For the first time in Australia, rain didn’t greet us upon arrival into a new place. In fact, it was scorching hot when we got off the plane in Ayers Rock, with temperatures well above 100 degrees. To go from Sydney and Melbourne to the middle of the Outback was quite a contrast. The coastal cities are towering and modern, but the center of the country is flat and ancient. The land of the Aboriginal people was not intended for human survival – scattered waterholes, limited food and resources, poisonous snakes and spiders, the hottest summer days and the coldest winter nights. Thanks to the Ayers Rock Resort, however, tourists can ponder the lives of the locals from their poolside decks. A handful of hotel companies joined forces to create a self-sufficient community, where they get all of the visitors in one place and then charge them ridiculous prices because there’s no where else to go. It’s the resort or nothing, putting backpackers in between a rock and a hard place.

My previous knowledge about the Outback consisted of boomerangs, didgeridoos, and the steakhouse radio commercials. I had never heard of its most striking feature – the world’s most famous rock. Measuring 2.25 miles long and 1,149 ft high, Ayers Rock is a potential 8th wonder of the world. The Anangu (Aboriginal people) call it Uluru and consider it a sacred part of their ancestry. From a distance, it looks like a neat loaf of dirt baking under the sun, rising from the surrounding scrubland as if by yeast. While it is indeed one solid piece of rock, the effects of time and weather are evident up close. Tanya and I drove around the base, stopping to take photos of the rifts and caves (except where signs marked sacred sites). As daylight changed, so did the color of the rock – earthy variations of brown, orange, red, and purple.

Though tourists are technically allowed to climb Uluru, it’s heavily frowned upon by the Anangu. In the National Park brochure, they warn: “That’s a really important sacred thing that you are climbing. You shouldn’t climb. It’s not the real thing about this place. Why are we going to tell you to go away (ask you not to climb)? So that you understand this, so that you understand we are informing you: don’t climb.” If that doesn’t discourage eager hikers: “Listen! If you get hurt, or die, your mother, father and family will really cry and we will be really sad too. So think about that and stay on the ground.” I was sold after the first "DON'T CLIMB!" and stayed on the ground, except to jump over the rock for a photo. There’s definitely a spiritual aura that lingers around the giant of nature, and I try to avoid curses when possible. There’s a pile of small rocks in the Cultural Center that were returned by visitors who later regretted taking them as souvenirs.

While Uluru tends to steal the spotlight, Kata Tjuta (The Olgas) are equally impressive. The Anangu name translates to “many heads,” referring to the 36 rounded monoliths that resulted from stresses inside a rock once like Uluru. I was upset that it was drizzling when we drove up this afternoon, but the rain made Kata Tjuta even more spectacular. Water slid down from the curved tops and streaked the faces with glowing white lines. Others rushed back to their tour buses while Tanya and I stayed to get thoroughly soaked.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, January 31st, 2006 at 7:09 am in XV. Australia. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.