Day 33
This day was never going to start well. At precisely 4am, all the alarms I had set began to go off, which had absolutely no effect on me but brought David and John to startled awakeness, and I was subsequently aroused by a bottle of shower gel on a ballistic trajectory from David's bunk. After stumbling through packing, attempting to be as quiet as possible and failing, I found myself in front of the reception area at quarter to five, feeling very sorry for myself. My mood was brightened moments later when I found out that there was someone having a worse morning than me. Her name was Tammy, and her backpack had broken while packing that morning.
All this was in aid of seeing the King's Canyon, and the tour, once we actually arrived was pretty good, although it was one of those big coaches with a very large number of people. It was also very hot and essential to carry lots of water. If I had come during the summer it would have been unbearable, I'm sure. During the three-hour, six kilometre walk around the top of the canyon and the 'Garden of Eden' waterhole, I took in a number of excellent views and learned a great deal about the formation of the canyon and the plants that live there. Tammy revealed that she is doing a PhD in Tourism and is currently studying interactions between backpackers and aborigines.
The Aboriginal culture seems to thrive on privacy and seclusion, and so the way it is made into a tourist attraction by the many tour companies that operate in the area is the subject of some concern. Over the years aboriginal rights have generally become more respected, and the various parties to the issue seem to be edging towards a more balanced co-existence, although a great deal of damage has already been done, and I doubt that there are many Aborigines still living in the same way as they did before the Europeans arrived. There are many aboriginal philosophies which seem strange to the European observer - extreme dislike of being photographed, reliance on abstract stories for passing on knowledge, and disinterest in charting their own history. Interaction with Europeans can only cause changes to this culture.
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Day 32
The big moment had finally arrived, and there was no avoiding it - I was going to have to climb the damned thing. We caught an 8:50am shuttle bus to the rock, and began to make our way to the base of the climb.
The Aboriginal people native to this area (and who own the rock), known as the Anangu, request that visitors to the rock do not climb it since it is a sacred monument in their culture, and also because they do not want people to injure themselves. The vast majority of people do not heed this request. Climbing the rock is actually a very dangerous business, since there are no steps, and the angle of the incline can reach 45º or more. Five people are known to have died in the attempt to climb the rock (by falling off it), and over twenty are known to have suffered fatal heart attacks as a result of the climb. There are probably many more that are unrecorded because they happen later on in the day.
With these thoughts foremost in my mind, I began to climb up the first part of the rock. The track to the summit is actually more than 3 km long, but the steepest section runs only for the first 600m. Along this section there is also a chain to hold on to, but no effort has been made to make the rock's surface easier to climb. Once past this section, there is a plateau, and then a dotted line painted onto the surface of the rock leads the way for the remainder of the journey to the summit.
The strange thing is that there seem to be a large number of people going up and down the first 600m, and congregating in the plateau at the top of the chain, but very few venture further and complete the journey to the top. During this section, we found ourselves alone on the path, and no-one else arrived until we had been sitting at the summit for some time.
We completed the climb and descent in some 2½ hours, although it's recommended that you actually allow 3 hours for the round trip.
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Day 31
Our flight from Perth to Ayers Rock was scheduled for 7am, a despicably early hour considering that we would have to get up at 5. Somehow we managed it, and said goodbye to Lotta at quarter to six.
Once our flight landed at Ayers Rock, we set about finding somewhere to stay for the night. Since Ayers Rock is not actually a town in itself, all the accommodations and facilities are located in a purpose built town about 15 kilometres away, called Yulara, or "The Ayers Rock Resort". This entire place is owned by a single company, the Ayers Rock Corporation, and so prices are artificially high. We paid A$38 each for three out of four beds in a four share dorm, which was more than three times the price of accommodation in Perth.
After checking in and generally sorting ourselves out, we went straight to the rock for a base tour. This was quite informative, including a number of aboriginal stories and the site of some rock painting, but otherwise unexciting. The tour finished with a view of sunset over the rock, which would have been a lot better if there were not several hundred other people trying to see the same sunset from the same place.
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Day 27
I took a proper volley of pictures of the train today. We are occupying two double berths, and last night I had to share mine with another passenger, while David and John had one to themselves. I'm told my passenger gets off today so I will have the berth to myself for the rest of the trip. On one side of our carriage is another holiday class carriage, then two first class carriages and the first class lounge and dining cars. The door between holiday and first class wasn't locked, but a sign on the door said "first class passengers only" so we didn't venture down that way. On the other side were our own lounge and dining cars. Our dining car was broken into two sections by the kitchen, leaving the majority of the carriage for holiday class tables, and a tiny area on the other side for the economy class passengers' take-away counter. I definitely would not have enjoyed the journey if I had gone economy.
In the morning we stopped in Broken Hill for about 45 minutes, and had a leisurely tour of the town, which was our first real taste of the remote outback. Later in the day we stopped in Adelaide for a similar amount of time, but it seemed a great deal shorter, after all, Adelaide is the capital of South Australia. Since we had no chance of doing any meaningful sightseeing, David suggested we try to find a cafe that he had heard about.
Back on the train, it's amazing how relaxing the journey is, and is exactly the sort of rest bite required after seeing the sights in Sydney. Between the stops in Broken Hill and Adelaide, I spent the day playing cards and reading some of my holiday books.
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Day 26
I had heard about Bridgeclimb before we left for Oz, and it took quite some time to work out whether we could afford it. Climbing Sydney Harbour Bridge is not something a person has the opportunity to do very often, and seemed like the perfect end to our stay in Sydney. The cost was around A$120 per person, so it wasn't cheap by any stretch of the imagination. In the end I figured that I probably couldn't afford it, but hey, why not do it anyway.
We already had an appointment today that could not be missed - the Indian Pacific Train that we would be taking to Perth at around midday. In order to climb the bridge and be at the station on time, we would have to leave the house in time to catch a 7:30am bus. I woke at 7:20am, and lazily turned to look at my travel clock. Practically leaping out of bed, I woke David and we raced to get packed and at the bus stop for half seven. I got to the stop first and the bus was already turning into the road, with David nowhere to be seen. It pulled up, doors opened, and I began to say "I'm sorry, you'd better go without me" when David shot out of the front door just in time.
I was angry with myself for sleeping late primarily because I didn't have the opportunity to thank Deirdre and Claire for their hospitality when we left, but John (who was not accompanying David and myself) assures me that he did so.
We arrived at the bridgeclimb office with plenty of time to spare and actually ended up going on an earlier climb. We were checked in, shown a briefing video, breathalysed, passed through a metal detector, and given grey 'bridgeclimb' boiler suits to wear, and by this point there were already about three groups behind us. We hadn't even left the building yet, so this operation must be making a fortune! The production-line style continued: we were issued radios, hats and gloves, and then had to walk over a scaffold rig to show we weren't scared of heights. Then we left the building, with about five groups already behind us.
The bridge climb starts underneath the highway on the south side, where each person's harness is attached to a static line that runs along the length of the route. We would not be able to move away from this line until it ended, even to switch positions with someone else. The first part of the route consisted of traversing a walkway which brought us to the stone buttress on the southern side. There we began to climb the ladders and stairs which brought us up first to highway level then higher still to the start of the famous long arch which spans the bridge. Finally we reached the very top of the bridge, in the centre of it's span, and had our picture taken.
I don't have any pictures of the bridgeclimb in this journal because I was not allowed to take a camera onto the bridge. I got one complimentary copy of a group photo, but it was printed, and I haven't scanned it.
I think the climb was worth it overall - the guides were very good and we were given a great deal of information about the bridge, including one or two useless facts, like the fact that the bridge does not require its two stone buttresses - they are simply there for show.
We met John at the station and found our train. The Indian Pacific was to take us all the way to Perth, on the other side of Australia (about 3000 miles, I think), and the journey would take three days. Not your average backpacker's means of transport (especially as we travelled holiday class), but it was well worth the expense. When we got on we found that the train was considerably shorter than it can be, having only two holiday class accommodation carriages, half its normal compliment. This meant that the lounge and dining cars were much less busy.
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