Uluru: A Trip to the Ancient Heart of Australia

   

With Neelak, being on a plane is an adventure. Like it used to be with Phutphuti, 10 years back. After this three-and-a-half-hour-long adventure, which included preventing him from flapping up and down the window pane or running in the aisle, we reached Uluru airport. From there we hired a rental car and we got our first glimpse of the Australian desert, with its red sand and sparse cover of scrubs, as Subha drove to the Ayers Rock Resort. 

  

                                           

It was beyond 3 pm when we checked into our hotel room, put down our luggage and drew apart the curtains to enjoy the view of the swimming pool with its bright blue water and the lively throng of people. The mellow sunshine of late afternoon filtered through the glass wall and washed over the small table, the couple of chairs, the two beds and bedside tables in our room. We were famished, our last meal being at a cafe at Sydney airport, and ordered some food from the resort's restaurant. Sitting at the table in our room, we bit into the crispy fish and chips, which was surprisingly tastier than the ones we had in Sydney, relished the smoked meat enveloped in some kind of a flour-based wrap and devoured a pizza, its cheese, chicken and diced pineapple fusing into a rapturous taste as we chomped through the slices.

                                                            

                                      

                                               

    We dined at the Mangata Bistro & Bar, which was a five-minute drive away from our hotel. The food was delicious, and while walking up to the entrance, we passed by a mini replication of an oasis, with stunted trees and a pool full of fish. Neelak was so fascinated by the bright orange fish that he kept on searching for them when we were back in our own hotel. All the hotels and restaurants in Uluru belonged to the Ayers Rock Resort even when they were located on different premises.

        Once Neelak fell asleep, the rest of us were free to hit the pillow, welcoming the comfort of the sheets under the low hum of the air-conditioner, to wake up in the early hours and dress up immediately to step out. Neelak lolled in the child's seat as Subha started the car, and Uluru, one of the largest single-piece monolith on earth, appeared as a charcoal black lump, looming over the scrubland. The sky grew paler and we practically raced with the blooming dawn to reach our destination before the sun peeped above the horizon. Although it was a brief walk from the car park to the fenced platform, it took some effort to cover the distance within such time constraints as only a few moments were left for the sun to rise, especially since there was a slight slope and we had Neelak's pram to push. Uluru was now a baby pink chunk, striated with purple crevasses, standing upon the dark green mat of desert plants, against the backdrop of a faint blue sky. 

                            

                                                  

  As soon as we stepped on the platform and parked the pram, with Neelak still blissfully sleeping, the sun revealed its dazzling forehead, and then its many golden arms, which stretched across the whitish expanse of Spinifex, a variety of Australian hammock grass, which glowed in the bright embrace of the emerging day. The Uluru rock blazed into a fiery orange, with flowing ribbons of bluish grey shadows tracing its grooves, and specks of cinereal marking its cracks.

                                       

                                     

    

 As we walked back to the car at a leisurely pace, the fuzzy, yellow caterpillar-shaped mulga flowers and the small, white desert heath myrtle with their pink cores caught our eye. With the visuals of the sunrise still vivid in our minds, we returned to the hotel, took a shower and walked into the restaurant, eager to know what delightful items were awaiting us at the complimentary breakfast table. After a hearty meal of bread, bacon, sausages, crispy hash browns, juicy oranges, bananas and apples, various types of salads, yogurts, nuts, cakes and ice-cream with chocolate sauce, we set out to explore the enticing treasures tucked in the sandy red crooks of Uluru. 

                                               

                                                                                          

                                                 

        

        So long, we had viewed Uluru from a considerable distance and this was the first time that we landed right in front of it. Like the other tourists, we followed the designated path that was sometimes just a track running over the sand and sometimes a ramp erected over the grassy grounds and painted brick red to match the color of the rock. Other than the yellow mulga, we spotted pink flowers called mulla mulla, which had a cotton candy like appearance. We first stopped at the caves which were small hollows like eye holes of the monolith. I had visited the large labyrinthine caves of the Himalayas and North Eastern India. So, the unremarkable size of these openings took me by surprise. But it was not the amount of space they held that defined their significance, but the depth of the history sheltered within. They were rooms from another age, brimming with beliefs, echoing with the ancient traditions of the aborigines. One of the caves had paintings - plants and grasses sketched on its walls. We came across a sign forbidding photography beyond that point as the sites were sacred to the Anangu tribe. Finally we reached that part of Uluru where a narrow pool had taken shape, tracing the curving borders of its feet. Glancing up, we saw a distinct grey line etched down the reddish-brown face of the monolith, starting right from its top - the coarse trail left by dried rainwater. The fact that the view could not be captured on camera made it all the more special as only those who had made this journey could experience it.

     It had just been a one-kilometre-long walk from the parking area to the sacred waterhole, but due to the scorching heat and the lack of shady trees, we were exhausted when we returned to our car. After all, it was a desert. We stopped again after a few minutes drive. After a brief walk in the intense heat, the ceilings fans of the Cultural Centre brought us relief, letting the cooled air wash over our skin. We had a late light lunch with the sandwiches, cakes and coffee available in its cafe-cum-shop, bought a few items to carry home along with the rich memories and visited its museum which displayed paintings by aborigines, artifacts from their intricately-layered history and specimens of flora and fauna from the desert. I bought a book captioned 'I am Uluru', a tale of two brothers with the family name Uluru, belonging to the Anangu tribe. 

                                                                                

We saw Uluru for the last time that day from the Car Park Sunset Point. As the name suggests, it was a stretch of road where tourists could just park their cars and watch the monolith bathed in the splendour of the departing rays. Unlike the sunrise point, there was no walking involved. Once again, the giant rock smoldered into flaming orange before morphing to grey and resting upon the horizon like an enormous heap of crumbly ash, which darkened further to lay under the night sky as an enormous appendage of the black desert.                                            

                                         

              

                                           

   The next morning, once again, we woke up before dawn to rush to the sunrise point of Kati Tjuta. Similar to the sunrise point at Uluru, here too, there was a short walk from the carpark over brick red ramps. As we reached the spot and stood facing the Kata Tjuta, Uluru fell on our right, its shoulder glowing with the luminescence of the rising sun which emerged slowly from behind its rocky silhouette. From faint pink, the Kata Tjuta acquired its dominant brick red color, the rocks' roundish shapes lending them the appearance of upturned baked clay bowls.

                                        

After breakfast, we took the walk up the slopes of Kata Tjuta. With no trees to shield us from the sun, the heat struck us with full intensity. The grassless surface that we trod was knobby due to the differently sized boulders. It was an arduous jaunt over the stony surface, punctuated by a series of short bridges. As it was risky to take the pram along, Subha carried Neelak on his shoulder. I arrived at each bridge, expecting to find a stream beneath, but there was none. Just a narrow trail of grass, possibly following the course the water had taken during the rains before drying up and leaving just enough moisture for the plants to grow.

    The next day, we packed our luggage, relished the splendid food laid out for breakfast for the last time and headed towards Mutitjulu, the final spot in our itinerary.

                                        

                                       

                                             

        Among all the spots we had visited so far, it had the shortest walk from the car park, and that was a relief as the heat was oppressive as usual. In front of two interlocking slopes, lay a clear pool, its waters green and tranquil. The zig zagging joint between the slopes was marked black by the trail of running water. An Australasian Darter, a bird with an S shaped neck was sitting on the rock face, warming its wings. In contrast to the other spots and the stretches of scrubland we had seen, Mutitjulu was shaded by eucalyptus and other tall trees, the presence of water probably supplying enough moisture for larger plants to thrive.

    After visiting this peaceful oasis, we lunched at a restaurant and rushed to the airport, where it took minimal time to go through the checks and scans, and soon we were on the plane to fly back to Sydney.

                                                

                                      

 

        Back home, as I fiddle with the mementoes and flip through the pages of the book bought at the Cultural Centre, I see the expanses of red sand, with fuzzy carpets of Spinifex patterned with dark green acacia bushes, and beyond them, the massive monolith of Uluru, purplish in the daylight, creased with the overlapping contours of myths and facts, trailed by the dreamy pathways that thread the landscape to the civilization struck by natural calamities, bludgeoned by invasions, threatened by shadowy promises, battered by time, yet glowing proudly, steadily, resplendent in all its hues, under a resilient, indomitable sun.

                                 

                                                     

   

Snowy Mountains: A Weekend under the Spell of Snow

A trip with a baby has its own share of delights and difficulties. Especially, an excursion with a nine-month-old, nourished on mother's milk and small quantities of mashed solids. Before stepping into our car - a silver Toyota Campri, we crammed its boot with a folding pram and multiple bags - big and small - including one dedicated to mini flasks, a shiny packet of Cerelac and boiled slices of fruits and vegetables in sterilized, stainless-steel containers.

 Although we started from home a little before 7:00 am, it was 1:10 pm when we reached Jindabyne and our bus was scheduled to leave at 1:30 pm. My husband Subha and daughter Phutphuti rushed to the shop to collect the boots, snow pants and jackets that were available for hire; my mother and I followed them, pushing the pram while Neelak protested loudly, unhappy about being confined in a small, box-like space. I wished he could understand that we were going to a magnificent town called Thredbo and was as excited about the trip as we were. 

The shopkeeper insisted that we try on the clothes to check the size, but, owing to the lack of time, Subha selected them merely on a glimpse. His guess was good as the clothes fitted us perfectly. Clutching two large, blue canvas bags full of hired clothes, we hurried to the bus-stop and promptly occupied the last four empty seats, which Subha had booked several days before. We parked the pram near us, but since Neelak was crying, we picked him up, pointed towards the windows and watched his face lit up instantly with a big, toothless smile. Outside, the pale brown slopes, with their flaky texture, looked like heaps of cornflakes. The hills bristled with snow gum trees, many of their green garbs snatched by the lengthy winter. As we approached our destination, the hills became mottled with small patches of snow that had accumulated between the shadowy tree barks.

 Finally, at Thredbo, we alighted from the bus. We walked to the Information Centre, turned right and climbed up a few steps to see the vast expanse of snow, appearing like a thick layer of salt. We wandered across it, careful not to slip, our movements made much easier by the hired boots. The place was teeming with tourists and many of them were skiing. We scooped up some crumby snow, rolled them into balls with our gloved hands and flung them at each other.

When we returned to Jindabyne by bus, it was well past lunch-time. We settled on a bench by the roadside and devoured the sandwiches we had been carrying from home, and although they had gone cold, the paired slices of whole-wheat bread, with a stuffing of ham and cheese, tasted delicious, dousing our hunger, which had been raging since long. Thankfully, we had been able to feed Neelak at Thredbo, positioning his pram beside the lane edging the snowy grounds. After the light meal, we strolled to our car, relaxed at the thought that there were no more public transports to catch and looked forward to spending the evening in the warm interiors of a motel.

    

It took fifty minutes by car to reach Bunk House Motel at Cooma. There was a small boy at the reception and on checking our names, he directed us to room number three. We passed by a courtyard with a bench and a leafless shrub that had sprouted a mesh of spindly branches. Overlooking the courtyard, there were three rooms and we stepped into ours, instantly comforted by the warmth of a heater and overcome by a homely feeling as our eyes rested on the the three beds, padded with thick blankets, the table and chairs, a flat TV, an electric kettle, a microwave and a small refrigerator. With a kitchen like area, complete with a large oven, a sink and a wooden platform, it was more like a suite. The washroom had a pink bathtub, with a wooden niche for placing the soap, carved into the tiled wall. 

The motel did not serve any kind of meals At the reception, there was a stack of colourful leaflets from a nearby eatery. We picked one of them, flapped it open, and on eyeing the menu, we made up our minds to order dinner from the joint, our appetite roused by the description of the various pizzas and other mouthwatering dishes. We chatted, read books, checked messages and posts using the WiFi provided by the motel till it was time for Neelak's dinner. Once he was fed, we dug into the voluminous packet delivered by the eatery. Unwrapping the foils that had kept the food items warm till then, we indulged in the sumptuous meal of pork ribs, chicken wings, garlic bread, boiled corns and a leafy salad strewn with tiny black rings of chopped olive and fine shreds of pineapple. Accompanying all these, there were small bowls of plain yogurt and capsules that had to be pressed lightly to squirt out the tangy sauce within. 

With our stomachs full, we crept into our beds and fell fast asleep, snug under the double layers of blankets. However, being away from home with an infant comes with myriad challenges. Neelak often woke up, probably perplexed by the unfamiliar, dark surroundings, and as a result, our sleep got disrupted several times. We busied ourselves in switching the lights on and off, hoping one of the arrangements would soothe him back to sleep. Despite all these, we left our beds in the morning feeling completely refreshed, rejuvenated by the thought of visiting another place draped with reams of sparkling white snow.

 After shower and breakfast and Neelak's first solid meal of the day, which, as usual, is accomplished with a lot of singing and dancing, intended to keep him in good mood and cooperative, we stuffed our belongings into our bags and set out for Jindabyne. Unlike during the journey from Sydney, we reached the bus-stop well in time. After a half-an-hour trip along a hilly road, surrounded by slopes that were barren except for a sparse cover of trees, and infused with a kind of bleak beauty, we reached Perisher. Clad in our heavy boots, we made our way down the street, which was wet and slippery with melting snow. After spending a few minutes at the Medical Centre to visit the restrooms and put on our snow jackets and trousers, we stepped onto the grounds that thronged with tourists. 

                     

As Neelak was hungry, we parked the pram towards the edge, and took out the assortment of flasks, containers and spoons. Once his second solid meal of the day was taken care of, we roamed across the endless carpet of snow, frolicking and imbibing the essence of the place. Phutphuti and I huddled around a small heap of snow and tried to sculpt something out of it; then we sprawled ourselves under the bright blue sky, our skin protected from the chill by the hired jackets that turned out to be more than adequate. Noticing two punctures in the cover of snow, we made our way towards them and looked down. There was water, dark and creased by its flowing movement, peering at us like a pair of expressive eyes through the eye holes of a white mask. Thrilled by the presence of a waterbody underneath our feet, we sought to discover more of the landscape which rose into gentle slopes, swarming with skiing tourists. The white hills were shaded by the dark brown trunks of snow gum trees, their bare branches bathing in the shimmery blueness of the skies.

Having spent most of our lives in the sultry plains of India, it was a unique experience for us, and we returned to the bus-stop with our hearts soaring in joy. I was relieved that my mother, who is more susceptible to cold than the rest of us, was not discomfited by the climes. Back in Jindabyne in another half an hour, we trooped to an eatery to fuel ourselves for the long journey back to Sydney. I gorged on crispy fish and chips; the others had chicken wraps. It was a little after 4:00 pm when we strapped Neelak into the child seat and sunk into our own seats in the car. Within an hour, the sky slipped completely under its black veil and Subha achieved the remarkable feat of driving for several hours in the dark. Unlike in India, one cannot park the car by the highway. The car can be stopped only at designated by-lanes marked as rest areas. With a few extremely brief, indispensable halts, we managed to reach home a little before midnight, exhausted but bestowed with memories of so many joyous moments that we coalesced them like crumbs of pristine white snow, rolled and kneaded into delightful balls.

Treasurable Memories from Tasmania

  

It was almost time to book the cab. The last few moments before leaving home were crucial. If we had forgotten to pack something essential, this was the time to grab it and cram it into our overstuffed bags. Within our minds, we ran through the list of things we needed for our trip and recalled whether we had taken them. Once satisfied, we booked the cab, slung our bags and waited outside our apartment. 

      

The Uber cab driver seemed clueless about the route to Central Station, one of the most prominent spots in Sydney. We wouldn't have reached the station on time, had Subha, my husband not followed the directions in Google Map. After reaching the station, we didn't have to wait long for the train. We were hungry by the time we boarded the train and settled in our seats. So, we waited eagerly for the pantry to open. Once it did, we were happy to find it had the option of an Indian meal. Comprising of rice, dal with boiled beans and butter chicken with a brownish gravy, it was surprisingly tasty. After dinner Phutphuti shut her eyes and tried to sleep. Subha and me got glasses of rose wine from the pantry. We watched the dark silhouettes of shops and establishments sweep by outside the window while sipping on the wine, resting our feet on the foot rest which could be raised. However, none of us could slip into a deep slumber. The chairs, which could be slanted back by the press of a lever, were no match for a bed. The sleeper coaches had already been full when our booking was made. Although we couldn't sleep, we felt rejuvenated reclining in our chairs and imagining the wonderful experiences awaiting us the next day. Finally, we saw the sky lighten and the darkness dissolve into the colours of the rising sun; the dark masses looming over the railway track gaining their distinctiveness. The train was running one hour late. It was a matter of concern as there was only a two hour and fifteen minutes gap between it's scheduled arrival time in Melbourne and the cut-off time for boarding the ship at Geelong port. It would take more than an hour to travel from Melbourne to Geelong. Now, with the train running late, the gap had shrunk and we were apprehensive that if the train delayed further, we would miss the ship.

On reaching Melbourne, we rushed to the Taxi stand - Subha had checked the directions beforehand to avoid any delay. It was a tense ride to the Geelong port since the watch was fast ticking towards the cutoff time for boarding. On reaching the port, we saw the ship Spirit of Tasmania at once. It was huge and white, with many levels. It had parking space for those travelling to Tasmania with their cars. The area around the ship was barricaded and we craned our necks looking for the entrance for passengers like us - those without cars. On spotting a sort of a gate, we asked the cab driver to stop, paid and hurried towards it as fast as our heavy luggage would permit. It was only when we had come close to the gate that we saw the words "Only for Staff' written on it. In a panic, we turned around and saw that our cab was still waiting for us. We shouted through the gate, asking the two men inside about the way to the gate for passengers. One of them explained and we rushed to the cab as fast as we could and jumped inside. On reaching the correct entrance, we got down again and after walking a few more meters, we finally arrived at the check in point. Our hearts filled with gratitude for the cab driver who had waited for us when we got down for the first time instead of driving away to get more passengers. If we had to walk all the way from the Staff gate to the passengers' entrance, we might have missed the cut-off time. 

     

We had never sailed on a ship before. Boarding the ship was like alighting on a cloud - an experience that had only been in my dreams so long. We took the lift and found our way to the cabin. It was a tiny room with two narrow bunker beds facing each other. There was just enough gap between them to walk up to the window. The room had an attached washroom with the basic facilities. We sensed movement beneath our feet and understood that our ship had departed from the port. We looked out of the window, soothing our eyes in the blue expanse of water which seemed to rinse our sight off all the coarseness it had been subjected to through the years. The chicken sandwiches we had wolfed down in the train left no trace like a handful of grains sunk in the Pacific ocean surrounding us. After keeping our luggage and freshening ourselves, we took the lift to the ship's restaurant. Before indulging our taste buds, we wanted to feel the caress of the sea breeze. So, we nipped to the deck and were instantly smacked by the chilly winds. Shivering, we hurried into the refuge of our jackets and zipped them up to our chin. It was the first time we were having to put on warm clothes since mid November. White, feathery sprays trailed the ship and the land we had set out from diminished into a crease. The breeze enhanced our appetite and we walked away from the deck to step inside the restaurant.



There were no complementary meals. However, the prices were reasonable. The delicious food items were arranged in trays that were laid out in the manner of a buffet. But there was a difference. Unlike buffets, we did not have to pay for all the items. We were charged only for the ones we had taken on our plate. We piled our plates with hash browns, croissants and bacon. It was an altogether different experience crunching on the delicacies while letting our eyes swim across the waters of the ocean and imagining its calm blue surface roofing a world populated by a mind boggling variety of fishes and other aquatic creatures.

                               

Back in the cabin, I sprawled on the bed and read books, my leisure perfected by the comforting motion of the ship. I had brought two books -  Anima, a collection of poems by my friend Nabina Das and Kinnarer Bhayankar, a collection of four Bengali science fiction-horror novellas by Ronen Ghosh. Phutphuti spread out her drawing book, took out her pencils and crayons from her bag and drew pictures. Drawn by the mesmerizing ocean, we left our cabin again and wandered across the deck, climbing up and down the many levels of the ship. At lunch, we chomped on chicken lollipops, savored fried squids and long, finely-cut chips along with sips of white wine. There were mouthwatering deserts, too, in the form of soft velvety pastries and a thick brown chocolaty drink.   

      

      

     

It was 8 PM when the ship anchored at Davenport, Tasmania. Subha had booked a self-driven car. Before getting into the car, we took a last glance at the Spirit of Tasmania, which stood majestically, adorned with lights, against the darkening waters of the ocean. It was just a five minutes drive to the lodge. We had been informed there would be no staff at the lodge as it was Christmas Eve. The lodge consisted of a series of cottages. The key would be kept below the mat. We had asked for a few chicken sandwiches to be kept for dinner. The room was spic and span. There was a double bed, a single bed, a table, a chair and a cupboard. The sandwiches awaited us on the table. Inside the cupboard, there were plates, bowls, cutlery, cloth napkins and sachets of tea and coffee. We had bought a medium sized pizza from the ship guessing the sandwiches wouldn't be enough to douse our hunger. There was also an electric kettle. It was relaxing to have a hot cup of coffee after the long and eventful journey. We soon fell asleep.



The next day, before Nirjhorini woke up, we needed to arrange the gifts from 'Santa'. I fished out a safety pin from my purse. Subha used it to pin her socks to the curtain. The gifts were Toffees, stickers, a coloring book, a picture book and a card. We needed something to scribble Santa's message but were not carrying a pen. Though the hotel didn't have any staff on Christmas Day, we were aware there were other guests in other cottages. Subha knocked on the door of the cottage next to ours and to our delight, the guests not only lent us a pen, but also gifted a couple of candies. While the Toffees, candies and stickers could be tucked inside the sock, the two books and card had to be kept below it. After waking up and brushing her teeth, Nirjhorini hurried to the curtains and reached for the socks. We unfastened the safety pin and she buried her fingers into the socks, pulling out the candies, Toffees and stickers and smiling widely. Then her eyes fell on the coloring book and the picture book and her smile got wider. We put her presents in our luggage and got ready for out trip to Hobert.

      

We got into the rented car again and Subha started driving. The road was, as smooth as ever, making way for us like an inviting silk carpet. On either side, green fields gazed up at the clear blue sky spotted with a few cottony clouds here and there. Trees of medium height flanked cozy cottages with sloping roofs. As we entered the city of Hobert, we came across a magnificent lake, where different shades of blue had mingled to form a splendid palette for the eyes. The green bank was pocketed by tiny blue pools of water - same color as the lake. Overlooking the lake were the hills, with swathes of greenery and clusters of buildings. 

     

      

      

I was awed by the size and the grandeur of the hotel Subha had booked for our stay at Hobert. It seemed we had arrived at a huge palace, all decked up for Christmas. We took the lift to our room on the eighteenth floor and on entering it, we stood wonderstruck, just staring out of the glass wall facing the sea. We spent the evening, soaking in the beauty of the scene outside, the sights, the colours, the shades brimming in the cask of our senses. The water was striated with ripples, specked with yachts, and surrounded on three sides by the sloping land where trees and houses shared space harmoniously. We watched the sky and water change from blue to purple and orange. In Sydney, the sun sets at 8:30 PM in December. Here, at 9:40 PM, it descended on the horizon - a blazing semicircle - dappling the sky and the waters with orange and they glowed like the flames of fire till darkness drew everything under its thick veil.

     

The next morning, we trotted to the hotel dining area to enjoy the complementary breakfast. There were well-fried sausages, slices of bacon, scrumptious hash browns and fresh fruits as well. After the meal, we strolled in the compound overlooking the sea, skirted around the trees and shrubs, musing over their similarities or dissimilarities with the ones in India. We halted near the fountains to observe the white sprays and lazed about in the lawn till it was time to leave the hotel. Ensuring that we were not leaving behind any part of our belongings in the hotel room, we got into the car again. This time we set out for the Hobert airport from where we had to take the flight back to Sydney. We stopped twice on our way - the first time at Mt. Wellington, the second time at a Malaysian restaurant to have lunch.

      

     

As we approached Mt Wellington, the road got jammed with traffic just like it happens in India. Mt. Wellington was the highest point in the area in and around Hobert. There were steps to climb up and down the slopes. The place with teeming with tourists. We took the steps to arrive at the vantage point and gazed down. Blue ribbon like water bodies snaked through the land. Strips of land jutted into the water. The house making up the city of Hobert looked like white shingles on the sea shore, interspersed with drapes of dark green vegetation. Beyond all these, grey-blue ranges lay like folds of kerchief, the furthest one blending with the sky.

We drove to Hobert airport in the haze of our dream holiday, under the magical cloudless sky, through the smooth rainbow like bends of the flawless roads, past quaint cottages of fairytale charm and the sunshine gold tipped foliage. We handed over the rented car at a designed parking area before entering the airport and in another three hours comprising of the checking, waiting and flying time, we saw the city of Sydney glittering below us, its brightly illuminated high-rises like jewels lined up along the dark waves of the ocean.