Aboriginals today

Australia has shocked us for being the most segregated society we have come across. We saw scenes here that could have been 1960’s Mississippi.

Whilst the current generations and descendants of the white Europeans, Chinese and Japanese migrants enjoy a first world lifestyle, health and longevity expectations, the Aboriginals (3% of the population) lead a third world existence, together with the associated bad health, domestic violence, lack of education and opportunity. And to make things even worst, they are not resilient to alcohol, and diabetes is rife in their communities because they converted too quickly from a sparse nomadic diet to “white man’s sugared diet”.

We sat at a bus stop in Darwin, whilst the Aboriginals left us to sit on the pavement. We drank alcohol in bars that the Aboriginals can’t drink in. We saw in the Northern Territory towns dozens of Aboriginals standing around in groups, shabby, smelly, wearing no shoes, with nothing to do. Nowhere have we seen interaction between Aboriginals and the descendants of the First Fleet, except for aggressive policing.

The great shame is we never got to speak to any Aboriginals except those that were hassling us for change in Darwin and Katherine. Smile at them and there is a blank stare. And ironically, as we travelled into the Outback, we actually saw less Aboriginals, as their communities are off the main highways, down unsealed tracks that you need permits to enter.

It’s an incredibly complex issue, that we clearly only have superficial knowledge of.

Successive Australian Governments have spent a lot of money on Aboriginals, trying to assuage the guilt of taking their land, righting the wrongs of “the stolen generation”, and the harming of their original way of life, with alcohol and a new diet. There was a full apology by the Prime Minister in 2006, but the problems carry on and many tell us that progress has stalled.

When we ask many white Australians about the issue, every sentence starts with: “I don’t want to sound like a bigot but….”. They simply feel the Aboriginals are culturally not capable or willing to integrate. One Aussie in Katherine said “The Government pays them lots of sit-down money and the kids only go to school on hot days for the air conditioning”. Our Airbnb host in Darwin, said there were a number of hard-working Aboriginals in his company, but they were unreliable because “They just go walk about”.

So despite being given their citizenship fifty years ago, most arboriginals it seems still live in a segregated world; and if we step into their shoes we can maybe understand and appreciate why.

Saying sorry, the constant expressions of guilt, and the building of “aboriginal cultural experiences” don’t seem to have helped much. We can only hope this is still early days and things will improve, but it needs commitment on both sides.

Kata Tjuta (the Olgas)

We spent a full day 40 km west of Uluru, at Kata Tjuta, which means “many heads” in the local language.

The busy path took us up to the Karingana Lookout. And it came as no surprise that it was windy, as the walk is called The Valley of the Winds.

Here most of the tour parties headed back, whilst we continued on for a few more kilometres, along the stony path, through the gap, into a huge circular valley bordered by many of the 36 ancient chestnut-coloured rock domes.

The air was filled with the aroma of lemon, mint and hay, tiny blue and red flowers were just coming out, and colourful birds sang in the gum trees. Underfoot, giant ants and the occasional beetle, and of course the persistent flies which are so much more tenacious than their European cousins.

At Kata Tjuta you are surrounded by the red rocks, enclosed within their warm and generous faces, whilst at Uluru you are on the edge, always outside.

It was a fitting place to leave the National Park.

Hilary with Beatrice and Walter from Germany who are touring Australia for three months. By chance, we met up with them five separate times between the Barrier Reef and here

Tourist experiences v travelling

For us, the Uluru bubble – with its helicopter rides, a British designer’s “field of lights”, camel trekking, Segway riding, quad biking, and under the stars dining experiences – demonstrated clearly the evolving nature of tourism.

Today, even the world’s great monuments and landscapes are not enough for the tourist. They need to have enhanced personal experiences; jungles need zip wiring, deserts need a 4WD experience whilst Uluru needs skydiving. Of course, for the tourism industry it’s all about increasing the dwell time and spending at each location.

But does it also say something about the changing nature of travel and tourism? Increasingly it’s “selfie tourism” we see, or more simply “I did this” tourism, especially for the young.

Perhaps, because the actual act of travel is so easy, not taking up all our time and energy, tourists now need to self-induce adrenaline into their holiday. But in the process, aren’t we in danger of losing connection with what we are there to see and learn from?

Climbing Uluru (Ayers Rock)

We love climbing up mountains – we always have done. So as soon as the winds dropped and the path up Uluru reopened, we were quickly through the gate.

But we acknowledged this is not what the owners of the land – the Anangu Aboriginals – wanted us to do. For them Uluru is sacred. And it has to be said, they are asking us very nicely to respect their hospitality; the signs say “Please don’t climb”.

It took us just over an hour of hard climbing up the 60 degree slope, helped by a simple chain, to reach the summit marker. A Japanese lad climbing up with us, turned to Roger and said “Isn’t your wife strong?”.

When he left, we had the top to ourselves. Totally glorious, and the best place to see the rock’s huge footprint, its endlessly contorted features and its isolation in a sea of barren flatness.

So if the owners of the land don’t want us to climb up Uluru, why is the path still open? Apparently, it’s all to do with the tourist dollar and opposition from white Australians who see the rock as theirs as well. One Aussie told us, “It belongs to all Australians not just the Aboriginals. They didn’t build it”. But a young Australian actress, even though we were tourists, was very disappointed we had walked up.

Respect (or disrespect), guilt, belief, wonder – there’s a lot to this climb.

Uluru (Ayers Rock) at sunset

Tourists on a lightening tour only get to see the sunset from the designated “viewing areas”; a lot of expensive cameras lined up to replicate the iconic, but overseen, postcard view.

Above is the wonderful view we enjoyed, but we felt distant from Uluru here. With our extended stay, we also had the opportunity to be close to the rock at sunset, away from the masses, on the Mala Walk and at the Kanju Gorge waterhole.

As the sun dipped, the birds sang, the rock radiated a red glow, with shadows lengthening, and crevasses falling into darkness.

All too soon, Uluru became brown and uninteresting. However, ten minutes later, as if by magic, the Rock gleams again – reflecting the deepening orange sky to the west.

Reaching out, we could touch this afterglow.

If you plan to do this The red glow only lasts a few minutes so plan in advance where you want to be. We found the official viewing area’s views partly obscured by bushes and trees. And as we say above, it’s brilliant close-up to the rock too.

At Uluru (Ayers Rock)

It’s made of rock, but it acts like a giant magnet, drawing millions of tourists from around the globe. And seeing Uluru in context, from all angles and perspectives, is so different from seeing the classic postcard shot.

In the flatness of the Outback, you see Uluru first some 40km away. Thereafter, as you drive around the National Park, your eyes are always drawn to it. It’s simply both mesmerising and engulfing.

We spent a couple of days focusing on getting to know the 348m high stone well. The journey of the sun, the contours and buttresses in the rock’s surface, create ever changing effects that rewards the extra time.

Since, Hilary was here 30 years ago, more walks have been opened up. For five hours, we walked all around the base of the rock, enjoying the unique flora and fauna, the succulent waterholes and the caves where the Aboriginals gathered to tell their stories.

And we’re glad to say that, despite the number of visitors, discretely accommodated some 15km away, there’s still remarkable peace to find.

Kings Canyon

We decided to head 300km west to Kings Canyon first, Roger wanted it to be the warm up act to Uluru (Ayers Rock). And it was a pretty good opener.

Here there’s really only one thing to do, but you need to be pretty fit. The 6km Kings Canyon Rim Walk took us through breathtaking scenery with incredible views. The rocks at the top looked like beehives, with others reflecting the rippled subterranean surface they once had been. The edge of the canyon was almost sheer, whilst wooden steps take you down into the magical Garden of Eden at the canyon’s bottom.

This whole area was only opened up to tourism in the 1960s when one local rancher, Jim Cotterill, cut the first road through.

On the road with our new campervan

We’ve traded up from the tiny Hippie Camper we had in Queensland. And, guess what, our Britz hi-top is so spacious and completely new. So a shiny kitchen, spotless floors and that new auto smell. How lucky are we!

Our only worry, the expected cold night temperatures. So we asked the lovely woman from Britz to give us an extra duvet, which she did.

Our first task, to stock up on supplies for eight days. So off we went to the Alice Springs Woolworths (Australia’s more upmarket supermarket chain) and filled up with tins, fruit and basics.

Four hours later, we pulled into free roadside parking on the Lassiter Highway, one of just four campervans, under a canopy of Southern Hemisphere stars.

Ahead of us the natural wonders of Kings Canyon, Uluru (Ayer Rock) and Kata Tjuta (the Olgas). But right now, it was the Milky May that was the first star (or millions of stars) of our road trip.

And then, when we woke up with the dawn we experienced the most amazing Outback sunrise. We were speechless.

Origins of Alice Springs

Alice Springs is the first city this gap year that’s actually smaller than we expected. In fact the population is decreasing. It’s usefulness to communications, travel and tourism all declining over the decades.

It owes its existence in the first place to communications, more specifically one of the 12 telegraph stations built out in the bush on the Adelaide to Darwin overland telegraph, a major engineering achievement of the 19th century.

When the telegraph line opened in 1872, linking Australia to the worldwide network, the country’s isolation from the modern world effectively ended. Prior to this, news and letters from Europe took at least two months to reach Australia.

Very quickly the route of the overland telegraph, signposted by its 36,000 poles, became a path for travellers to Australia’s new frontiers. Miners and pastoralists soon arrived and towns like Alice Springs were established around the telegraph stations.

Greyhound to the Red Centre

The Stuart Highway is long, straight and uncompromising. It’s not bothered by hills, rivers or much habitation. The steering wheel only needs to be turned to avoid Wallabies and Kangaroos in the road.

We boarded the Greyhound bus from Katherine and, after our eighth overnight journey of the gap year, arrived 16 hours later in Alice Springs.

For most of the time, it was a journey of darkness, as if the road existed in an empty black vacuum. Nothing to the right or left, except for the occasional flicker of an aboriginal fire or the neon of an isolated roadhouse

By law we had to wear seat-belts. But it didn’t need the government to suggest this was a good idea. Signs at the side of the road said “arrive alive not dead”, whilst our driver was foot down hour after relentless hour.

The half-full bus, soon fell silent and slumbered; asleep or in front of glowing screens. Aboriginals and global travellers all equal now. Upfront, the driver’s radio hopefully kept him awake by crackling semi-incoherent messages.

After 1400 km, the dawn sun revealed a landscape of deep red dust and few trees. We were in the Red Centre.