We had been told by the NAP folks that Alice Springs was intensely racist. We had also been told that the people there were actually incredibly tolerant considering the behaviour of the local indigenous people.
Di showed us a big glossy commemorative brochure about the first run of the new Ghan upon its completion 2 years ago. The project was overseen by Kellog Brown & Root, a subsidiary of Halliburton - the infamous war-profiteering company once run by US Vice President Dick Cheney. The project of a railway from Darwin to Adelaide had failed many times. The tracks were washed away in flood or eaten by termites. The best solution had been the Afghan camel trains that gave their name to the now corporate/government enterprise.
Di told us that the train slows down to a walking pace before pulling into Alice because the Aborigines sleep on the tracks and they have to be able to stop the train quickly.
Looking forward to the next 8 hours of ever-changing landscape, we boarded the train just outside of Darwin. After only 3 hours, we stopped in Katherine. We had been informed only after boarding that we were to be in Katherine for 4 hours, and they just happened to have tours on sale, starting at $60 each. The only alternative was their bus into town for $9. There were no services at the station, not even a phone.
A woman in the seats opposite to us said that she knew of a backpackers (Kookaburra backpackers) who were trying to break the monopoly the train had on tourism in Katherine. She rang him up, and he met us at the station. He cackled as he pulled out in front of the tour coaches, "this'll really piss them off!"
He took us to the hotsprings, which in any other climate would probably be hot, in Katherine however, they were refreshingly cool.
We climbed back on the train, and had only another hour of light to watch the landscape. Cam and I ate dinner in the lounge and watched the sunset. We slept as best we could in the cramped seats. As we slowed down early in the morning, I overheard another passenger explaining that the Aborigines lie on the tracks, hoping to get hit so they can collect the insurance money.
Upon landing in Alice, we hired a car and started on the 300K drive to Uluru. We made it to Curtain Springs, only 80K's from the rock. Outside the door to the pub there was a sign saying: "SEX. Now that we have your attention... NO SHIRT NO SERVICE NO JOKE".
We woke up early to try and catch the sunrise on the rock.
Light was already rising from the horizon as we drove the last 80k's. I was surprised by the gate to Uluru National Park, where we had to stop and pay $25 each for a 3-day pass. I was anxious to get there as the clerk gestured with the passes and a brochure, and droned the bleeding obvious. I asked if I could get going as I wanted to catch the sunrise. He handed through the paperwork and said, 'then get up earlier'.
The brochure we were given had a picture of 4 aboriginal women and one white girl, all bare breasted and painted with ochre.
From here on in, it was a utopia of racial tolerance and cooperation... the land had been handed back to the traditional owners twenty five years ago, and they had decided that the government was so good at managing it, the elders would lease it back to them for 99 years.
The road between the gate and the rock curves around the west face, the famous one, and then heads away from it, then curves around behind some trees, then wham... there it is... and you drive directly towards it, coming to a few dozen metres from it. It is a breathtaking experience. Someone told Cam on the train that it was like taking acid. I suppose if you had stumbled into this thing after a few days of walking in the desert, you would think you were hallucinating. It is like an illustration of a fantastical rock... something out of a fairytale. It has a definite structure though. The first thing that struck me was the layers. You can track the layers all the way through, there is almost no bend in the 3-4 km long plates. It must have been horizontal layers of oocean floor when it formed, but now its almost perfectly vertical, and smooth as marble. I tried to imagine the heat and force that would be needed to achieve that change in state.
I decided at one point at we walked around it the next day, that it was actually a time machine. In order to solve the problem of influencing history, they had built this rock, so they could travel to different time periods and see what was happening, without being able to change anything.
The heat wasn't too bad. I soaked my shirt and carried plenty of water. I had bought a light, longsleeve, cotton shirt precisely for this purpose. The only problem was that it was white. White things, unless you put a lot of effort into cleaning them, generally get splotches and drips, and sweat stains. I had intended to dye it at some stage. There was already a brown patch on the back where I had sat in it in some dirt. I had washed it, but the dark patch remained. The idea ocurred to me that the red dirt around uluru might do the same. After all, the aborigines used it to paint with, why shouldn't it work on a white cotton shirt? I poured some water on a dusty patch of ground and rubbed a spot on my sleeve with it. I rinsed off the extra dirt, and sure enough, it was orange. I considered the concept for another day, and kept an eye out for the deepest coloured dirt I could find. When we went to Kata Tjuta, the rock's little sisters 50k's away, I found a pile of dirt that had been brought in for making the path. I made a big mud pie and kneaded the shirt in it. I put it in a plastic bag, mud and all, and left it there overnight.
I know that heat seals pigments into fabrics, and there was plenty of heat to be had, so I rinsed the extra dirt off, and put it in the back window of the car to bake.
Our last night there, it rained, and in the morning, we went back out to watch the water pouring over the sides. We walked to one of the waterholes, where the rock rises straight up in a wall that curves around, forming an L shape in the sky above you. The water comes down at the bend and pools up before flowing around the contour of the wall like a snake. We were totally alone there. The sunrise tours had all rushed off for breakfast, and we were travelling in the off season, before the christmas spike. I'd like to think that the travel gods were smiling on my trip, because we managed to avoid the teeming masses of tourists like us.
We drove back to Alice and checked into a backpackers. We asked where a good pub was, and were directed to Bojangles, "because everybody has to go there at least once". It's got saloon doors, replica Ned Kelly armour, a croc skin on the ceiling, and a live snake in a tank crawling over a fake skeleton on a motorbike. We had a beer and looked at all the memorabilia. We went elsewhere for dinner, after looking at the prices, and came back to get some beer to take away. "We don't serve takeaway after 9, but try the Todd Tavern at the end of the mall, the boongs keep them in business, they'd be open for sure."
"Um... the what??" Cam had thought he said 'the Bulls', like a sports team or something...
"The boongs... the black bastards." he replied grinning. We smiled and retreated. "Careful walking through the mall, it's not safe after dark" he called after us.
We were approached on the mall by an old aboriginal man who could not speak. He gestured to his mouth and his stomach. "You want a smoke?" I asked him. No, he shook his head. "Food?" No again. More gestures. Finally he nodded when I asked if he wanted food. I ducked into a cafe and bought a muffin. Cam said that he wanted to get a taxi to go home to his community. I said no, I can't get him a taxi. He gestured to his mouth. "Smoke?" Yes he nodded. Cam gave him a cigarette. He reached for the pack. Cam laughed and we wished him good night and went on our way.
The Todd Tavern had stopped selling takeaways for the night, so we stayed and had a beer. We chatted to a Scot, on leave from working at Yulara, the resort near Uluru. He regaled us with stories of his travels in Africa, and close encounters with revolutions, all in beautiful Scottish accent, enhanced by too many beers.
The next day we set out for the West MacDonnell ranges. There are gaps in the long, thin ranges where water flows through and forms fantastic swimming holes and gorges. We stopped at the ochre pits, where layers of white, yellow, and purple ochre were exposed. I dyed my white singlet, half purple, half yellow. We spent the next day at Ormiston Gorge, where I painted a watercolour and swam in the cool gorge.
the next day we got back on the Ghan...
