Uluruland

King's Canyon
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We signed up for a tour of Uluru and I know what you're thinking, "Sell Outs!" Only 'tourists' do tours. Travelers get there by themselves. Could have done, but it would have been more expensive to drive, camp and feed ourselves, so we followed the second rule of Traveling: Keep it Cheap. By exchanging Greyhound kilometers from their excellently priced Kilo pass we scored a very good tour, way under budget.

Our first stop was at the rock formation usually known as the 'Olgas' but should be called the aboriginal name, Kata Tjuta, since they own the place again. I couldn't figure out why this place wasn't the most famous rock formation it Australia. It is simply spectacular. Massive, Monstrous rock domes punch up from frying pan flat earth to dominate the horizon. Hiking through narrow canyons reminded me of the American Southwest except for the oddly textured conglomerate rock that makes up the monoliths. At one point at the top of a climb that took us to a view of the rest of the domes, the wind howled through the steep chasm and some of the group lost their hats. I commented on the wind to our guide and he wryly observed, in the driest Aussie humor he could serve up, that it might be the reason they call it Valley of the Winds, which I had in fact learned. I tried to allow, with equally ripe sarcasm and no trace of a foolish grin, how that might be so.

The main attraction is a huge orange rock

King's Canyon
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I like that the Australians seem to all have a very sharp bite to their humor, much of it directed at themselves. Nothing seems to be taken too seriously and none of their inspired and melodious cursing is ever edited for general audiences. The Australians are unabashedly politically incorrect. After one spectacularly sexist bomb dropped by Dom, our guide, I asked what decade exactly we were still in down here. He thoughtfully, and cheerfully, replied that we were in about 1973.

Kata Tjuta was amazing and most people never see it. The 7.5 k loop trail closes at 11 am as the temperatures in the canyons reach deathly temperatures past morning. Most tours arrive around noon after gawping at Uluru and never make it past the first view point. That may be a good thing though since last month a woman died from heat exhaustion walking there and back from the parking lot. The tours knowingly miss the trail's closing on a daily basis, if they reach the rocks at all. It just isn't famous enough and it isn't what most tourists think they've come all the way Outback to see. I hope it stays that way. It was blissfully quiet in the Valley of the Winds, save for the wind itself. At one end of the valley a huge, uncannily rendered face that is formed by erosion seems to be winking at you, sharing its amazing secret. The other end, open to the view, points directly at Uluru.

King's
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That main attraction is a huge orange rock. Seen from a distance it is exactly what you'd expect from the postcards. Like the Taj Mahal there are no great surprises as you take in the view and tick off another world landmark in your book. The real attraction at Uluru is the story of the aboriginals who made it their home. Walking around the base of the world's biggest stone, a 7 kilometer jaunt under the blazing sun, you pass 30,000 years of living history. The rock itself has a fascinating geological origin story, I'll leave it to you and wikipedia to sort that out, but the cave dwellings, wall paintings, sacred billabongs and ancient origin stories relating to specific landmarks along the trail are fascinating. Dom was a wealth of information about all of these things. A twenty minute walk around the most heavily used living areas took us an hour and a half as he explained the significance of the many landmarks and the stories that bring them to life. Many of the sights are considered so sacred that it is prohibited to approach or take pictures. It isn't the aboriginal people who prohibit you or give you the $5000 fine, that isn't their way of discouraging people. The Australian government, co-keeper of the land, has finally decided that aboriginal culture is worth preserving and respecting and it is they who will slap you for your trespass. The Aborigines method of protecting their sacred sights from desecration is to ask you kindly not to go there. Which leads me to the conundrum all able bodied visitors must face as to whether or not to climb to the top of Uluru.

King's
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The Aborigines, the traditional caretakers of the land, ask you you many times, on many signs, to kindly not climb the path to the top. It is the path that is sacred, not the rock itself, as it was up this trail that boys walked, climbed, towards their initiation into manhood. There is no other way to the top of Uluru short of scaling the side of the thing, I looked (and I didn't have 30,000 years to find one). Apart from the bit about sacred pathways, they are also really, truly, concerned with climber's safety. 85 people have died for various reasons

Road to Kata Tjuta
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climbing Uluru. Falling mostly; slipping, wind, but also heat stroke, heart attack and other health issues. For each casualty, the tribe is grievously saddened. It is considered a terrible incident for someone

to be injured on the land it is their responsibility to care for and each death is considered, well, deathly serious. All this said, the parks department, the same mob who fine you five grand for a photo or trespass of a sacred place, allow you to climb. Mainly because they think it helps tourism. Not considering themselves owners of the land, the Aborigines simply ask on a sign, posted just next to the open gate that says "open", that you respect their wishes and stay at the foot of the rock.

Kata Tjuta
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My own feelings were conflicted. The whole rock is not sacred, just the path to the sacred site called Uluru, from where the rock mistakenly gets its name. Then again it is the only way to the top. And the view from the top would be simply awesome. We decided, the night before we would have the option to climb, not to do it, but many on our tour thought that they might.

It the morning it was closed due to high wind.

We took a poll on the bus and it turns out that 17 of 21 people would have chosen not to climb. Dom figured that was about the average for his groups. During his speech regarding the question, he reveals that his own choice has been not to climb, simply out respect, and has never been to the top. I think that this has a huge influence on his groups although he insists that its a choice you must make yourself and he does not care about the final decision.

Kata Tjuta
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The other non-Uluru must see is King's Canyon. Between the National park and Alice Springs, Kings Canyon is another very old, very magnificent work of natural sculpture. The 5.5 k walk around the rim is a beautiful, boiling hot, trip through bizarre eroded rock formations, broken slabs of red sandstone and the lush and prehistoric looking 'Garden of Eden'. It is probably not what they had in mind in the Good Book, but is most likely a hell of a lot older. Huge (although short) palms, descendants of some of the oldest plants in the world, grow in the same places they did when the dinosaurs somehow missed the Ark. Shaded from the baking heat, a series of ponds that occasionally link up to become a river make their way down the valley. It would not have been a shock to see an iguanadon browsing in the peculiarly dense foliage. The last pond is at the lip of a mostly dry waterfall that after a rain runs down to help carve out the canyon. It makes for a refreshing and picturesque swimming hole, thankfully croc free, year round. Everyone on the tour took a dip, including the sole Korean (sorry) on the tour who swam in his jeans. He seemed very happy when I told him he was punk rock. It was so hot that his pants were dry by the end of the hike.

Winking Face at Kata Tjuta
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At the end of the tour as I type, we are stinky and dirty and the bus is a mess. The plan is to meet up for dinner with the group tonight, stay at our CouchSurfing home outside of town, and shoot off to the mini-town of Coober Pedy on the Greyhound. Coober Peddy is a town of bunker houses, buried to protect from the aerial assault of the sun.