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.
