Day 5 - Painted Desert to Dalhousie Springs via Oodnadatta

Come 5am and there was that familiar "Wakey, wakey people" - Jarrod doing his impersonation of a rooster! Just break-camp this morning - no coffee, no fire. That all must wait until we are atop a hill in the Alcheringas observing the washing of the landscape with the colours of the sunrise.

It was a significant morning in Australia - Friday 25th April. The day we remember those who gave their lives in battles down through the years. Never have liked that expression "gave their lives" - sounds so insignificant somehow. I stood watching the spot on the horizon where the sun would burst up - very much like an egg out of an ovary to my fevered imagination. But I thought too of those people all around this wierd country who were standing heads bowed before cenotaphs. I thought too of those lads on the first ANZAC Day in 1915 - clambering out of their long-boats with no chance in hell of making the beach that alone the relative safety of the low rocky outcrops over there on a remote beach in Turkey that is now only significant to Australians and New Zealanders.

Should I say something to the tour group - or just hold my own internalised remembrance. They were not Australian. They were not of my age group. I decided to hold my tongue. Maybe I should have spoken - they were a caring and thoughtful group.  As the sun rose above the distant line of hills through my mind passed that familiar refrain: "They shall not grow old, as we who are left grow old. Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun, and in the morning, We will remember them."

The sun burst through and the countryside was enflamed with colour. The warmth of the sun thawed our shivering bodies as we heated water for coffee on Christian and Manu's campfire. Jarrod drove us maybe 2kms and we climbed one of the rises to purchase a better vantage point to take all this in. "The lone and level sands" were at it again - stretching further than my mind could contemplate . When I stand on the cliffs at South Bondi when the weather is at its worst, I get a massive feeling of the paltryness of man. Of his insignificance. Standing atop the ridges in the Painted Desert, I got a massive feeling of the magnificance of nature; of its ancient and enduring value. Why don't more Australians take this trip? As the tour progressed, I became convinced that THIS is the only way come to terms with my country - on the ground and slowly. Jarrod had this lovely expression: "It's not bush" - meaning that there is a way that things are done in the bush - in OUR bush - there is a genuine way; an authentic way; a way that adds value.

I suspect the word "dump" is appropriate for Oodnadatta - but I love the sound of the word nearly as much as I love the Pink Road House. Roadhouse is a very American term. We tend to prefer "general store" or even "shop". But Pink Roadhouse has a ring to it. And ... they did stock thongs. Jarrod quipped that it was a relief to be able to use the word "thong" and at least know that one person in the truck would know what he was talking about. I don't wear thongs - of either variety. But I thought I might need a pair for Dalhousie Springs if the bottom was squelchy and even littered with smashed beer-bottles. Hey, I'm from Sydney - one must take precautions.

We were about to embark upon Jarrod's least favourite stretch of road of the entire trip - I use the term "road" tentatively. It really was just tracks in the sand where numerous vehicles have gone before. Sure as eggs, we came to grief! A flick to the left, down the dip flicking to the right, a flick to the left coming out of the dip - and a bloody loud crack and lots of frantic European waving of the hands hoping that they would not end up with the trailer in their lap!  Shit and derision - now what to do. We had a spare bar but could not get the smashed bar off the rear of the truck. A family - from Sydney - stopped and offered a hand. After much cursing and sweating and male orneriness the nut gave way and we had a stop-gap measure in place. Our knights-in-shining-armour were a family of four who were one week into their 3 month tour around Australia. My chest filled with admiration as their children were maybe 12 and 14. I wish I'd had the inner courage to make a decision like that. There are times when experience takes precedence over education. I must mention that to my kids - should, please God, I ever be blessed with grandkids. Not that I'm hinting, God.

We limped into Dalhousie Springs. Talk about an oasis in the desert. Oops - don't suppose it is an oasis if there really is water there. This is a hot spring which bubbles up from the Great Artesian Basin and is probably a bit over 40C. It takes a bit to get into but is glorious once your body acclimatises. You do come out a bit pickled though. And though the bottom of the springs were a bit squelchy - I only used the thongs to get across the ground. Thongs - the ones that other people refer to as flip-flops - are not nice. They create havoc between my toes and make the muscles in the back of my legs have to work too hard. And besides, the thongs from Oodnadatta cost $7 whereas I think I could get a pair in Bondi Junction from the $2 shop.

Each evening, once I feel I have done sufficient chores, I turn in for the night.I just disappear when I have had enough. The days are long. I enjoy them and I enjoy the company  but there is a place in my life for solitude which I value. Besides, one drink each evening is sufficient for this little black duck and I need to give the "youngsters" space to do their own thing.

I want to be up nice and early on the morrow to see the steam rising from the hot springs.

Comments

[Julie]

Thank you Claudia and Ann. I am quite pleased some of the images that I took during the trip. I have spent some of the time over the weekend sorting through some more. The Uluru story will be a challenge to tell. Some of the other people on the trip have now uploaded their images so I now have many more of people.

Claudia, the emotions at the time were extrememly intense and that is what is giving me the strength to continue on with telling the story. I am trying to work out how to hive it off as a separate blog but cant put my head to it just yet.

Ann, thank you for visiting. Am I right - do we have a fair bit in common? I will visit your blog regularly and encourage you to work on it. It is a great way to tell stories and to describe one's life. I have looked up the OKA and it is an ugly bugger. I really do want to see the coast between Carnarvon and Broome.

[Ann]

Julie, your photos are stunning and the trip report fascinating. I too have come to the conclusion that I need to unzip my sleeping bag and use it as a blanket. I hate camping but to get to some of the most stunning places you just have to do it. I once did a 3 week 4WD camping trip from Perth to Darwin. It was on somethiing called an OKA, big truck type thing. Rough, uncomfortable going over some of the worst roads I've ever been on. Some camp sites, some bush camping under the stars, and some of the most stunning places I've ever seen. I've seen a lot of the world but our own country is up there with best, and in some instances way ahead.

[Claudia]

That Pink Roadhouse looks a bit incongruous in association with the Painted Desert. Maybe it's good. It brings one down to real life with simple, trivial needs. It would be hard to remain at the high level of intense emotion brought in by the huge magnificence of nature and "man's insignificance". I don't know...It never takes me long to re-enter the center of my small universe!

Those photos are priceless.