Sunrise at Uluru at this time of year is around 6:30am. The Rock famously changes colour as the light grows in the eastern sky. It’s all part of the experience – but you have to get up well before sparrow fart to see the spectacle. We crawled out of bed at about 4:30 to be all booted and spurred for a 5:45 start. We’d been promised coffee and biscuits on arrival to sustain us until we got back to the hotel for breakfast.
Needless to say, we weren’t the only group out there in the predawn darkness. There’s a viewing platform up on a dune where most people gathered. I preferred the less crowded aspect from the lower area. Uluru was right in front of us with Kata Tjuta’s domes on the horizon.
After breakfast Roger took us to the cultural centre which was like an art gallery or museum displaying aboriginal artefacts. Some of the stories associated with the Rock were displayed on boards. Unfortunately, we were asked not to take photos or videos. I found that frustrating. In many places around the resort you’ll see signs reading “Live it Love it Share it” with reference to the culture of the Anangu. The easiest way to share is to tell the stories and share the photos. But… no photos. Sorry.
From there we went to the base of the Rock. It’s a fascinating place. You could say it’s a combination of a cathedral and a university, sacred and a place to learn. We were told the aboriginal people never lived in the many caves but they hunted and held ceremonies – both women’s and men’s secret business. Kata Tjuta was a place for men. Women didn’t go there or even look at the domes. Kata Tjuta means ‘many heads’ in the local language. That’s a much better title than Mount Olga (or just the Olgas), bestowed by explorer Ernest Giles, who named it to honour Queen Olga of Württemberg. It wasn’t as if she’d ever see the place.
In the not-too-distant past people were allowed to climb to the top of Uluru. It’s not an easy ascent and for many years climbers were assisted by a chain set into the rock. But the Anangu people always asked tourists not to climb. It’s steep and it’s dangerous as well as sacred. 35 people died up there over the years. Besides, there are no toilets and people are people. When it rains, what climbers left up there is washed down into the pools around the base. Those pools are where wildlife came to drink and the Anangu came to hunt. It’s significant that since the climb was closed in 2019, gradually the water holes have cleared and the wildlife is returning. Nature has heaved a huge sigh of relief.
Roger took us for a short walk and on the way told us some of the stories associated with the location. Many of them are very violent. Marks in the rock’s surface were evidence of history. Holes were made by spears, a crack by a savage blow to a man’s skull with a weapon, and over there were the footprints of a devil dog. There’s a place where a great python left her eggs and carved a track with her enormous body. For the Anangu, the Rock is a history of their ancestors, not a legend. Many places are considered sacred and we were asked not to take photos.
There was one cave which had been closed. I remember back in 1998 we were able to view the paintings inside it. It seems some indescribable scum bags damaged the paintings, gouging the rock face. Park people are working to repair them.
Sometimes people are disgusting.
That evening we were taken out to another platform in the desert to enjoy drinks and nibbles before a performance of Wintjiri Wiru, which in the local Pitjantjatjara language means ‘beautiful view out to the horizon’. Choreographed drones, lasers and projections brought to life the ancient Mala story of the Anangu people, a story passed on for thousands of generations. Here’s a bit more about the show.
Once again we were asked not to take pictures or videos during the performance – although we could take pictures of the scenery.
While we couldn’t take pictures it seems the guardians at Ayers Rock Resort could. This is the story of Mala, complete with photos from the show. It was genuinely breathtaking and worth a few moments of your time.
It would be easy to dismiss the tale as just another legend. Every society has them, after all. But take away the supernatural elements and this is the story of a tribal war. Substitute the devil dog with a Viking long boat and this could have happened on the coast of Ireland. The attackers killed the men and kept the women.
We all headed back to the hotel for dinner. Tomorrow would bring another adventure.
This is the sixth post for this trip. If you missed anything, pick up the whole journey here.
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