St. George Down Under

ENTER: The Red Center

June 4, 2009 at 1:32 pm (In AUS) (aboriginal art, aboriginals, aborigines, adventure tours, alice springs, australia, australian camping, australian tour, ayers rock, camel, camels, camping, camping in the outback, george gill ranges, german, haven backpacker resort, kangaroo rescue, kata tjuta, northern territory, outback, photographs, photographs of the outback, red center, sunset over alice springs, swag, the olgas, the real australia, uluru, wild camel, wild camels)

I groggily awoke from a haphazard nap; a slumber that was constantly at war with the roar of twin jet-engines. Peering out of my window I glimpsed an orange wasteland spread out below me, off into the distance as far as the eye could see. It was ‘a rich and inspiring nothing’: no trees, no lakes, no rivers, and no buildings. Small patches of clouds dotted the tundra, their shadows slightly offset, playing on the desert floor. It was a duotone landscape, orange transforming abruptly but smoothly into blue; desert to sky. I had caught my first glimpse of the ‘real Australia’, a place known as the Red Center.

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After a hurried morning of waking at 5:30, missing the train I was hoping to get, then finally arriving at the Domestic Airport at 8:20, I finally boarded my flight to Alice Springs, Northern Territory, Australia. I had been looking forward to this trip for a few weeks, and couldn’t wait to get out of the city and to the outback. On the itinerary was one night in Alice Springs, then Kings Canyon, Uluru and Kata Tjuta. The last two are the most sacred sights in Aboriginal culture/religion, and Uluru is often called ‘The Heart of Australia’ and has come to be a symbol of the nation.

Two and a half hours later the plane touched down in sunny, flat and dry Alice Springs. The place was crawling with flies, annoying little buggers that would buzz straight to the face. It was a constant battle to deflect them. I withdrew some money for a taxi and noticed that my balance was $90. I freaked out, found the nearest computer with internet and confirmed that the balance shown by the ATM was incorrect.  This sort of needless financial freakout would continue to dog me for the remainder of my time in the Red Center.

I found that there was a shuttle to my accomodations, so I grabbed a piece of pavement by the van and continued to battle the flies. After 45 excruciating minutes of waiting for a plane to land from Cairns (pronounced Cans), I boarded the shuttle that would take us all to Haven Backpackers Resort. I say ‘excruciating’ because during the whole time I was waiting the same little rant kept going through my head: “I’m only in Alice Springs until tomorrow morning, its 1:30pm already and the shops will close by 5:30, AT LEAST! Ugh, this trip cost SO much and it’s all slipping away, as I’m baking at the damn airport being eaten by flies…”

I took my seat on the shuttle and the driver hopped in, jumped over the front seat to face us and asked us where we all were from. Some said Sydney, others Melbourne, yet others Cairns. “FUCK those places”, he proclaimed. “This is the REAL Australia!” Soon I came to find out how right he was. (I feel it important to not censor the previous profanity, in that it no doubt will shock you, much in the same way it shocked me. Also, it is important to note that profanity here is no big deal, as it sometimes is in the states. My friends say profanities around their parents, bosses, etc., and as long as it is not the “F” word, is acceptable…)

We arrived at the hostel, and after fifteen or so minutes of waiting to check in I finally reached the counter. I got much praise for last name, as everyone here absolutely loves it, and received my room key. After a few failed attempts I finally managed to get it to work, and opened up the door to my accomodations for the night: four seperate bunk beds in a single room, co-ed, with a single bathroom and shower. This would be quite interesting.

The accomodation itself, Haven Backpacker Resort, was a wonderful place to stay. It probably had around 70 or so rooms of up to eight beds apiece situated on two levels. Internet, free breakfast, a pool and spa, it was loaded! The rooms also had their own bathrooms with showers. Oh, and a large kitchen-I only used it for breakfast though.

I threw on some shorts, as it was nearly eighty degrees outside, and hurried towards town.

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As I passed through town I saw my first Aboriginal people. I had seen Aborigines before at Circular Quay playing didgeridoos, but for some reason I really didn’t consider it a geniune experience. Not that they aren’t genuinely Aboriginal, but that the experiece is somewhat cheapened because them being there is all for tourists and profit. It was a compelling experience in that I was among relatives of the first proprietors of the land; the original Australians. I felt as though I was seeing celebrities whenever I saw one!

They are a truly fascinating people. (I’m afraid of writing the following things, as I’m worried it will be viewed as racist. It’s not meant that way, I have no contempt towards the Aboriginal people.) Their features are stunning, but I am finding them indescribable. They look as though they are an ancient people (which they are…but we are too…). And the combination of dark skin with naturally blond hair is striking.

Also, another thing that was extraordinary, in my opinion, was the smell of the Aboriginals-a body odor that was…different, unexplicable. Now, at first glance this seems derogatory, but one must move away from the ethnocentric ideal that the norm is cleanliness and an  abscence of body odor. After walking around in Alice for the day I became familiar with the smell. Then, as I walked back towards town for some dinner later in the day I found myself zoning out and staring at the ground. I caught a whiff of the familiar smell and immediately thought, “Aborigines.” I looked up and barely made out three dark figures about fifty feet in front of me. As I passed them I discovered my olfactory sense was right.

It was sad, however, because many of the Aborigines I saw were inebriated or sitting around and drinking alcohol (during the day), or just wandering about, seemingly homeless. It seems as though I was seeing first-hand the effects of colonisation. If one builds their whole existence on the land, and that land is seized, how can one recover?

(An interesting juxtaposition: as I was walking into town I passed a small hill with a ‘City of Alice Springs’ sign pointing out that it was a sacred Aboriginal site. Beyond the sign I saw an old, haggard Aboriginal man take a last swig out of his beer bottle and toss it to the ground. I then looked to my left and saw a K-Mart…)

Now, I should note that these observations should NOT form my opinion of all Aboriginals or any of my readers opinions of all Aboriginals; this is merely what I experienced in Alice Springs. 

Downtown Alice Springs is made up of maybe 6 to eight short streets; four streets crossing four. Main downtown, however, is essentially one pedestrian-only road lined with tourist shops, cafes, a bookstore, and Aboriginal art galleries, terminating with a shopping mall. There were Aboriginals panhandling along the street, playing some tunes on an old, beat-up guitar and a handful of others trying to sell their artwork. I grabbed a quick lunch at a cafe and perused the downtown area, stepping into an Aboriginal art gallery and continuing my quest for the surf shop I had heard so much about.

The Surf Shop!

Alice Springs is not an awesome town, or even a beautiful town, in my opinion. But it is a culturally-significant town, one that must be visited. I only had roughly six hours to experience it, which was enough, but I am so glad I was able to spend time there. The things that stick out the most are visiting a legitimate Aussie cowboy/rancher outfitters, mingling with the Aboriginals, and the knowledge that I was in the center of this great country, in outback Australia.

Legit Cowboy Outfitters!

At the end of the day I had accumulated some interesting purchases. A few native Australian seeds, a bush hat made from kangaroo leather, a few pieces of Aboriginal art, a traditional Aboriginal digging stick called a nala nala and a Peter Lik book dedicated to the Red Center. These purchases would later render a big fat goose egg in my bank account when I returned to Sydney, but it was well worth it (especially as one is a gift .)

During my purchase of the artwork and nala nala I had talked quite extensively with the saleswoman at Boomerang Art, a woman who was French and Polish. I’ll impart some of the wisdom that she passed on to me…

• Each Aboriginal person has two stories/objects to tell/describe: one that they receive from their father and one from their mother. These stories or objects help to explain the Aboriginals’ surroundings and its significance in their creation story. If one of your objects is a kangaroo, you cannot kill kangaroo. These stories must be passed on to others in one of three forms: song, story or art. Hence, Aboriginal art.

• One thing that the nala nala was used for is digging for honey ants. Young Aboriginal girls would be taught by their mothers to look for honey ant workers and dig in their general area. After digging for a long while they would come to the queen, which has a bulbous abdomen of honey. They would take these queens to the fire, heat them up, then suck their abdomen/honey out. Apparently it’s full of Vitamin C. Interesting, eh?

Honey Ant

• She told me to be careful about my decision and that certain pieces of art would speak to me. I was told to put each individual piece that I was interested in onto the gray-carpeted ground, giving it a neutral background.

• There are certain places in Australia where only Aboriginals can go, and the only way that non-Aboriginals can visit it is if they are invited. This is how the art galleries obtain their art: they form relationships with the Aboriginal tribes, then wait to be invited to their lands. They bring high quality brushes and canvas and pay the Aboriginals for their work. If there is a death and the Aborigines must perform ceremonies, the people from the galleries may not be allowed to visit for months.

• Alice Springs is the hub of Aboriginal art. It is in the center of many of the Aboriginal tribal lands. These tribes are very lucky in that they were not forced from the land that they have inhabited for thousands of years, which was not the fate of the majority of Aboriginal tribes.

I loved this woman, real love! She was so incredibly nice, treated me wonderfully, with respect, and was such a warm person! Australia is filled with these kind of people. Or maybe it was because I was giving her money…hmmm.

Walking back towards the hostel, I passed the small park-like area with the mound where I had earlier seen the Aboriginal man finish off his beer and throw the bottle into the fire, staggering away. There had been a drove of school boys running down a road that led to its top, and as it was  nearing sunset, I decided to climb it and explore a bit and catch the sunset over Alice.

From the top I had 360° views of the town as well as the ‘mountain ranges’ that embraced it. (We wouldn’t call them mountain ranges, but as I was in one of the flattest places in the world, where a 100 meter-high hill gives you a view for nearly a hundred miles, contextually they were the Himalayas.)

I recorded a video, then sat myself down on the edge and gazed over the quaint town of Alice as the sun set. I removed my camera bag, vowing to not touch it; this was a moment that I was going to experience, one that would be solely mine. Selfish? Maybe, but too often my mind is occupied with finding the correct angle, the right composition or lighting, that I forget to just be and take the moment in. This was a moment for me, a time to absorb the beauty of the works of my creator. Him and me-simple, yet profound.

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The moment the sun disappeared it felt like the temperature dropped ten degrees. I high-tailed it back to the hostel and threw on some pants. It was nearing dinner-time so I asked around for a place to eat; it ended up being Subway. Okay food on a burnt sub, but the girl who served me was nice, and obviously appreciated the company of an American, which is always nice.

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I arrived back at the hostel absolutely exhausted, and it was only 9pm! That’s the super-awkward thing about crashing at a hostel, if you’re the first to go to bed randoms will come in and out for the rest of the night. I didn’t really care tho, and had a big day following, so I decided to see if I could get some shuteye. Which I couldn’t. What followed truly illustrates the fruits/disadvantages, depending on your situation/point of view, of staying at a co-ed hostel.

It was probably about eleven or so and I was sleeping under the one sheet I was given, tossing and turning, trying desperately to get to sleep. Two girls came in (French is my guess) and started to get ready for bed. As I was on my side facing them, I naturally had my eyes open. It is a rare occurence for a ‘pre-marital’/'pre-living with a female’ man to witness the bedtime rituals of the female sex. However, I got much more than  I bargained for. The more attractive of the two dropped her pants, fumbled around with her stuff for a bit, then slipped on some sweats. Then, with her back luckily/unluckily to me,  removed her shirt and bra in exchange for a bedtime shirt. Holy jeeze. I couldn’t close my eyes, as they were paralyzed open (AND I am a dude), and I didn’t want her to know I was awake, so I just kinda stayed in that position. She threw on a shirt, hopped into bed, and the surprise/excitement was over. I turned over myself and drifted away to sleep…

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I awoke before my alarm began to scream and laid in bed for a while. The anxiety of the day to come started to set in, and I realized that I felt absolutely terrible. My stomach felt like the middle of the Bering Sea, and I immediately began to invision the horrors that this could cause later in the day.

After my morning rituals and a few pieces of toast my body started to calm down. I hung out a bit with a couple in my room who had been living in South Korea, but were originally from the east coast of the states. He was in the military, and it was great talking to them. They had already been to Uluru, so they filled me in a little bit about it. I also had conversations with a girl from Tokyo and another girl from England. Actually, I was the only guy in the room!

I checked out, got my stuff together and headed out in search of food. A McDonald’s cheeseburger later the van pulled up in front of the hostel. A woman dressed in all green pseudo-canvas clothing disembarked and headed my way. “Are you Petah” she asked in her thick Aussie accent. I answered with the affirmative and hopped on. I was greeted by a middle-aged woman, two beautiful girls that looked my age and two early-to-mid-forties men sitting in the back. I exchanged somewhat awkward ‘hellos’ with them and took my seat.

Lunch wasn’t included in the tour so we headed to a supermarket to get some snacks. I had been looking for a way to initiate conversation with previously-mentioned girls, and I soon learned that they were German. As I perused the aisles of the supermarket (more like minimarket) we crossed paths. “So what part of Germany are you from?”

“Bavaria,” she replied. Ah! I got so excited at hearing this as I have family in the Bavaria and visited in 2000. We spoke a bit about the Black Forest, where my family lives and such. After checking out we hopped back on the van to pick up the rest of our party from the airport. This included a girl from Switzerland, a young man from South Korea and another from Hong Kong. There was supposed to be a fourth, but she didn’t show up and we ended up ditching her. Whatever, her loss!

We left the airport and headed west along the Stuart Highway. Within twenty minutes or so all houses and signs of human interference, save a few fences and the paved highway, had vanished, leaving us with an incredibly flat terrain. Small bushes and trees (trees larger than ten feet were rare) were all skirted with red sand. There were a few hills and miniature valleys, but for the most part it was incredibly flat. I believe there was one option to turn in six hours of driving, possibly two.

THIS is why they call it the Red Center. Thanks to Kate Scollary for permission to use the photo...! (Photo not from our tour.)

Again, thanks to Kate Scollary for the photo... (Photo not from our tour.)

We left from Alice Springs, first stopping at Kings Canyon.

It looked like this for about six or so hours...

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I soon learned the name of the German woman who sat in front of me; Conny. After we started to speak we nearly continued until arrival at Kings Canyon. We spoke about Germany and my ties to it (among a multitude of other things). She loved my middle name (Josef) as well as my dad’s name (Franz), both traditional German names; this almost endeared me to her, and made me feel as if I could join the ‘German Club’. She had spent some time in Boston so her English was smooth and clear, and our conversing really helped to pass the time.  Six hours of sleeping, talking, listening to music, watching the bush and looking out for kangaroo/dingoes; not a bad way to pass the time.

The bush

During these first six hours Conny was pretty much the only one I talked to. Her travel partner/friend sat in front of her, but due to her not being all that comfortable with her English she let Conny do most of the talking. Later I would come to know her as Jeanette.

Jeanette and Conny had met each other in college, and Jeanette now lives in France. They decided to take a year trip to Australia to holiday and work, but like so many others with the same plan, they couldn’t find work and resorted to shortening the trip to only holiday. Shortening, however, is not a word I would use here. They had been in Australia for three and a half months, travelling around and sightseeing up and down the east coast. This was their last major trip, and they were itching to get back to Germany; they’d burned out on each other a bit.

We stopped every two hours for petrol, and checking out these service stations was quite the cultural experience. All of these service stations seemed the same. They all had pumps (obviously), cafés or diners, tourist shops, and small attractions. The first one we came to had a caged-off area of emus. I didn’t really know this until recently, but the emu is native to Australia and is somewhat of a national icon. The Socceroos’ jerseys, the national soccer team, has a crest with a kangaroo and an emu prominently on the front.

The rest area

Inside

The service station also had a cool old-fashioned bar. A woman smoking a cigarette, a couple shooting pool and an old, past-his-prime bushman watching an AFL game on the big screen comprised the patrons.  I ordered a meal that took way too long to cook, making me the last one to the van. That’s never a good feeling. This trend would continue for the rest of the trip. I absolutely hated it.

The next two hours went by relatively quickly. I can’t remember anything really of note other than I started chatting a bit with Jeanette and we all had more interaction with the guys from Melbourne in the back of the van. We all had started to come together.

The next and final service station was my favorite. It’s attraction was camel rides, but more interestingly it also functioned as a kangaroo rescue. They looked after Joeys (baby kangaroos) who had lost their mothers and were too small to survive in the bush on their own. They were kept in an enclosed space until they had grown to survivable height, when they were released back into the wild. It is super lame, but I really haven’t had that much interaction with kangaroos while I’ve been here, so this was pretty special for me. I haven’t even seen one in the wild yet! (I’ve heard one though…) To see them move is so interesting, and they almost look otherworldy with their huge feet, long, thick tails, comically-tiny arms, horse faces and their hopping gait.

We were there for feeding time, so I got to witness them all come hopping over, probably twenty or so of them, to the feed bowl and gather around. It was something I hadn’t experienced before (somewhat obviously), and it was pretty special!

I have to explain the significance of camels. Back in the days of exploration of Australia, which was the 19th Century, camels were brought over from the Middle East to aid in said exploration. Many camel farmers cropped up, and after a while the government decided it wasn’t a good idea. Camels aren’t native to Australia, and the government felt that they had completed their duty. Camel farmers were all told to kill their camels, and that would be the end of it. I bet you can guess what happened…Many camel farmers released their stock into the wild instead of killing them, where they flourished. The Northern Territory now has around one million camels, more than anywhere in the world, including the Middle East. Also, Kate informed us that if a wild camel could be caught it would be the captors to keep. We all found that pretty interesting.

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Kate, our guide, alerted us that if we hurried we would be able to see sunset over some mountain range, so we hopped back on the van and zoomed towards our destination. It took about another hour or so, but we finally reached the campsite. Kate checked us in, then led on us a short walk through the bush on a boardwalk to a viewing area where we would see the sun set behind the George Gill Ranges. It was calm and beautiful, a wonderful way to start the night.

The sunset

Once again we all piled into the van as we took of towards the camp site. Kate put on the Indiana Jones theme while we offroaded it, around sharp turns, up and down over bumps. It was quite a ride!

One of the great features of the trip was permanent camp sites. Both nights we had our own private camp sites complete with permanent shelters with bunks and a covered eating/cooking area. It wasn’t roughing it at all, but still a fun way to experience nature and the outback.

Dinner consisted of noodles with bolognese sauce, a hearty and ‘oh so’ tasty meal. Post dinner we all migrated to the fire pit, with Kate and I visiting what was rumored to be an old Aboriginal burial ground to collect some wood. Apparently there had been ghost sitings and such; it was pretty cool!

Our time around the campfire was a riot! Kate told stories of past groups and ridiculously stupid questions she’s been asked, while Roelof (pronounced Rule-off), the South African-turned Australian entertained us with his marshmallow-roasting skills. I’m not sure if it was the alcohol, excitement from being on vacation or just his personality, but he was an absolute riot. He kept on calling the marshmallows ‘mushrooms’, which spawned a few jokes of him being under the influence of magical mushrooms, and he put us in stitches with his quips towards his companion Brett. There were also a few kangaroo tails roasting in our firepit, and once we had grown wary of their presence Roelof terrorized the neighboring camp with them. It was a fantastic night.

Roelof roasting marshmallows. To my direct right is Kate, to Roulin's left is Helen, then Brett.

Photo Courtesy of Simona Meloni

The weather was incredible as well. Remember this is the middle of the desert, super-hot days and cold nights. That night it didn’t get lower than 65 degrees or so, and it was an incredibly clear sky; and eerie combination. Due to this most of us elected to sleep outside under the stars in swags, a type of envelope for our sleeping bags. It’s difficult to explain, but see the pictures below.

My swag (without a sleeping bag).

Jeanette and Conny in their swags. I slept right off to the right. (Photo courtesty of Jeanette, tho I took it...:))

I’ve never seen the Milky Way that milky before, just thick with stars. Roelof also pointed out to me the Southern Cross, a constellation that has a place on the Australian flag which is nearly impossible to see from Sydney. It felt as though we were in a tin can with holes poked in the top, the stars were so intense. (Though not as intense as the stars on a Costa Rican beach. Remember that, parents?)

After a few shooting and falling stars I drifted off to sleep. Finally, I had made it to the real Australia; the Australian outback!

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After our time around the campsite we really started to get to know one another, and began to form what would later feel like a sort of family. (Well, I didn’t view everyone as family…;) ) It is now my honor to introduce you to the crew!

We were lucky to have as our tour guide Kate, a woman in her late-twenties from Melbourne, who currently ‘keeps (her) stuff in Alice Springs.’ She had been tour guiding for approx. eight months. She’s an adventorous yet laid back woman who enjoys her beer (a requirement of being Australian)!

Next came Helen, a middle-aged woman from Melbourne. She works for the University of Queensland-Melbourne with International Students, so it was interesting to talk with her about my experiences as an international student.

I’ve previously mentioned Brett and Roelof, companions from Melbourne in their mid-40′s who would come to be referred to as ‘the boys’ (though I preferred the ‘two amigos’). They had travelled the world together, and brought much humor, insight and entertainment to our clan.

The people I became the closest to on the trip were Conny and Jeanette, the young women from Germany.  They were a lot of fun as well, and I am so terribly lucky that they were on this trip! It was similar to the dynamics of my relationship with Emily in Hawai’i, if any of you catch that reference…

Simona is a 19-year old from Switzerland whose been studying in Cairns for about the same duration as myself. She’s a quiet girl, but also quite fun!

Rounding out the group was Terry from Hong Kong and Yung from South Korea. Due to a rigid language barrier we really didn’t have all that much interaction with them, but it was obvious that they were two intelligent and interesting young men, truly good guys.

The incredibleness of this trip rests squarely on the shoulders of these nine indiviuals. Before I had joined the group I had spoken to a girl at the hostel about her trip. She told me a bit about it, then remarked, “It really depends on your group.” I was so very lucky to be on this trip with these nine people, they truly made it a delightful time.

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Thanks to Ashleigh Hull and Kel Pearson for descriptive help.

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