The alarm clock gets me out of sleep at five in the morning. Touch up, the sunrise is a sight not to be missed. The other room occupants are asleep. Two girls, I think French, but I have not very clear, as they reached half-past am very discreet and talking quietly to not disturb, and those hours to see who rises to speak with them. And it seems that watching the sunrise does not call them, and do not blame them. Well, enough of thinking ... to rise! Without turning on the light, and without making noise, I grab my things and go out.
is still dark, and I stumbled to the communal kitchen to improvise a breakfast with milk, cereal and a banana. While Celia and breakfast appear Javier, have also been raised to see the sunrise. Van bus tours, and a little luck, the attraction includes breakfast. Good luck and we parted. The night begins to brighten with the dawn's early light, and there is increasing movement in the area. The tourists are hopping on the bus, ready to go. Elsewhere in the rush hour is the time to go to work. Here is the sunrise.
with traffic and I'm on the way to Uluru. My first stop is the viewpoint of the sunset. Parking is completely deserted, and before me is the silhouette of Uluru before a cloudless sky with colors ranging from blue to orange, to a range of blues and pinks. The desert landscape and serene, and the rock as if about to wake up.
back on the road, where traffic is even more intense, and I get to the lookout car park exit the sun. The place looks like a camping more than anything else, with lots of cars and buses, and organized groups preparing his breakfast. I imagine one of these groups is Celia and Javier. Find a place to park and barely find a place to see the rock without having too many people ahead. Just in time, the sun is about to leave. Gradually the sun began to paint the orange rock, from the top, and down to reach the base trees, until the whole landscape is bathed in warm colors of the sun. And a few minutes later the car was empty of people, people who have their schedules even in this place far away from the current civilization. Again place for me. Now I have time to prepare for the day, shaving, and wear sunscreen to the sun is beginning to show their power.
Yesterday I discovered that the park rangers organize a free guided walk at ten. It's almost eight, something must be done until then. With what I start to walk around the rock, starting with the sunny and predicting that it will soon be a burden to walk through the area by the heat. This rock, once I get close, seems to me like one of those planets that the Prince by Saint-Exupéry traveled in her adventures. Round, with nooks and caves everywhere, oozing mystery and stories older than the man. Time passes, the heat begins to show. Arrived at the rendezvous point where they make the tour but it is nine, still got an hour for the ride. Thus I continue my journey around the rock, revealing the mysterious, sacred parts that can not be photographed, odd shaped parts. The passage of time has sculpted the rock with whimsical figures. The rock itself, red, or rather orange, contrasting with the green of vegetation, vegetation appears to have been attracted to the rock by some mysterious force in a desert where not expect to see anything green. Walk the last kilometers of the race become, as time seems to have accelerated and I risk being late for an appointment with the guards. At the end I get to the car, smothered and just fifteen minutes to reach the other end of the rock.
I come to the meeting point in time, people are waiting and the guard comes right after me. Thank goodness! The guard is a young blonde who instantly becomes a model for my photos. It tells the legend of the Poor, an Aboriginal tribe whose totem is a kangaroo who unfortunately is extinct in the wild and are only a few specimens in captivity. The story of ancient tribes and a giant dog, fight and escape from danger. The guide takes us to sacred places where only men of the tribe may go, or where only women can go. Some of these places can not be photographed porque son tabú para ciertos miembros de la tribu, y si alguien las fotografía y las publica hay riesgo de que sean vistas por gente de la tribu que no debiera verlas. Las historias que nos cuenta el guía no son completas porque tienen partes secretas que solamente los miembros de la tribu pueden saber por completo. Son historias que enseñan la tradición y costumbres de la tribu, y solamente los iniciados pueden apreciarlas. Yo me conformo con saber que existen, aunque me apena que estas historias tal vez desaparezcan con los que las cuenten si éstos no encuentran a las personas adecuadas a quien pasar las tradiciones.
Con las historias del guarda me entran más ganas de apuntarme al tour de Anangu y escuchar la historia de Kuniya la python, and so the first thing I do upon arrival is to ask for the tour. But I say that has been canceled due to lack of tourists. It appears that most tourists prefer the large ones, or rather, the big agencies with their claws that reach the countries of origin of tourists, attracted before they know that there are local agencies that offer something different. Luckily there are other activities organized by Anangu at the same time, an Aboriginal painting workshop, and I apundo without thinking twice.
Back at the hotel I meet Celia and Javier, who had been eating. Trade notes and go quickly, ready to create my artwork Aboriginal. In
Workshop I find the same interpreter yesterday. The artist seems to be one of the two guides yesterday, who tells us the mysteries of Aboriginal painting. In their culture there is no writing, and customs and knowledge is passed orally and drawing in the sand or rocks. Each painting has a story to tell, and she teaches us how to recognize the symbols of men, women, water, soil and vegetation, and animals. It tells several stories, including a short version of the python and Mala Kuniya the kangaroo, while drawing on the floor, perhaps as knowledge is passed from generation to generation. We note that Uluru is the limit of four tribes, one Anangu, his tribe. All the tribes of Australia are related in one way or another, and exchanged stories. And among all the stories is a particularly ancient history, shared among four tribes. The story begins in the northern tip of Australia, near Darwin, and runs from north to south to a tribe near Adelaide. Each tribe can only tell their side of the story so if you want to know the whole story has to travel across Australia from north to south. And it makes me think of the movie ten canoes and history, as ancient yet so modern. At the end of the lessons we are told, through the interpreter: "Well, I have given my history. Now it is up to you, give me yours. "trade is like a story, something that may have been the aborigines from the beginning of time. And without more, gives us canvas and paint, and let us paint. I did my work of art, or rather disaster, bringing together men, women, kangaroos and water wells, and then had to explain what he meant, that even I knew what I was doing ... what a shame! While we were creating our stories (most of the story told family, and you have to see how well they painted a few), the artist created another of his works. It was a picture representing the story of Mala, Uluru, the giant dog, and members of the tribe fled. Then I moved by Art gallery, imagining what stories and secrets kept within the pictures displayed. I finally bought one that I had something. Something that may not be what the artist meant, but whatever. It is a secret history that only the box and I share.
are more than four. The heat burns less than yesterday, or maybe I'm used to it, and I'm walking through the place between the rock and the paint shop. The tourists are gone, we're just rock and me. Every yard is different. The vegetation is combined with Uluru to create different and artistic prints. After painting class everything seems different. Uluru feels more alive than ever, and its beauty red majesty, mixed with green vegetation. Silence fills everything. The sky, blue, cloudless. The soil is red.
While I find myself with a woman on a bicycle. It is a bike that looks rather old, full of bags. Is the same woman that way yesterday in Kata-Tjuta, about fifty miles from here. Le preguto where it comes from, "Germany," he responds. "Yes, but have not been on my bike from there, do you?" He asked with a slightly mocking tone. "Well, no, there are parts where I was not using the bike," he answers. His name is Annemarie, German, who once dreamed of traveling by bike to Australia, said and done, he spent six bike years to get here. It was an honor for me to ask you a few pictures to website.
It is time to sunset, and return to the lookout point where you started the day so long ago. The place is crowded, tourists have returned. Find somewhere to park, and is shown opposite Uluru, under a sky where clouds begin to appear. Clouds play with Uluru, and the figure begins to fill with shadows and light as the clouds move. And so, at this time of day when the color of the rock changes every minute, gather the figures created by the clouds, and make every second to completely change the rock. But I resisted the temptation and only did 27 photos during these minutes.
Back at the hotel dinner with Celia and Javier. They leave the next day to the next stage in Kakadu in northern Australia. Maybe they discovered the principle of ancient history. We said goodbye under a starry sky, this time without the hassle of the tourist guide. Spent some time watching the stars, I with my books on astronomy and my map of the heavens, trying to teach what he knew about the stars, which is not much. But at least find the Milky Way and some other nebula.
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