough but not stuffy. And because we had the next morning off, there was no rush getting up. Of course, sleeping in is just not part of my daily routine after all this touring, so I was up by 7:30, which I didn’t know till I turned my phone on, since it was still completely dark in the room. Breakfast was out in front, sitting on little stool, drinking coffee and eating cereal in the already quite warm morning sunlight.
Coober Pedy is derived from the Aboriginal language and means “White man’s burrows/White man in a hole”. It is home to the world’s largest Opal mining fields, which were discovered in the beginning of the 1900s. From the lookout on top of the Opal mine next to our accommodation, you see nothing but little mounds – like giant moles inhabited the desert - and a few streets lined with stores. Everything is sandy and barren, a great contrast to the green of the Flinder’s Ranges. The stores are mainly Opal stores, in which rows and rows of beautiful opal jewelry is displayed, ranging from 25$ to a couple of thousand dollars. A solid stone, meaning picked out of the mine, cut, shaped, polished and set into jewelry is the most expensive variety. A doublet is a thin piece of opal glued to a piece of black plastic and a triplet is a sliver, sometimes as thin as paper, covered by clear quartz to protect it. Other than the mines and the stores, the desert town offers the experience of visiting a small underground church, an underground bookstore and an underground art gallery of Aboriginal paintings. But just walking through the dusty streets is an experience on its own. Not only a positive one though – more than around the cities and larger towns, Aborigines walk the streets; sit, yell and lie on them as well, drunk or high, dirty and usually exiled from their reservation.
The morning in Coober Pedy bore many firsts – first desert feeling, first tingling of my skin, registering that I’ve crossed over into sunnier territories, first day spent in t-shirt and flip flops… In the afternoon, we took a tour through an Opal mine and learned about the basics of mining, the history of Opals and living in dug outs 6-8m underground, as around 80% of the population out there does. On the way out of town, we drove passed the Coober Pedy sign, a mining truck hoisted up on stilts and the Coober Pedy golf course – a hilarious sight, since there is not even a hint of grass on it (you have to carry around a piece of carpet to tee off of); making its affiliation with the prestigious St. Andrews golf club in Scotland even more hilarious. We also heard some funny stories about the people of the town, who go by their own guidelines, the law not really having much say in the area. Because of the mining industry, explosives used to be bought in the supermarket (whilst you do need permits nowadays). And combining the “own rules” with the latter: One guy, after his name was printed up wrongly twice in the local newspaper, just went ahead and blew it up… I need not say, we left the strange little town with slight sunburns and grins on our faces.
The rest of the day was spent driving up the Stuart Highway. Immersing myself long enough in the monotonous landscape along the road, I started desert dreaming, a combination of daydreaming while staring into nothingness and noticing little details that pop up along the way – shards of glass that sparkle all along the road, the sun moving from front to back and front again, blinding me and making me pull the curtains from side to side (although we seem to just be going straight), the windshield getting more and more spotted with splattered bugs, the car carcasses left by the side of the road, flipped, smashed and wrecked, as reminders for drivers to take breaks and rest – because accidents do happen (quite a lot along this highway, according to Jason, our guide)… But the most prominent thing has to be the sky above the desert. I’ve never seen skies like this, probably because I’ve never been somewhere where the sky is so very visible and stands out against the landscape down here on earth. This day, it was an infinite blue, so deep and wide that I noticed this tiny little cloud, like the sun had just exhaled a puff of smoke, slowly deteriorating in the beating heat. I now know what Jason meant when he said that the desert is freedom.
Just before heading off the highway and onto a red dirt road leading us straight into the bush, I saw my first desert sunset and it was spectacular! I stared at it for so long that colorful lights started dancing in front of my eyes as I tried to look back into the bus… Our campsite for our night of bush-camping was, as the name might give away – in the middle of the bush. All that was there to tell us that it had been used as a campsite before was a charred circle in the middle of a bush-free area. It was dark already, but setting up our little kitchen wasn’t all too difficult. We cooked pasta Bolognese, not necessarily camping food – but damn delicious. Our fire kept growing – horizontally - and keeping us warm and toasty on this very clear night. The sky was black, the stars were twinkling and the milkyway was clearly visible. I started experimenting with my camera and found out that with enough exposure, one could capture the most amazing images of a night in the bush… Glowing trees and sparkling stars. Our sleeping arrangements were swags. I had never heard of them before, so when I got to be model (Jason showing everyone how to use one) and was zipped up in a bag for the sleeping bag and a flap to cover you up if it rains, I was quite surprised. Yay, literally sleeping under the stars, no tent blocking the way. The crickets sang everyone to sleep quite fast, but I just couldn’t keep my eyes closed… Might sound a bit cliché, but it was just too beautiful a sight. The fire died down and the stars popped out even more. Lightning lit up the horizon every few minutes. It was amazing… I didn’t even mind the creepy crawlies, which I knew were all around me.
Day 4: 03.09.2010 “Getting to the Rock”
I didn’t sleep very deeply, but it didn’t matter. Waking up and the first thing you see is the stars just can’t annoy you the way waking up in the middle of the night in a bed can. All throughout the night my swag-neighbor tossed and turned and once, I saw a flashlight bean shining on a quite large insect which he had just plucked from his sleeping bag… I awoke at around 6am, lifted my head and saw the horizon behind me lies bright red, the gnarled trees dark silhouettes against those colors chasing away the dark. But I just couldn’t get myself to move and take a picture, instead I slept for another 20minutes. The sight I woke up to then was motivation enough to jump out of my sleeping bag, yawn stretch and take a couple of dozen pictures. Breakfast in front of the still glimmering coals, reignited to fight the morning chill. While packing up, someone found a hand-long centipede in her sleeping bag, one that apparently has a pretty painful bite…
We hit the road and spent the day driving up towards Uluru through endless cattle stations. We were greeted by a large hawktail eagle sitting on a tree right by the highway and signs bearing the catchy phrase “Drowsy drivers die”. One of the cattle stations, Ana Creek, had 6.5 million acres, just as an example of how massive the properties out here get. We crossed the border into Northern Territory, where “the rules end”. The youngest state in Australia has a population of about 300.000 people and was previously governed by Sydney and then South Australia. We continued on through the cattle stations (quite seldom actually seeing cattle), which were the greenest they have been since 2000 and, in comparison, more rain has fallen this year than back then. So the desert feeling of Coober Pedy disappeared with the landscape and the rain. We passed Mt.Connor, also called “Foolaru”, because people on the way to Ularu usually think that they’ve arrived when this massive plateau pops up on the horizon. The only places we stopped and took breaks at were roadhouses. At one, we had lunch, visited by a curious emu that chased anyone with food in their hands. As we left, the sky was starting to clear up and, just as I had bravely predicted, it stopped raining when we got to Uluru. Half an hour before that, we stopped at the side of the road to gather firewood. We got to rip up dead trees to get ice and fat branches. It was rough fun, I got scratched up and had an encounter with a big fat spider.
We visited the Cultural Centre at Uluru, where more info on some dreamtime stories, the land, the people, the flora and fauna was presented in a quite nice way. A voice told stories in an Aboriginal language, the outside was made of red clay and the inside painted in Aboriginal designs. I especially liked the Sorry Book, filled with letters from people giving back rocks and dirt taken from this sacred ground. Some have added stories of misfortunes that befell them after taking their souvenirs, others just realized their wrong doing. Climbing the Rock has also been known to bring bad luck, as it is frowned upon by the Aboriginal people. From there, we went to a lookout point to watch the sunset – along with tons of other tour-busses loaded with shutter happy, champage/goon/beer drinking tourists from all over the world (especially Germany, of course). Even though the sun was covered up by clouds as it sank on the opposite side of the Rock, the sky turned orange and pink and Uluru lit up bright deep red. Quite a sight…
After a huge stir-fry dinner, we lit up our fire in the drum and sat around it with the remaining two bottles of Groovy Grape portwine and a bag of marshmallows and enjoyed the campife-feeling, one by one creeping off into our swags.
Day 5: 04.09.2010 “Kata TJutu and Uluru”
My alarm rang at an ungodly hour – the night was still black, the moon still a silver sliver in the sky and I felt like I might still be in need of some sleep. But by 6am we had to be up and ready and on the road to head out to a viewing point and watch the sun rise next to Uluru on one and the colors emerge on Kata Tjuta (more red rock formations) on the other side. And it was definitely worth it. Sunrises are always a special atmosphere, but seeing the blood red sphere rise next to a sacred rock, laden with history, culture and nature’s beauty is a sight that sends your mind flying to new heights.
Kata Tjutu, formerly called the Olgas, till the land was given back to the Aboriginals, who gave it back their original name meaning “many heads”, are just opposite of the rocker formerly known as Ayer’s. They are a more bumpy landscape, compared to the one towering trapeze. It is believed that is was a sacred sight meant only for men. In general, Aboriginal tribes only consist of around 20-25 people, of which about half were men and the other women. Without there being a gender hierarchy, the roles of men and women were and are to this day very distinct and so were some of their sacred places. We hiked around the Kata Tjuta, through the valleys along the base, since this too shouldn’t be climbed. SO early in the morning, it was cold and the wind-chill was constantly present, in this area also called “The Valley of the Winds”. By the end of the 7km walk, the sun was out and the jackets came off.
Lunch and chill time back at camp got us rested and ready for the base hike around Uluru. At almost 3pm, not a cloud in the sky, we were standing at the base of Uluru. The Climb, as the steep hike us the rock along a chain is called, was open (which is quite rare). Before staring our walk, we read the sign set up by the Aboriginal people, requesting that you don’t climb their sacred rock and warning “Don’t risk your life”. There have been 38 official deaths at Uluru due to falling off, heart attack and heat stroke. Also, the tourists cause pollution which effects the land surrounding the site. Basically, they forget to go to the bathroom (or drink too much) and end up doing their business on top of the rock. When the rain falls and all is washed down into the desert, it harms the plant and therefore the animal life. A certain species of shrimp, which dries up and comes back to life with water has almost become extinct because of this. Although I am not a superstitious person, I do have respect for the spiritual beliefs of other cultures and found myself very torn between this, disrespecting the wishes of the oldest culture of the world and the pull towards adventure. I have come all this way and am standing at the base with the opportunity to stand on top of one of the world’s most famous sites and at the same time don’t want to be disrespectful. Before the final decision was made, Jason took us on the Marla walk and told us a bit about the land and its history. In 1967 the Aboriginal people got their rights in the Northern Territory, having been classified under Flora and Fauna beforehand. They fought to win back their land, which was then returned to them in 1985. However, because the Climb had become such a successful tourist attraction and meant big business for the Australian government, they only gave it back under the condition that the Aboriginals lease it to them for 99 years. So today the government still has full control of this land although there are plans for it to be returned by 2020.
The Aboriginal people are said to have been around Uluru for over 30.000 years. Their strict means of passing on information was necessary for their survival. For example their 5 step method of hunting kangaroos; if two 14 year old boys were given this information and one succeeded using the 5 steps, he’s be given a pat on the back. If the other had succeeded, but had skipped a step or two, he would have been beaten over the head with a club… It is a culture which is hard to understand and which causes many problems for them and the Australian people due to culture clash and social issues. Only two generations ago, there were still nomadic tribes, which had a completely different lifestyle and way of thinking. They were rounded up and stuck into communities. They don’t accept the white culture that they have been slapped in the face with , so it is important to “keep an open mind” and know that it is “not as bad as it looks”, according to Jason.
The Marla walk is named after a small Wallaby, a dreamtime animal, which is extinct and no longer found in the area because of the introduction of non native species. It began with 10 rabbits being brought in by a homesick Englishman, who found the Aussie animals to boring to hunt. He released these rabbits, which then rapidly multiplied and started eating all the vegetation. They then brought in foxes to take care of this problem. They however couldn’t be bothered with the rabbits and started killing all the other mammals. Within 35years, over 30 species of native mammals became extinct.
There is no definite answer, no truth to how Uluru came to exist, only theories. One of which is that 900million years ago there was a huge mountain range on which no plant or animal life existed, causing it to be washed away faster. Two lakes formed and the sediment and rocks were washed into them. Possibly, the length of the two rivers flowing into the lakes, of which one would become Kata Tjuta and one Uluru, caused one to fill with pebbles and rocks and the other with fine sediment; this being the reason why the two formations are made of different looking rock. As the sea level rose above these beds of mud and froze during the ice age, the weight of the ice compressed them for millions of years into the sandstone they are today. About 240million year ago,the McDonalds Ranges were pushed out of the ground and the movement of the tectonic plates pushed the two sandstones out of the ground. Uluru, being made of the fine sediment was more solid, making it look so even. Kata Tjutu cracked and crumbled, which is why it is domed and has valleys. It is also speculated that only a small percentage of the actual formation is above ground and Uluru might actually have its base 6-7km, Kata Tjutu up to 30km underground.
The Aboriginal story, the children’s version, is easier to follow and I’m quite happy to just believe that one. One day, a mother told her two sons to leave her in peace for a while and go find something to do. So they went to a riverbed, got thirsty and started digging for water. They threw the rocks and pebbles over their shoulder, which became Kata Tjutu and left the pile of dirt by the side, which then became Uluru. They slid down the pile of dirt, which then became the lines and ridges down Uluru. And because children’s tales are all about learning something out of it, the moral of the story is: do as you are told. Of course, this is the most simplified version of the story. They grow as the level of knowledge grows. But because white people can’t reach a higher level. The dreamtime creation tales of Uluru will stay veiled in mystery.
We got to the end of the Marla walk and the crossroads to the base walk, a 10km walk all around Uluru, and the climb. I think I must have stood there the longest. The English/Irish couple went straight for the climb, most went straight for the walk. The male part of the German-French-Connection (the two couples I left Melbourne with) went for the climb after short contemplation. In the end, I decided to do the walk, knowing I’d probably partially regret it in the end. But I figured, you probably see more of the rock walking around it than on top of it anyways (or so I told myself to feel better about my choice). It turned out to be a good choice, because the two and a half hour walk was accompanied by good conversation and ever changing scenery. One would think that a walk around a large red rock could be monotonous, but Uluru is quite multifaceted. The terrain around it changes from dirt road, to paved road to pebbles which had turned into a little river we had to step around and through. The vegetation changes from drier bush on the sunny side and greener grasses, trees and flowers on the shady side. And of course, there is the rock itself. From afar the surface looks smooth and velvety, while up close it looks like a thick layer of rust has been eating away at it. There are holes that look like a termite layer cut in half, a jagged gaping shark’s mouth or smooth sand-blown caves and tunnels – depending on which side you are walking along. The color also changes from even red to striped with white or black, caused by the water running down in little waterfalls when it rains. Along the path, we encountered gigantic ants, all kinds of birds as well as a little thorny devil (though the first time I asked I understood “funny” and the second time “horny”) – a reptile that looks like a miniature dinosaur and moves like a robot toy. Too bad I only found out back at the bus that they are harmless and can be picked up, I didn’t dare go very close to this little animal covered in spikes and hissing at me… Back at the entrance to the climb, I couldn’t resist walking just a few meters up and seeing what it felt like to be standing on Uluru. It was steep and I could imagine the climb to the top being quite tough, but in the end I was glad I didn’t go up, because just standing on it already felt strange – I guess I can’t just turn off the feeling of treading on sacred ground… We stayed for sunset and watched as the red became even redder. Not as red as it can get, according to Jason and postcards, but red enough to marvel.
Day 6: 05.09.2010 “Kings Canyon”
We packed up camp leisurely, because we were still ahead of schedule, having done the base walk in the afternoon (instead of this morning), and drove off around 9am. By now, rolling up sleeping bags and swags, packing and cleaning the kitchen and loading it all into the trailer had become routine and happened quite quickly, everyone lending a hand where they can…The morning was spent driving, because there was still a bit of ground to cover towards our final destination. Again, it was mainly cattle stations we drove through, but as we were heading into the Gilles Ranges, the landscape began changing – less flat, more green, higher trees, Eagles circled above us quite often and lizards lay next to the road (Blue Tongues and Thorny Devils, flat and non-flat)… We stopped for firewood again and I added some new scratches to my collection, dragging the biggest trunks I could find and ripping out dead dried bushes. This time, we wanted only the big stuff, to make an epic last fire at the campsite. On the last stretch of road, a few wild horses, Brumbies, were grazing only a few meters from the street. I don’t think I’ve ever seen wild horses before and I felt the little horse-crazy girl inside me grinning widely.
Kings Creek campsite was quite nice. We had a little fire pit with enough space to place our swags around it, a grassy patch just next to it, a little hut where we set up our kitchen and clean facilities. After unloading, we headed to Kings Canyon, a spot not as well known as Uluru and Kata Tjuta, but, as it turned out, a true highlight of the whole trip. The hike begins with the hardest part, a steep hill with rocky steps that lead you up to the top of the range. From there, you walk along the canyons and through the domes on top. It’s not a hard walk, but takes about 3h, which is perfect – long and scenic, without exhausting you. Every once in a while you walk to the edge of the canyon and have to inhale sharply because of the magnificent view. I climbed up random rock formations every once in a while, just to get a better look and feel the adrenaline in my veins, feeling as though as I was standing on top of the world. However, the ultimate experience that got my heart pumping was the swim in the waterhole of the Garden of Eden. Who knew I’d ever be allowed to enter Paradise? A green valley with water flowing through it and palm trees growing by the side of the holes filled with black water (it was shady by the time we got there). I was the first with my feet in the icy cold water and later the first one to jump in. I don’t think I’ve ever swam in water that cold before. It almost felt like a burning sensation on my skin. Only 4 people actually went in and we were all girls. The boys had two excuses: not wanting to disturb the ducks and their ducklings and “I have a penis”. One of the younger German girls and I actually swan across and warmed up on the only rocks still being hit by some sunlight, only having to jump back in to swim back to the group. It was so cold, I felt numb while drying off, hardly feeling the towel on my skin. But I just couldn’t pass up the opportunity to be able to say I’ve swan in a waterhole in Kings Canyon, in the middle of Australia and froze my a** off… The rest of the hike back to the bus was accompanied by another one of those beautifully patterned skies and because everyone was walking at their own pace, the group had dispersed a bit, which gave a bit of room to think and breathe and listen to the serenity up there. Jason then gunned it back to camp just in time for sunset.
I wanted to spent my last night of the trip, my last night in a swag a bit further away from the fire, to be able to see the stars even better. So after the last of our wood was gone and most people had gone to bed, I dragged my swag over to the grassy patch and watched the shooting stars till my eyelids were too heavy, wishing that the trip would never end.
Day 7: 06.09.2010 ”14h in Alice Springs”
One last time, we packed up camp after breakfast. It felt final and I have to admit, I was actually quite sad – time had flown by and I wish there had been more of it. I’m going to miss campfires and their smell lingering in my clothes, going to sleep under the stars, zipping up my swag, the cool night air on my face, the silence in the dead of night, waking up to the sun rising, waking up with a hot shower I have to take a little walk to, the morning cups of tea and coffee by a reignited fire, the good and plentiful food, driving through nothingness listening to good music…and the people I have met, shared experiences with and grown to appreciate quite a bit.
We had 480km to Alice, with not much to see or do in between. Our lunch break was outside a roadhouse, where we were ordered to “eat everything” and despite doing our best and trying so hard to finish off the wraps, sandwiches, salads, cold cuts, sauces etc, we hardly succeeded… Further down the road, an emu with his six babies crossed the road right in front of us and struggled to get through the fence on the other side. And yes, I did say HIS, because in emu families, the mother lays the eggs and disappears, leaving the father to hatch and raise the chicks (which stand about as tall as my hip).
After a few hours of driving with especially good music, we arrived in Alice Springs in the afternoon and dropped people off one by one at their hostels. Since we had made plans for dinner, it wasn’t goodbye quite yet. Jason and the German-French-Connection were staying at the Haven as well, which made our stop the last. The hostel was friendly and clean and I was starting to regret having booked the continuing tour for the next day already (also because the French were doing it as well, but 3 days later). But being me, it didn’t cross my mind to call and ask for a re-booking till after they had already closed. Oh well… I left immediately after checking in and walked to town to get some souvenirs which I hadn’t bought on the trip. I figured that they’d have Uluru postcards and shot glasses and stuff in Alice, and I was right. The town is flat and much greener and larger than Coober Pedy. There are more grassy patches along the streets and it seems quite clean. I walked to Todd’s Mall, a pedestrian shopping district in the middle of town, and passed the first Kmart and KFC in over 10 days. After finding what I was looking for, I tried to find my way back and eventually did so, but not after getting a bit lost and zigzagging through the town for a while. I think I was heading in the right direction, thought I wasn’t and turned, then headed in the wrong direction for a while before realizing that I was actually on the right way – and all that with a basic map in my pocket. But as I’ve said, I love getting lost in a new town. It’s the best way of seeing it for the first (and in this case my only) time.
Back at the hostel, I looked if I could find Jason or any of the others for that pre-dinner beer we had talked about and went to the bottle shop for, but I didn’t see anyone. So I got ready fot this evenin and sat down outside with my Aussie Radler (which wasn’t really Radler (Beer+Sprite), only flavored beer) and my laptop and tried catching up on my writing. This didn’t last very long though, because I was joined by Alex and Andre and some random Aussie dirt biker with a broken ankle. And when Alex and Andre left to get their ladies, this guy actually used the line “Your parents must be terrorists (Why?) Because you’re the bomb.“ on me. At least he wasn’t hurt when I started laughing and asked if that ever works…
Subchapter “One Night in Alice”
We met our whole group in town at the Rock Bar and had dinner and some drinks there. We got great group discounts on our meals and later on on shots as well… Quite a few were set on getting drunk that night and I was the only lucky person who had a 5:40am pick up at the hostel the next morning. This fact became a running joke throughout the evening. One I didn’t find very amusing till after my third glass of wine. I mean, I had the choice between saying goodbye and going to bed early to be awake on hours and hours of riding a bus the next day or celebrating the end of fabulous Groovy Grapes trip with newfound friends and just sleeping for a while the next day and possibly bearing with a bit of a headache. The decision wasn’t very hard. And the first tequila shot and a deal cut to just keep me awake till 5am, made it even easier.
A one man band, later joined by an Aboriginal guitar player, played music that reminded me a bit of modern Irish folk and made great background music. After the first shot, which everyone joined in on, including our Kiwi couple (Don had just turned 71), I went outside for a cigarette and when I got back in, everyone was jumping and dancing – I guess tequila works faster than I thought. I did realize that myself after Alex bought and made me take two on the spot… A few of us spent most of the night outside in the terrace area behind the bar. 1.Because it was the smoking area 2.Because it was a beautiful night out 3.Because the fresh air makes my face burn less… And slowly by slowly everyone left, coming around to give hugs and say goodbye. The final 8, the English/Irish couple, the German-French-Connection, Jason and I was then further diminished to us staying at the Haven – who then stopped by the 24h store before strolling and swaying back into the hostel - we had had a wonderful, loud, laughing, talking-to-random-strangers, picture-taking, smoking-too-much, drunken night: the perfect ending to a perfect tour (with a perfect tour guide?;)...
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