Allow me to expand (make yourself a cuppa).
Our camp is amazing. Not only do we have a view to the left of Uluru, and a view to the right of the Olga’s, we have our own sand dune for a better vantage point of both. Because we are on private property we are also allowed to have a campfire which we have been cooking breakfast on (a privilidge denied to everyone in the caravan park). We feel from here we have it all to ourselves, yet we are only on the outskirts of the resort, and are able to use the coach bus facilities. It’s a great spot.
I woke up at 5:40am to do one of 2 interviews - the first was a Sydney station at 5:45am our time (6:15 Sydney). I sat in the F Truck so I didn’t wake anyone and it became apparent that the presenter and I had been acquainted before - she followed us years ago on the Campfires ride. All of a sudden she didn’t mind that I was hungover. We hit it off for about 10 minutes and it was a very good interview. The next one was due at 6:30 our time. I got the fire started and grabbed my bag and towel and thought I’d duck over for a quick shower before 2TM Tamworth called. By the time I was organised and headed for the shower I only had about 15 minutes before the call was due and I found myself standing in the shower cubicle wondering whether the call would be early or whether I should undress. It was freezing cold and I was keen to get back to the fire but I decided to wait. For 20 minutes I replied to Facebook; paid some bills and won solitaire twice as I stood fully rugged up in my shower cubicle feeling like some creepy stalker with his phone out. Every time I decided she wasn’t going to call I would get as far as taking my jacket off and then the freezing conditions would have me retreat and hold out for another 5 minutes for the interview (I know you know where this is going - and even at the time I did too). At 6:55 our time (you do the maths) I decide it is getting too close to ‘news o’clock’ for an interview and strip off for a tub - while mentally preparing for the inevitable.
My body is freezing and of course the shower is too dam hot but I man up and stick my foot under the rain. It feels like a thousand knives hitting me but I’m hoping the heat diffusion will warm the rest of my body. It doesn’t. And just as I get the temperature right and dive in the phone rings. I give what was probably the most awkward radio interview I have ever done in my life, trying to stay composed and be funny while at the same time shaking uncontrollably and secretly wondering where exactly my old fella went. Half way through the interview someone enters the facility to use the thunder box (located behind the showers). As old mate tries particularly hard to grow a tail the host asks me what I am doing. I tell her we are camped at the camel farm at the base of Uluru and those are the sounds camels make. She thinks my setting is extraordinary and wishes she could be here - I have a little giggle to myself at the prospect.
Back at camp as the first rays of light hit Uluru Bill and I start preparing breaky for the girls - and while toasties are heating up, and the billy is heating on the fire, we run up our sand dune for a better look at the Rock and the Olga’s. ‘Surreal’ doesn’t even cut it and the gratitude I feel for having mates weighs heavily, as does the importance of time taken to invest in friendships.
It is also dawning on us that Paddy is becoming quite the little escape artist:
From here the mid morning turns fairly bland for a while. We pay our $65 to get out to the Rock and we are immediately on a downer. There are 3 million Asian tourists jibbering away and spoiling every photo opportunity. It is clear they’ll take over the place at some stage and frankly sometimes I think they deserve it. I have been here 9 times and unless the kids fail to climb it on this visit I don’t think I’ll get to double figures. It is hard not to let the contempt I feel for the local community boil to the surface. A community happy to take your fees but remain less than hospitable. This week the climb has been stopped for the ‘sorry’ business for the 76 year old Chinaman that had a heart attack and died earlier in the week endeavouring to reach the top. Tell me seriously how much an Aboriginal community would really care about 1 dead Chinaman? And it would hardly put a dent in China’s population either - one of them dying would be like standing on a bull-ants nest. And I wonder about the nature of ‘the sorry business’- It’s hardly the measure of any civilised society to encourage EVERYONE to be miserable. Seriously though, not only is the climb stopped for any reason, you can now take barely any photos without disrespecting a place of cultural significance and the walk around the Rock , on each visit, gets further away from the rock itself and closer to the sealed road that circles it - and whatever you can’t do here still comes with the fee to enter (and of course some families would plan and save all year to make the pilgrimage like this one). It trulely beggars belief that a government would hand back ownership to a community that can barely manage not to shit where they sleep but are entrusted to manage what is arguably the countries finest natural wonder (and tourist destination). In any event the fact is they do own it (although there is a 99 year lease in place) and they can do what they like, but there should be greater transparency at the gate. It appears in the wake of the climb closing there are a couple of new initiatives in place to keep the tourists dollar piling in.
One initiative are these little beauties:
In keeping with the natural wonder of the rock you can now don a helmet and ride these puppies around OR once again in keeping with the natural and traditional wonder of the area you can now book a flight on this monstocity that now scars the landscape littered between the rock and the Olga’:
Slow clap.
The place has become a contradiction and it is heartbreaking. A first timer wouldn’t know the difference but over my years I think I have seen the best of it. And I’m not even sure if the local community completely understands. It feels like the place is run by bleeding hearts, hippies and half casts with an agenda - there is every chance the full blooded community are being used but wouldn’t be motivated enough to want to understand the difference. In any event, at some stage someone needs to decide whether this country was settled or invaded and move on accordingly.
Anyhoo, how was Richmond’s win last night - go the tigers!
After I gave myself an attitude adjustment the day picked up no end. We were all ‘cultured out’ in record time this year but the Cultural Centre was the only place in close proximity to get a coffee and something to eat. All was going ok until Emmy wanted to buy an Uluru water bottle with her own money she’d been saving. She took the clearly marked $15 item to the counter and was told the price was $25. With tears she put the item back. Just another purge on the tourists - charge what you want, after all, where else can you go.
After walking past the cultural projector display (which I have listened to in its entirety before) and catching a few moments of how important for the local community it was to get back ownership of the rock to ‘look after the land properly’ (when they can be arsed) we decide to head for the Olga’s. (Incidentally, their whole volume of land management is to throw a match and let the lot burn - the same vegetation that we are not allowed to leave the designated tracks in fear of hurting ........(deep breath .... go Richmond)).
This was when the day really picked up again. I love the Olga’s. They are everything the rock use to be, and when I am out there I am reminded how liberating it is to be able to explore a little and not to be told what you can and can’t take a photo of. I also consider, notwithstanding the obvious hardships, how exilerating it must of been to be an early explorer. I am a little miffed that ‘cultural significant’ areas are starting to pop up where I don’t recollect them before, but let’s end the blog on a high.
(Caz said I wasn’t allowed put this one up - can’t wait til she reads this!)
(Look at the heart in the rock above the kids).
We call back into Yalara for tea, and we are now back at our amazing camp site. The night is fresh but the fire is warm. My whole family are tucked away 10 feet from me, and while I wonder if the kids realise how lucky they are, the notion of how lucky Caroline and I are is not lost on me either.
I also wonder how I’m going to go at the Camel races in Alice Springs next weekend. Apparently camels aren’t just horses with long necks and a humps after all!
Goodnight.
No comments:
Post a Comment