Rizz goes round the world

Never be tamed: Oz, Chapter 3: The Epic Chapter (Heading Bush through the Outback)

30 October - 11 November, 2006

In the red dust and dry heat of the Outback, I found home. It was a ten-day journey of truly epic proportions. To borrow an expression from Karel, I am shaped. I leave behind the past couple of weeks a different person, molded into something new by my experiences and the people who accompanied me during them. There, where "it never rains", I found a new beginning as yellow ochre was painted on my face, freedom as I danced wildly under pouring rain in the desert, and true peace as I listened to the wind rustle the leaves in Kata Tjuta. My adoptive family was truly a motley bunch. From 18-year-old Emma, out on her own for the first time, to Claire with her many tattooes and 30 piercings, to Hans, a 51-year-old professor of horticulture from Switzerland, we were the Breakfast Club, Part Two. Yet out there in the Outback, something incredible happened. Within hours, we were a true family. I have never felt more at home, less insecure, more accepted. It was incredible. It was "sensational".

It all started at six thirty in the morning. As I walked out the door of the hostel in my full turtle incarnation, someone held the door open for me. Blinking in the bright sun, eyes straining to stay open at this ungodly hour, I thanked him and looked around. A woman stood outside with him. "What tour are you guys doing?" I asked them. "Heading Bush," he replied. "Oh, me too." As if on cue, a white Toyota truck pulled up with Heading Bush printed above the windshield. The vehicle of my self-transformation: after the next 10 days, I would never be able to get into another without getting a bit teary-eyed. A red-headed young guy popped out of the driver's side, way too cheerful given the hour. Our tour guide, Mike. By this point, a few other tired people had trickled out of the door. We started to pile our backpacks into the trailer and scrambled into the back of the truck, taking our places on one of the two benches facing each other. I sat behind the passenger's seat (on the left in this country, don't forget). As we pulled away from the curb, I had no idea that the journey of my life was about to begin.

Further on down the road, we stopped to pick up the ninth member of what would become a ten member (well, eleven, including Mike) family. An older gentleman, decked out in a striped tank top, cargo capri pants, a bandana, two digital SLR cameras, and the coolest glasses I have ever seen. The frames looked liked two little houses. He was Hans, from Switzerland, and he was a legend already.

As we drove on to the boss's house, where we'd meet the final member of our group and sort out all the money stuff, Mike, with his trademark enthusiasm, prepared us for our journey. As he said, we'd be living a month in 10 days. It was more than that. It was more than a lifetime. I think I died and was reborn at least a dozen times during those 10 days, and I'd do it all again and again.

At the boss-man's, as I ran outside to grab some money from my pack in the car, a slightly lost-looking girl walked up. As I asked if she were on Heading Bush and introduced myself, I noticed a buzz cut, more facial piercings than I had time to count and at least 3 large tattoos. She was Claire, 25, from near Manchester, England, and, given my insecurity around girly-girls, I liked her already.

And then we were eleven. As I said, our new family was a truly motley bunch. Apart from Claire and Hans, our group also included Sam, the one who'd opened the door for me, and Mariellen, his wife. They were from the States (Pennsylvania and New York, respectively) but are 2 years into a 4 year stay in Melbourne, where Sam is working in insurance. Keith and Sile (that's pronounced Sheila, not Silly, though she doesn't mind if you call her Silly... ;) ) were a young couple from 2 nearby villages in Ireland, villages where street addresses don't exist because the postman knows everyone personally and sometimes comes in your house to drop off your mail. Alex, 23, and Emma, 18, were from England, and had found themselves in a bit of a difficult situation. After being together for about a year, they had broken up right before coming to Australia together for a year of travel. It was a choice between remaining within their comfort zone with each other or taking off on their own for the first time in either of their lives, something particularly tough for Emma, a girl exceedingly wise and mature for her age, but who was still the same age as many of my students from home. Susanne, 31 (don't kill me if I'm wrong on that, Suus), from Holland, was completely nuts in the absolute best of ways. Outspoken and inclined to say precisely what's on her mind, I'm afraid to experience Susanne's way with words in Dutch: English is her second language, and she's still the sharpest and most clever linguist of English I have yet to meet. Susanne also provided the image that remains in my mind as the essence of Heading Bush: dancing in a sarong to Xavier Rudd's "Let me be" next to our truck. Finally, our guide Mike, from Adelaide, South Australia, who reckons he'll be the next Steve Irwin. I wouldn't doubt it: full of an incredible, unadulterated lust and enthusiasm for life that was both inspiring and familiar, Mike was an amazing person to meet and the best tour guide you could ask for.

And so, as we made the obligatory introductions and small talk, our journey began.

Day 1: Getting to know each other as we head into the Flinders Ranges

Our first stop was the Kanyaka Homestead, a set of ruins from an early settlement here in the middle of the desert. A bright blue sky highlighted the starkness of the surrounding arid land. Imagine life here--it must have been difficult. We then headed to a nearby region where caves once served as classrooms for Aboriginal Youth and the walls as the blackboard. As we admired the cave art, along with the view, Mike explained to us the idea of the Creation Stories of the Aboriginals. Part of the purpose of these stories was to explain the topography of the land and how it came to be, and also to create a map of sorts. Stories spread across the land geographically: a group of people from the Northern Territory may know part of a story that could be finished by a group in South Australia. Hearing the story, one could navigate perfectly across the land, finding their way to somewhere they'd never been, all thanks to a story about a snake. He explained that these caves contained unimportant art; they were a training ground. The important stuff was always drawn on the ground, so it could be easily erased. Incredibly, all knowledge among the Aboriginals was passed orally. One had to undergo many rites of passage before being trusted with valuable information. Because of this, any Aboriginal Creation Story we hear is a children's story and one that is not very important. Aboriginals find the western practice of writing down information to be ludicrous as paper can be ripped up or destroyed whereas group knowledge can never be destroyed in such a way.

After our stroll up to and down from the caves, we headed into the Flinders Ranges to set up camp for the first time. Along the way, Mike saved the life of a lizard who'd been sunning himself on the highway and we all stupidly risked ours rushing out into the road to take a picture. At first Mike played it smooth, until he started to get afraid the lizard would poop on him and quickly released him on the side of the road. Eh, you'll get to Crocodile Hunter status someday, Mike. Also along the way, we found a kangaroo skull which Claire scooped up and dubbed Skippy. Skippy became our mascot for the rest of the trip and now hangs out in Claire's car to constantly remind her of us as she travels through Oz.

At camp (Arkaba Station), Sam dug out our bush toilet, outfitting it with a branch to sit on and hang toilet paper and all! Genius! He became the official toilet digger for the rest of the trip. After getting out the food and cutting up some veggies, we headed up the hill to watch the sunset and spot some kangaroos. Later, gathered around the campfire and toasted some marshmallows. Then it was time to roll out the swags and fall asleep for our first, very comfortable, night underneath a blanket of stars.

Day 2: The Mountain Climb and our First Shower (Halloween)

After my first very cozy night in a swag, I woke up naturally early, as the sun rose on my face, the birds chirped, and Mike set a pot of water to warm on the fire next to me. Man, I wished I could have slept more, but I'd eventually get used to this schedule. We ate breakfast, packed up camp, and headed out to Wilpena Pound for a bit of a climb up Ohlsson Bagge. What was that? Ok, Wilpena Pound, from what I remember, is a part of the Flinders Ranges, quite possible the most ancient land on Earth, being the first formation to rise from the sea. Time has eroded the ranges incredibly, and what we see are simply the bases of a once enormous mountain range. Wilpena Pound is a naturally formed crater, originally a mountain, hollowed out by wind and sand over time. Ohlsson Bagge is one of the peaks forming the round Wilpena Pound. I think I got that right.

Either way, we trekked the many kilometers uphill, passing a family of emus along the way, scrambling up rocks like mountain goats, and stopping for many an out-of-breath rest. Finally, completely knackered (exhausted), we reached the top, where we stopped to enjoy the view, take some pictures and watch the many lizards skittering about. Hans sat to one side to sketch the beautiful view in one of his many ink and watercolor masterpieces, and Mike arrived, having taken up the rear in case one of us fell off the mountain, with... CAKE! Hurrah!

We headed back down the mountain, had lunch, and then took a ride through a couple of gorges, where we hoped to spot some rock wallabies. No wallabies, but we did encounter a very large family of emus: dad with innumerable children. We knew it was dad because after a female emu lays her eggs, she ditches her family and leaves the dad to take care of everything. Sweet.

We journeyed on to Iga Warta, an Aboriginal settlement and cultural center that was EQUIPPED WITH SHOWERS! Hurrah! We scrambled to grab a shower, then went for a dip in the pool, rescuing a bat that almost drowned, as Mike prepared some Lo Mein. Later, we gathered around the fire with Terrance. Terrance welcomed us to his land, the most ancient on the planet, saying we'd come home, to our physical origin, whose ancient spirit called us and welcomed us. It sounds a bit hokey, but it felt true. I felt I'd found my purpose for coming to Australia: I'd stumbled across something that had been calling me and guiding me to it all my life. As we sat on our rolled up swags, Terrance played the guitar, forced me to sing in Spanish (everyone who could speak another language had to sing "All We Need is Love" in that language), taught us our new anthem, "Oh My Walla!", and had us dance around the fire like Kangaroos, Witchety Grubs, Eagles and Emus, or, in sum, like idiots. But it was all fun and very bonding. Later we ate Damper Bread, traditionally prepared underground near the campfire.

Day 3: It's the End of the World as I Knew It

Today, for me, for all of us, a new beginning. An armageddon in the desert. A rebirth by lightning. A day of the sort that will only happen once in a lifetime for some, and never for most.

After another shower, accompanied by many insects, we rode out to a nearby ochre field with Terrance, who mixed the ochre with water and painted our faces as he explained the meaning of the colors. Red, representing blood, symbolized the umbillical cord connecting us physically to the Earth. White represented our spiritual connection to the Earth. Pink/orange represented the lungs of the Earth, and thus breath. Purple represented the liver of the Earth, and thus cleansed us. The most significant for me was yellow, which represented the sun, and a new beginning. Here I was, back "home", in the seat of the Earth, the most ancient land on the planet. This, right here, right now, was what I'd been searching for. I felt as though everything in my life had brought me here, to a place I probably would have ever even known existed with people I never would it met if it weren't for a lifetime full of incredible coincidences and random decisions. Life felt big, unimaginably immense. I felt the pressure of something huge weighing on us all. And I felt perfect. After nearly dying in a car accident, after finding myself stuck in a rut, finally, here I was, right where I belonged! It was amazing.

We had to continue our journey: there was a long road ahead of us into, finally, the true Outback, the barren desert that forms the middle of Australia. We made a few stops along the way. First we stopped at the Leigh Creek coalfield where we took pictures of ourselves in giant machinery and ducked out of the dust that the wind pushed across the field. The wind progressively got stronger, and as we pushed on, we found ourselves in a veritable, though brief, windstorm. The weather began to give the desert a bit of an end-of-the-world feel. Our next stop, to meet Talc Alf, just made things feel even odder. Talc Alf is what happens when you spend too much time in the desert. Genius or insane? Perhaps both, Talc Alf was an incredible man who lived out in the middle of nowhere and created beautiful sculptures out of talc, hence his nickname. Talc Alf sported a long white beard and lived in a thrown-together complex of shacks complete with a washing machine run by a bicycle. He also could tell us the complex meaning of every single letter of the alphabet, a meaning that united all humans on the planet, regardless of their language. He was truly a character, and truly fit in among his surroundings. The desert just wouldn't accept any other sort of person living within it.

We stopped for lunch in Marree, a town marking our true entry into the desolate Outback. Mind you, I was able to check my email here, still with ochre on my face. Driving on, a few drops of rain fell onto the windshield. Mike, who had assured us that "it never rains in the desert" drew us out of the car to do a raindance. The drizzling quickly ended, and we marvelled at a few rainbows in the sky, realizing what an uncommon treat it was to see rainbows in the desert. We figured the weather had passed, but as we hastened on to Mutonia, the sky grew darker and the wind picked up. Mutonia--how to explain it? I suppose you can call it a settlement in the middle of nowhere, filled with random sculptures, that serves as a ground for winter solstice raves. The residents of Mutonia believe aliens will descend upon the Earth in 2020-something. (To see some of the sculptures, go here and find Day 3.) With the darkening sky and the odd surroundings, it truly felt like armageddon.

And then. Armageddon really did settle upon us. We drove along, listening and singing along to Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody, hoping to make it to William Creek. We stopped briefly to view the gigantic salt lake, Lake Eyre, and then picked up old pieces of the Ghan Railroad for firewood-- I got completely coated in mud in the process. Finally the threatening skies opened up and, after teasing us with a few small showers, it started to pour. Mind you, we were on a clay and dirt road, and even Mike's expert driving couldn't keep the car going straight. Luckily we were near the Curdimurka railroad crossing, an old shelter for workers on the now defunct Ghan railroad, and we pulled in for the night with a roof over our heads. The shelter was fully reminiscent of the Blair Witch Project house, but, hey, better than sleeping in rain or in the cramped truck.

As we unloaded the truck, the rain fortunately eased up. After performing our duties, we turned Bohemian Rhapsody back on and proceeded to headbang around the truck (the rain had interrupted us earlier, leaving us unsatisfied.) And then it again began to pour. So we did the only thing to do-- stripped off some clothes and danced around like complete lunatics in the pouring rain. Hey, we wouldn't be showering for a while, so may as well. It was incredible.

The rain cleared and the sky became again dotted with rainbows. Some clouds remained in the sky, providing us with an incredible sunset. As we sat on the porch with a few beers to enjoy the sunset, a couple of Gallas (totally spelled that wrong), beautiful white tropical birds with pink necks and heads, twittered above us in the tree. Can life get better?

Yes, it can.

As if the afternoon hadn't been enough, what with the dancing in the rain, the rainbows, and the sunset, as night descended, it brought with it a lightning storm of truly epic proportions. It was in the paper the next day: no fewer than 50,000 lighting bolts made contact with the ground that night. And there we were, in the flat clear plain of the desert, surrounded by 360 degrees of absolutely incredible views of the energy of nature in the form of lightning, holding hands across the clouds and rushing down to meet the Earth. It was a once-in-a-lifetime storm. I felt blessed. It was the perfect end to an amazing, life-changing day. I felt the electricity course through me as my life began anew.

To be continued...

posted by La Rizz @ 7:23 PM