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July 2005 When I was a little girl, the dream of visiting the Land Down Under occupied my mind. I dreamed of long stretches of white beach, of bush land as far as the eye could see, of deserts that rivaled the Sahara. I thought about the friendly faces of blond haired, blue eyed Australians smiling as they greeted me with the traditional “G’day.” When I finally visited Australia, during my senior year of college, I found myself entering the land of my dreams. Blond haired, blue eyed Australians did greet me, as I wandered across their beaches, through their bush land and in their desert. But another side of Australia greeted me as well, one that I had never thought about and was not expecting. This was the side of the Aborigines, the indigenous people of Australia.  When I first arrived in July of 1998, I faced the reality that natives of Australia and the settlers were not living in harmony. I learned of “The Stolen Generation” of aboriginal children who were taken from their families (as late as the 1970’s) to be raised in white homes. I saw a country struggling to move forward, to make right the wrongs of the past, and I saw the Aborigines struggling to keep up with the modernization of their land, while retaining some part of their ancient culture. While I was there, the most debated issue was that of land rights. The Aborigines claimed that parts of Australia had been taken from them, that certain landmarks and places were sacred ground in their religion and that a hundred years before it had been stolen by the Australian government.  These proclamations of land rights, the talk of the “stolen generation,” the enforcement of a “National Sorry Day” and many other things combined to create a tension that was hard to ignore. Sometimes, I felt I had stepped back in time to 1960s America, during the height of the Civil Rights movement. I saw anger, hatred, sadness, sympathy, hope in the eyes of most people I met, and yet as with most things, I became accustomed to it, which eventually allowed me to look past it, and carry on with being a tourist.

"Trail" A lone visitor walks the 9 km track around Uluru.

Our first stop, however, was not Ayers Rock, but the Olgas, another amazing rock formation about 30 km from Uluru.  Also known as Kata – Tjuta, which means “many heads” in traditional Aboriginal language, the Olgas’ 36 individual domes burst out of the ground in a magnificent display of Mother Nature.  There are two hikes you can take, that wind throughout the domes.  The first, The Valley of the Winds, is a 7 km walk that circles several of the domes.  The second, the Olga Gorge Walk, is a 2 km trail that takes you down into a spectacular gorge. 

Our campsite for the evening was located about midway between the two landmarks, and provided us with a spectacular view of both, as the sun set behind Kata-Tjuta. 

We woke at 5 am the next morning to see the sunrise over Uluru. However, as we all piled in to our 15 passenger van, dark clouds formed overhead. Undaunted, we continued out to the base and quickly got lost among the swarm of tour busses that had descended on the area. I marveled at the number of people who had come to see and possibly climb this sacred landmark, and it suddenly made sense why the Aborigines asked people not to. It seemed like hundreds of people milled about and a large percentage planned, in the eyes of the Aborigines, to desecrate this sacred monolith by climbing to the top.
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"Olgas Away" The 36 domes of Kata - Tjuta seem to magically rise out of the Australian desert.

"Ayers Away" Ayers Rock, also known as Uluru, is one of the many landmarks that the Aborigines claim as sacred ground.

It was not a torrential downpour, it was only a slight drizzle, just enough to slick the face of Ayers Rock. Although we didn’t get to see the rock change from glowing red to glowing orange, we did get to see it shimmer a brilliant silver, a sight far less common, I am sure. The rain did not ruin the day for me, in fact, I believe it made it better. Instead of climbing, I strolled around the 9 km trail that circled Uluru, taking the time to marvel at all of the nooks and crannies that time and erosion had carved into the rock, all of the nooks and crannies that you would never see simply gazing at it from a far. I took the time to relax and enjoy the few rays of sun that did break through the clouds. I studied the plaques at the bottom of the climb commemorating the people who had lost their lives while attempting the trek to the top. Some died from heart attacks, some from falling. I guess the Gods had spoken to them too.

In hindsight, I am glad the decision not to climb was made for me. Because the rain took away the opportunity, I do not regret not climbing Ayers Rock, and because I did not climb, I do not regret desecrating a sacred landmark of the indigenous people. When the rain closed the door of the climb to me, it opened up another one, allowing me to see another side of Uluru that I would have never seen, a side that most tourist probably do not see. 

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"Rockywave" Time and erosion have created many surprising nooks and crannies in Ayers Rock.

"Sunset Olgas" The sun creates a magnificent picture as it sets over the Olgas.

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