Dinky the Dingo and other Nothern Territory Adventures

Men are selfish! That's all I could think as I ran along the eastern length of Uluru under the midday sun. A fine red dust had collected on my skin, my legs burned, and the backpack happily slammed into me with each stride; I was tired, late for the bus, and men were selfish. Why else would the entire eastern side of the giant rock be declared a sacred male ritual site and therefore off-limits to photos?* I had never noticed it before, but every post card shows the western side of Uluru. The entire eastern side is sacred to the Anangu aboriginals and photographs are considered a violation. Which is a shame really, because the eastern side has the most intriguing rock formations of the site. I don't know if my eyes could violate the sanctity of the rocks but, in the words of Oscar Wilde, "only the sacred things are worth touching."

Uluru lays 480km southwest of Alice Springs; it is a 6-hour drive each way and that meant hopping onto a tour bus at 6am. Ah, 6am! A mythical time I occasionally hear tell of from friends with children or glandular issues. (Having now seen it for myself, let me assure you that it's not worth the trip.) The bus came complete with comfy seats and an annoying tour guide whose nervous, breathy commentary always started and finished with a high-pitched "Righty-o!" After about an hour on the road the sun had come up, painting the land red, and we pulled off at a diner for some breakfast.

Now, before I continue, let me ask this: have you ever had a story to your name that was so surreal, so full of silliness and stereotypes that it almost becomes boring? Well, I have! Waiting at the diner was a piano-playing, singing dingo named Dinky. My fellow tourists and I sat nibbling on egg and bacon sandwiches when Dinky hopped up onto the piano and walked up and down the keys, howling the whole time. We all watched with eager cameras and distracted smiles, able to ignore the high-pitched noise in favor of the comical aspect. I was selected from the audience at one point to play for Dinky while he sang. (This was the culmination of my piano-playing career!) As I moved to sit beneath Dinky, his head turned and I was face to face with a snarling set of dingo teeth. "Woah!" his handler cried, pushing Dinky's head away. "Were you talking to him?!" He demanded of me. I assured him that I had not yet had the pleasure, and he scowled for me to begin playing. And that's how I ended up playing "When the Saints Go Marching In" beneath a singing dingo. (There has been a theory put forth that Dinky is only masquerading as a singing dingo, and is currently wanted by Alice Springs authorities in relation to a baby-eating.)

Not much can beat Dinky for Aussie experiences bordering on the surreal...but Mt Conner and the giant salt lake came close. I thought Mt Conner was Uluru from a distance; it spurred up from the flat horizon so dramatically I felt time had surely slipped and we had arrived! I watched it take shape and wondered why no one else saw it. Eventually, the tour guide explained in his nasal tones that Mt Conner was actually the polar opposite of Uluru- instead of being sacred, the aboriginals feared this place. They believed that Attila the ice-man lived on Mt Conner and would strike down those that approached. So, why is it so cold in the middle of a desert? The answer can be found in the enormous salt lake - a giant stretch of white against the red sand. Though there is no water on the surface it still flows beneath the land, and is still affected by the moon. The water rises higher to the surface at high tide and cools the surrounding air. (If this sounds like complete b.s. blame the tour guide). In a borderline British moment, we had tea, fruit cake, and lamingtons amidst this wasteland. The lamingtons were delicious!

Driving towards our final destination was rather other-worldly. The giant rock rises so dramatically from the flat, arid land that my eyes could not resist climbing it. The soil of the red centre is the finest I have ever seen, burnt to a lovely red-orange color; the Uluru visitors' center has a collection of "sorry rocks" that were taken from Uluru by admiring tourists and then mailed back with notes of apology. If ever a mars movie was to be made it would be filmed at here! A high-pitch droning from the flapping mouth of our tour guide offered three options for entertainment. We could:

1. Climb the giant rock. Unfortunately, this is considered disrespectful to the aboriginals. Tourists who do so anyway are called "mingas", meaning "ants", because that's what they appear to be from a distance: little black pests scurrying up the rock face.
   
2. Walk around it...a 9km journey in all.
   
3. Hang out with the guide at a cultural center and get a base tour by bus.

Well, 3 was right out! Something about a falsetto doesn't invite my friendship, and I had decided against 1 to be respectful. So, option 2 it was! I had just run a 14K so this should be easy, no?

No! For the record, I'm a masochistic idiot. I don't know if I hovered too much over pictures or just set a mosey-like pace, but as the deadline to meet the bus approached I found myself stranded on the eastern side of Uluru with no way to get back to the road. That's how I ended up running at the back of Uluru. Eventually, I had to cut across some protected land to make it back to the road. Two national parks violated in as many weeks! I'm a rebel with a cause...and that cause appears to be trespassing in national parks. Look out, Yellowstone!

Aside from the intrinsic beauty of Uluru, I loved the stories and myths about the rock. The first tale I stumbled across was about a gray lizard-shaped discoloration on the western face. Long ago, Lizard came to live at Uluru. One day he found a wounded emu with tribal spears sticking out of its belly. Even though it was obviously the object of a hunt, he killed and ate the emu. When the hunters came looking for their catch, Lizard lied and said he had never seen the creature. Soon after, the hunters discovered Lizard's trick and came back demanding their emu. Lizard climbed the rock to escape them. As he climbed, the hunters built a great fire and blinded lizard who fell to his death, hitting the rock where the ghostly shape still lays. (In fact, the gray discoloration is the true color of the rock! The orange that covers most of it is in fact rust.)

We finished the day with a sunset dinner at Uluru, complete with cheap champagne. After scarfing the food and casually kicking over the drink I'd been given I snuck away to watch the show. A purple shadow crawled towards the giant rock, slipping over golden bushes and low trees. It oozed up to the rock and then began to scale it. The colors drained away wherever the shadow touched and eventually it had devoured the rock. As soon as the sun set, the sky surrounding Uluru bloomed with an intense pink color that swam about the gargantuan stone before dying out. In the twilight the rock was gray, its true color, not the burnt orange shade that rust had given it. The desert was quiet and we had a long journey home. I waved goodbye and boarded the bus. So long, Uluru, I couldn't forget you if I wanted to!


See below for Dinky's performance!




*I later learned there are some female sacred sites mixed in there, too. But I think the blame is fine where it's been laid.