In a sleepy little town called Alice, two main roads stretch one mile, completing the downtown. One casino. One river (dried up). One soccer field. One church and one post office.
I arrived late afternoon and took a stroll into town, as the sun set. At the end of town is Anzac Hill, which overlooks this small community. A bit of a climb, but it was a beautiful, cool night. At the top, you gaze out. Alice resembles Santa Fe or Salt Lake in its layout, protecting the simple rectangle by mountain ranges.
As I reached the summit, the sun had just set, and I looked up to see a wonderful charge of color in the sky. A deep, slow blue like the bottom of a lake, then floating up to a calm, intense red. The picture here does not do it quite justice, but there is the sense:
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The air is so clear. Like Vermont air in the winter morning, after a strong storm. That wise desert sky, full and open. The colors are so crisp and soft, it's as if they have sound, they are so clear. Hard to describe. But you know? Then there is pure visibility-- and all you see is what's in front of you.
I began to see clearly up there. My life is changing, and I am changing with it, rather than in spite of it. I never really knew why I had to come here and it doesn't even matter. What matters is that something said "come" and I said, "okay." Let the rest take care of itself.
I remember my brother traveling to Poland, in the land of our ancestors. A normally caustic young fella, he described being there like coming home. It felt familiar to him and when he wrote, it was with a genuine sense of peace and gladness. I like that; I liked reading about my brother feeling at home and following something that felt right, saying yes to that opportunity. My sister Franny's been doing the same types of things-- moving into activities and choices that feel right and saying yes. And, Biz-- my lovely niece-- whose bones were born with some travel in them.... seems to be answering the tingle.
It's not all about travel and adventure. It's just about saying yes to that subtle, nagging voice inside us. Like a tight-rope walker, our lives are the air around us, and we get stuck-- trapped-- up on the wire, afraid of falling. But, our lives are the air all around us. Clear, crisp, positively visible. We only have to open our eyes and look.
The saying-- "A ship in the harbour is safe, but that's not what ships are built for." Yes, some people are ships, but some are the lighthouses. Some are the lighthouse groundskeepers. Sometimes the bigger judgment is to say, "I am a stay at home mother, who does not work." Or, "I am drawn to money, so I am forsaking my family." I guess the point is to know what you need to do, then do it. Either people will judge you as crazy or you'll judge yourself as coward. You decide.
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I'm so grateful to have visited Uluru. I can cry just feeling the gratitude. It is more splendid-- different-- magical and magnificent than I'd ever imagined. It's so complex in shape and porportion. So stark in its contrasts and relationship to the environs.
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Colors so transforming, depending on the light and one's angle. It tickles ones perceptions and smiles in the belly.
What I love is how different is is than what I thought it would be. I imagined a smoothe, red rectangular monolith. What I discovered was a petrified tsunami of bright red orange sandstone jutting out of the world in the middle of nowhere-- the world.
Just so cool.
I love proving myself totally and completely full of shit.
Kata Tjuta-- The Olgas-- or "Many Heads"-- also spectacular. A place I might compare to Utah-- Bryce Canyon or Moab. In the presence of structures that seem alien to the planet. Kata Tjuta is considered sacred ground, compared to Uluru, which means, "The Meeting Place." Kata Tjuta is where men hold their rituals and initiations into manhood.
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In the Cultural Centre was a book filled with letters from all over the world, from people who had stolen rock from the area. In each letter were descriptions of bad and evil tidings that had befallen these people. Coincidence? Who cares? Each one of the hundreds of letters contained the rocks, which had been taken, to be returned to the land. One letter returned a boulder of over 20 pounds, from France!
There is some rock art at Uluru, but most has been washed off by Whites in the 30s. Some has been redone by local tribes, and has permission to be photographed:
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In addition to not taking rock from the land, nor taking pictures of sacred sites, the local people request that you please do not climb Uluru.
Forty one "mingas" (little ants) have died attempting the climb, including young children. The last young one included a 12-year old, who, last year, followed his hat that blew off his head, right to the bottom. Not only is it seriously dangerous and horrifically tragic, it is also disrespectful and damaging to the native peoples, the Ananga. The Ananga will mourn for these strangers-- the unknown dead. Women will wail for weeks, men will make "sorrow cuts"-- deep and painful slices into their skin-- to mourn the souls who pass on the rock.
Our tour guide, Tic was quite the character. Living in Alice Springs over 30 years, he yarns it up, all right. Tic had some great 500-liners (one liners he said 500 times in 10 hours). "Happy Snaps," were when he'd stop the bus for photo opportunities. Tic would curse the tourists, in their charter buses (we were in a charter bus). He'd say, "damned tourists. Now, we know you all are not tourists. You are Adventurers and Explorers."
Well, I tell you what: for Adventurers and Explorers, they sure did schedule in a lot of food and bathroom breaks. We spent more time eating, pissing and shitting than adventuring and exploring. Case in point: we had a 20 minute bathroom stop, followed by a 30 minute "exploring stop" to Kata Tjuta. 30 minutes! Come ON! Gave us enough time to run around and take our Happy Snaps. I guess the toliets are a sacred site, too.
But, it was still enough time to know that it was an amazing place and I would definitely return. This time, I'll be an Adventurer and Explorer. Book a 3-5 day tour and sleep in the Outback. Or, I'll brave the wrong side of the road and rent a 4 x 4. Bring the fam, and head on out. Good on ya.
On the return bus ride back to Alice (450 kms, about 5 hours), it's dark. Tic warns us that 'roos jump out at the bus lights, and there ain't no way he'll be swerving a Charter Bus filled with 36 Adventurers and Explorers to save the life of a lonely roo. So, we began a ride of Australian Roo-lette. We killed 3 roos on the way home. Plunk.
Had a look at the stars out there in the desert sky. A ma zing. The milky way is clear and full and white and thick and bright-- star overload. It was like an astrological acid trip. The moon was half full, and again, laying horizontally, instead of vertically. I love this place.
As I pass over the MacDonnell ranges, (I'm writing this entry on the airplane, on my way to Perth) gazing down at the red, brown, and tan landscape and land that stretches forever without a spec of civilization-- no roads, hourses, agricultural tracts-- nothing-- I feel a bit like an astronaut having a look at Mars. The only discernable markings are the dried up riverbeds and green dots, the trees. So, I'd say there could be life on this planet, if I didn't know better.
And, there is King's Canyon-- the spot made famous from Priscilla, Queen of the Dessert. When the two men climb to the top, in full drag regalia, peer down at the vast canyons, gorges, and vertical drops, the seemingly endless red landscape... and they say, "let's go home (Sydney)."
I love that I can replace the picture of Uluru that lived in my mind with these new ones. I love that I know what it looks and feels like, and I love that I've been there.
Uluru. The Meeting Place.
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