Uluru

            by Mary Pinto

 

“They’re German.  Definitely,” I said, tossing my backpack and a bag of gummi worms onto the dirt.  I stepped onto the bus again to see if anything was left.  Nothing but wrappers and mud.

“German?  Maybe Finnish,” Danny guessed as we both turned to examine the people at the campsite next to us.  They were blond, large, and grilling something that smelled delicious. 

“Yeah, maybe Finnish.  I’m always wrong.” I dug my Thorpedo water bottle out of my backpack as he continued to stare at the other tourists.  It was bright blue and had a picture of Ian Thorpe on the side.  “Wouldn’t it be great if Michael Phelps and Ian Thorpe had a baby?  He would be the fastest swimmer of all time.”

Danny rolled his eyes.  “Guys can’t have babies.  Nice try though.”  He picked the bag of gummi worms up and plopped onto the hard ground.  “This isn’t bad,” he said, motioning to the campsites surrounding us.  In our eight days traveling up Stewart Highway in the heart of Australia, we had stayed in some pretty unpleasant places.  Although it was full of tourists eager to catch a glimpse of Ayer’s Rock, this campsite was by far the best.  Each site had a small piece of land with a grill, sink, and table.  There were also bathrooms and a pool, so we were by no means roughing it.

I sat down next to Danny and pulled out a few gummi worms.  As I chewed, it dawned on me that this situation was completely absurd.  Here we were, American teenagers in the middle of the outback, eating gummi worms.  The entire trip had felt that way.  Everything we did seemed mildly ridiculous, from visiting a salmon factory to watching a performance by Dinky the Singing Dingo.

“Meeting time,” someone yelled behind us.  Danny and I picked up our belongings and headed toward the fire the rest of our group was building.  I tossed a twig onto the flames and was rewarded with a few “Gee, thanks Mary’s.”  All thirteen of us assembled ourselves in a circle as the warmth began to spread from the fire.

“How’s everyone doing?”  Adam, the leader, asked.  We nodded and murmured.  “Tonight we’re just gonna chill out, but tomorrow we have a full day planned.  We’re waking up at the crack of dawn–”

“You mean the butt-crack of dawn,” someone interjected.

“–we’re waking up at the BUTT-crack of dawn to watch the sunrise over Uluru.  Then there will be time to take showers, which I highly recommend some of you do.”  He glanced at us, his eyes lingering on Danny and Ryan the longest.  “Next, we’re driving to Uluru.  We’re gonna take a base walk first, and then some of you will have the option of climbing Uluru.  We’re gonna have a long discussion before anyone decides.  Cool?” We nodded and murmured again.  “You guys should probably set up the swag circle now.”

We trooped over to where the bus was parked.  Ryan climbed up onto the top of the trailer and started tossing the rolled up swags to us.  I was agile enough to avoid being hit in the face by the heavy canvas bags.  When they were all off the trailer, we began unrolling them onto a tarp.  As always, we arranged the swags in a circle with the heads pointing in.  Everyone had a different way of identifying their swag.  Some found theirs by the old writing on the thick plastic exteriors, others by checking to see if the sleeping bag inside belonged to them. 

“So, who’s climbing Uluru?” I asked once we had found our swags.

“I’m not,” Ryan said immediately.  I waited to hear his reason, since I was never quite sure what he would say next.  Within twenty-four hours of knowing him, Ryan had managed to tell everyone in our group that he was a recently converted Buddhist, a sex addict, and on probation.  He had also been engaged until his fiancée sold her ring for heroin. 

 “I can’t imagine disrespecting an entire group of people like that.”  A few people nodded in agreement.  “Uluru is sacred to them, you know?  We can’t just walk all over it whenever we please.”

“But think of the view,” Danny added.  “Can you even imagine how it feels to be up there looking across the outback for miles?  This is a once in a lifetime chance.”

“Look, I’m not telling you what to do, but I think it’s wrong,” Ryan said.  He pulled his hat over his ears and looked away.  Long pause. 

“Um…” I began awkwardly. “I’m cold.  Let’s go sit by the fire and break out some Tams.”  Everyone agreed and we momentarily ignored the argument.  I grabbed a box of milk chocolate Tim-Tams, the only cookie capable of diffusing tension in a second, and passed it around.  Danny launched into a story about his trip to France, the one that ended with him wandering around a hotel without pants.  The squabble was all but forgotten.

The sky was dark when we woke up the next morning.  As always, I was last out of my swag.  When I blearily made my way to the campfire, the rest of the group was already discussing whether or not a pack of dingoes had stalked our circle last night.  This was a pointless topic to debate, mostly because it always devolved into someone putting on a bad Aussie accent and yelling, “A dingo stole my baby!”

“Okay people,” Adam said, moving closer to the fire, “Once you’ve finished your cereal we’re going to climb that hill,” he pointed to the one in question, “and watch the sunrise over Uluru.  And don’t even start whining that you’re too tired to move.”

We grumbled and began stacking up the cereal bowls.  It was the boys’ turn to wash-up, which they always did while singing.  Today they chose “Secret Agent Spam,” an invented song about…Spam.

The hill was small. Compared to our hike around Kings Canyon, where we went off the trail and climbed up a practically vertical cliff, this was nothing.  It took less than four minutes to walk from our campsite to the lookout point.  Other early risers had beaten us there.  Some had even laid out blankets on the ground and were comfortably waiting for the sun.

We found a small patch of dirt by the edge of the ridge and plunked ourselves down.  I was past the point of worrying about cleanliness.  My jeans hadn’t been washed since we left Adelaide eight days ago.  They were covered in an eclectic mix of red dust, chocolate, and unidentifiable grime.

“I’m hungry,” Danny said loudly.

“Me too,” a few people chorused.  I felt something tugging on my head and turned around.  It was Emma, who had absentmindedly begun French-braiding my hair.  To any outsider we must have looked like a group of puppies: loud, smelly, and unaware of personal space. 

“Jeez, are you trying to rip my hair out?” I asked her, whipping my head around.  The first tinges of pink spread across the sky.  I pinched her arm as light broke across the horizon.  When I turned back, the sun was already resting just above Uluru.

“Second breakfast, anyone?” Emma offered, standing up and leaving my hair in a disorganized mess.  We walked back down the hill, leaving Uluru glowing behind us.

“How was the sunrise?” Adam asked when we wandered back to the fire. 

“Amazing.”

“Pretty cool.”

“Not bad.”

“Where’s my candy?”

“Okay.  Well, I guess I’m glad you guys enjoyed it.” Adam said. “We’re leaving to see the actual Uluru in a few hours.  Try to amuse yourselves.  Maybe go to the pool.”

The pool was not a success.  The water was arctic, and Danny’s high-pitched screams drew an angry maintenance man over to us.  He yelled at us for a while and we left with our tails between our legs.  The jumping contest was a bust too.  The stick throwing ended when a couple people almost got their eyes poked out, and we stopped playing dizzy leapfrog when Emma ran into a fence.

Finally Adam called us to the bus.  Nursing minor wounds, we crawled into our seats.  I was excited about Uluru, but some people had made it clear that this was going to be the pinnacle of their trip.  Ryan was almost giddy about this outing.  His face was pressed against the dirty window, taking in every shrub on the way to our destination.  Danny was more laidback.  His face was pressed into a book of crossword puzzles.

We were there.  The bus pulled into a large parking lot along with many other vehicles bearing slogans like, “Kangaroo Bruce’s Outback Tour,” or “Walkabout Travel.”

We instinctively formed a circle around Adam.  After all, he was our surrogate mother.

“Okay,” he said, scanning a small pamphlet. “Looks like there’s something called the Mala walk.  It goes around part of the base of Uluru, including a couple of waterholes.  Sound cool?”  We nodded enthusiastically. 

The beginning of the path was easy to find.  A petite Australian woman in a khaki uniform stood facing a large group of tourists.  We joined the pack, unfortunately blending right in.

“G’day, everyone!” the guide said brightly.  I giggled in delight over her Aussie-ness.  “It looks like there’s a lot of you today!”  She began walking, the group trailing obediently behind her.

“The Anangu are the traditional land owners of Uluru.  It is sacred to them and they request that outsiders do not climb.  This climb is the traditional route taken by ancestral Mala men upon their arrival to Uluru.” 

I stared up at the large rock.  A trail of people was snaking down the red slopes.  They were laughing and celebrating their courageous feat.  I heard Ryan scoff in disgust a few feet away. 

The tour ended where it began: the parking lot and the entrance to the climb.  Adam set us loose to roam on our own.  Ryan drifted back toward the Mala path while the rest of us gravitated toward a large sign that read “Why We Do Not Climb.”

“Why we do not climb,” I read aloud, “Uluru has great spiritual significance.  We have not closed the climb because we prefer that you - out of education and understanding - choose to respect our law and culture by not climbing. Remember that you are a guest on Anangu land.”  Emma bit her lip as I read.

“You climbing?” I asked, elbowing her lightly.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted after a pause, “It looks amazing.”  Passing the question on, she elbowed Danny.

“I think I’m going to.” he said, rubbing his thumb across the indented words on the wooden sign. “I just can’t pass it up.” I nodded, giving neither approval nor disapproval.

We stood there for a while longer, staring at the people climbing up and down.  They were old, young, skinny, fat, Chinese, and Swedish.  Some looked athletic, some were out of breath before even reaching Uluru.  A few stopped partway up the incline to snap pictures of themselves with silly faces.   

“Where’s Ryan?” Adam asked, strolling up to the bench we were sprawled across. 

“He was just here–”

“Maybe he went to the bathroom–”

“Nice try guys.  I’m glad you’re trying to protect him, but he knows he’s not supposed to wander off by himself.” Adam did a quick scan of the area. 

“That kid was born under an unlucky star,” Emma whispered.

Fifteen minutes later, Adam spotted Ryan sauntering toward us.  He was walking slowly and had a dreamy look on his face.  Adam pulled him off to the side, undoubtedly telling him for the billionth time that roaming around by himself was not okay.

“I’m sorry, but I have to give you a strike,” we heard Adam say.

“I deserve it.”

“Was it worth it?” Adam asked, no trace of sarcasm in his voice.

“Completely.” Adam patted Ryan’s shoulder and they both walked back to the group. 

“Let’s go home,” Adam said.  We trooped back to the bus, moving slowly to hear Ryan’s entire story.

“So?  Whadja do?” Danny asked impatiently. 

“I found this amazing water hole.  You know, the one we passed on the walk?” Ryan grinned. “It was incredible.  I just sorta sat there…” He trailed off.  Half of me wanted to roll my eyes, but the other half respected Ryan’s spirituality.

The mood was somber when we returned to camp.  We all knew what was coming: The Talk.  The moment when we would draw lines in the red sand and pick sides.  We pulled stools up to the fire pit in a roughly constructed circle.

“I’ll start,” Adam said, looking at each of us in turn. “I hope that you have all learned something today about Uluru and the people who live there today.  The choice is completely up to you, but I want you to think really hard about it.  Does anyone have anything to add?”

“I do,” Ryan said firmly. “I really feel like there is no choice here.  It’s clear that it would be really disrespectful if we climbed.  How hard is it to decide to make the right decision?”

I fidgeted on my stool, missing the carefree group I knew and loved.  Why was Adam putting us through this?  Was it necessary to add friction to our friendships?  I felt disconnected from the conversation.  I couldn’t take a moral stand since I was only not climbing because it sounded too strenuous.

“When are we ever going to get another chance to do this?” Danny added suddenly. “I just think that if we climb with an understanding of these people, and respect them more than the other climbers do, it’s not that bad.  We wouldn’t be hurting Uluru, just appreciating it.”

“But by climbing it you are completely disregarding the feelings of the Anangu!  You can’t be respecting them if you directly ignore their obvious wishes.  If you’re going to climb Uluru, you should probably start calling it Ayer’s Rock!” Adam yelled. 

It was silent.  Danny’s eyes grew wide.  Emma raised her hand awkwardly.

“It’s pretty clear that you don’t want us to climb.  Why are you giving us this dilemma if you’re gonna be furious with us if we do it?” Her voice rose with each word.
            Adam sighed.  “I won’t be furious.  I just want to make sure you decide whatever you decide for the right reasons.”  Heavy silence fell on the group.  “Meeting’s over.”

We stood up, joints and hearts aching slightly.  I noticed that we had split up into different sides.  Danny and Emma stood with two other boys who were climbing, while the rest of us eyed them from across the fire.

“If you decided to go, the bus is leaving now,” Adam said, walking toward his tent without another word.  The boys filed into the bus quickly, though Danny paused momentarily at the door.  Emma hesitated even longer, fingering the camera she held at her side.  Finally she stepped inside and the bus sped away.

I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and watched as the bus turned a corner and disappeared.  A part of me hoped they wouldn’t climb.  Another part wished I could see the view from Uluru too.

They returned three hours later, sweaty and silent.  We greeted them with averted eyes and fidgeting hands.  Adam was gone, supposedly to find a computer.  Ryan was also gone, but he had left no such excuse.  The mood was gloomy despite the hot Australian sun beating onto our backs.  I felt like my head was a balloon slowly being pumped full of helium, about to explode.  Each second felt like an hour, and each hour felt like a year.  I was sick of cold glances and fake smiles.

Leaving the group, I pulled a rolled-up swag to the campfire, letting the flames destroy any other thoughts in my mind.  Absentmindedly, I tossed bits of grass into the fire.

“Move over,” Danny said, squishing his practically non-existent butt onto the swag.  He was silent for a moment.  He pulled out his camera and began idly flipping through the pictures.

“Do you want to see these?” he asked carefully. “They’re pretty cool.” 

I leaned over.

“Well, that’s the Sydney aquarium.  And the first time I had Vegemite.” He scrolled through a few photos. “An Aussie rules football game.  A kangaroo attacking me.  And that’s the Adelaide party my watch got stolen at while I was passed out in a ditch.”  He paused for a moment before showing me the next picture.

“And that’s the view from Uluru.” I took the camera from his hands and held it closer to my face.  It was spectacular.  They were so high up.  I could see the outback stretched across the screen.

“It’s beautiful,” I said simply.  There was silence again, but infinitely more comfortable this time.  We sat quietly by the heat of the fire, our eyes noticing an abandoned deck of cards in the dirt at the same time.
            “Do you want to…?” He asked.

“Should we?”

“Why not?” He opened the dirty box and split the deck evenly, handing me a half.  He laughed and lifted an eyebrow before tossing the two of spades into the fire.  I picked the king of diamonds and flung it in too. 

“Can I join you?” Ryan said, appearing suddenly and pulling up another swag to the fire.  Danny solemnly offered him a stack of cards.  Ryan chose one and gently flipped it into the center of the flames.  The corners of his mouth twitched up as he threw another one in.  We laughed, lighter now that the tension that was plaguing our campsite seemed to be dwindling. 

I tossed my last card into the fire and watched the edges curl slowly.  Miles away, a dingo howled as the moon rose above Uluru.