Advertisement
Published: August 6th 2007
Edit Blog Post
As we disembarked the plane in Ayers Rock, I surveyed our barren surroundings. “As many times as we’ve driven the out backs of Australia, I can officially say that we have found the middle of nowhere,” I commented. “Are you sure that we’re still on the grid?”
The airport was clearly erected for the sole purpose of what lies in its surroundings, Ayers Rock, renamed
Aluru after the name originally given it by its aboriginal discoverers. To this day, Ayers Rock is held in high regard by the aboriginals and believed to be a spiritual place.
As Gene and I hopped into our rental car, which was found hiding behind the numerous tourist buses parked in the puny lot outside of the airport, we consulted the map provided us by the rental car agency. The diagram was easy to follow as there was just one road leading into the only town for the next 400 kilometers.
As we navigated through the desert, the only car in sight, I imagined ourselves playing a role in a horror film - the typical flick where the characters get a flat tire out in the desert and are relieved to find the
only gas station for miles that, unbeknownst to them, is owned by a family of psycho murderers.
Snapping out of my daydream, I questioned Gene about more practical matters. “What kind of wild life do you think lives out here?”
“Not sure, babe.”
“Well, I was just wondering because there doesn’t seem to be any kind of enclosure to the resort to keep out the animals. Do you think there are dingoes out here?”
“Not sure, babe.”
Great… With my luck, I’ll open the door to our room and find a dingo in the bed dressed as Granny. Better yet, I opened the door to find two single bunk beds lodged at either side of our room. “Do you want top or bottom,” I asked in jest.
Sincerely, Gene responded, “I thought we were going to sleep together.” Thinking back to those days when Gene and I crammed into my twin daybed at Bernie’s house, I responded, “Of course we are.”
After lugging in our bags, which took up more than half of the room, Gene and I set out for the grocery store to pick up some snacks for our sunset
photo shoot at Ayers Rock. We were determined to get to the park early to locate the best photo opp.
Munching away on crackers and cheese and one of my favorites, salami, Gene and I passed the next couple of hours in the car, eyeing the stationary mass, wondering how it came to be. The brochure indicated that the visible portion of the rock comprises only one-third of its entire size. We were awed by the enormity of the sandstone formation, which is estimated to be millions of years old. The landscape, altered by passing clouds and the ever-changing colors of the sky, was picture-perfect.
Upon our return to the room, I immediately scanned the ceiling for our new friend, Mr. Daddy Longlegs, who had not moved from his previous whereabouts. Hoping that Mr. Longlegs would maintain his position above that same set of bunk beds, I opted for the other bunk, bottom bed.
As Gene brushed his teeth, I wavered between my decision to sleep next to the wall, where Mr. Longlegs was sure to find me, or next to the entrance way where I was sure to make the acquaintance of other creatures moseying under
the gap of the front door.
“Gene, you’re sleeping next to the wall.”
“No way. You are going to squish me up against the wall on top of stealing all of the covers.”
“Unless you kill your little eight-legged friend up there, I’m not sleeping anywhere near that wall,” I retorted.
“Fine!”
Unable to fall asleep due to my paranoia that the creepy crawlies would get me, I continued to twist and turn in the bunk. With every move, Gene had to reposition for both of us to fit. On my back, I had to lie with both arms above my head because there was nowhere else for them to go. Midway through the night, I woke up scratching at myself, convinced we had bed bugs. Gene, having had enough of my antics, apologized and went to sleep in the other bunk at 2 o’clock in the morning. I had to survive for another 3 ½ hours before the alarm would go off and we would venture back to the park for our sunrise snapshots.
In lack of my human security blanket, I grew even more restless. Flipping like a flapjack in the bed,
trying to burrito myself safely into the covers, I generated irritating noises with the stiff, paper-thin sheets.
“What in the hell are you doing over there?!?” my frustrated husband hollered through the darkness.
For the first time in three months, I anxiously awaited the annoying clatter of the alarm clock.
Advertisement
Tot: 0.266s; Tpl: 0.017s; cc: 20; qc: 83; dbt: 0.1261s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.3mb
Mom
non-member comment
No Sleep
LMAO...this is adventure is almost as bad as sharing a room in San Francisco with me and moving to the bathroom floor to get away from my snoring. =) You both look great and the photos are wonderful. Glad to see you are keeping my grand-frog in tow. Hugs to you both and Cranky too. xoxo