Happy St. Patrick's Day.

Alice Springs is a lot like Tucson with a few drunk Aborigines. It's a hot,
dry town surrounded by mountains. Not too commercialized, not too many tall
buildings. It's in the middle of nowhere. Pretty much the only reason it
exists is to serve as a highway stopping point for outback tours of Ayers
Rock.

As soon as I got there I went to sleep. I felt like I was coming down with
a cold, and I wanted to make sure I would be feeling better for my Ayers
Rock trip. Colds have the effect of reducing me to a wheezing asthmatic,
and part of the trip would include a very strenuous climb of Ayers Rock.

The next morning, I wasn't feeling any better, so I decided to visit the
chemist and start taking care of myself. I bought some Nurofen, the Aussie
equivalent of Advil, and some Vitamin C tablets to chew on. I also got some
Daktarin, the Aussie equivalent of Micatin, to finally clean up my feet.

The day after I arrived in Alice Springs, I went to the local public library
to use their Internet facilities. What a freak show! I spent more time
staring at the characters who sat at the computers to the left and right of
me than I did using my own computer.

When I sat down, there was a portly woman to my right who was writing
e-mail. I happened to glance over to see what she was typing. It went
something like this:

> I have been taking care of a cute little Aboriginal girl named Loretta. Last
> week, I explained to her how the uterus worked. One day Loretta ran to me,
> screaming that her uterus had fallen into the toilet and that she wouldn't be
> able to make babies anymore. I laughed and then explained blood clots and
> blood jelly to Loretta, told her that her uterus was still inside her, and
> that everything was going to be OK.

After sending off that little morsel, she got up and was replaced almost
immediately by an older, taller, conservatively dressed woman named Tricia.
She had curly blonde hair and no make-up. After sitting down, she deviously
turned the monitor away from me and towards the wall so nobody could see.
All I had to do was lean back a bit and I could see perfectly. She was
browsing the web for Satanic literature about God and his evil ways. She
did a Lycos search for "war in Heaven" and came up with about 6000 matches.
She spent about an hour printing out every article she could pull up.

Then a girl who must have been King of the Lesbians sat down to my left.
Everything about her had "lesbian" written all over it. Her short hair, her
hippie clothes, her hairy arms, her stubby fingers, and the look she gave me
before shifting her chair away from me. She wrote a simple e-mail to a
friend about some kind of social club that she ran called "Divine Chaos" and
the hippie music CD that she was planning on recording.

The whole time, Aborigine kids were screaming and running around the
library. One was pushing a shopping cart and making lawnmower sounds with
his mouth. Then some old white guy with a beard strode in through the front
door, whistling and wearing a dress. Not a kilt. A pretty red dress.

At that point, I turned my attention back to my computer, finished up what I
was doing, and left. I had a craving for McDonald's, so I walked across
town (which didn't take too long) and treated myself to a Footy Meal, which
comes with a Double Quarter-Pounder with Cheese, a large fries, and a large
Coke. On the way home I climbed a hill in the center of town and had a nice
view of the surrounding McDonnell Ranges. One thing is for sure, I really
do like the dry heat. I definitely see myself moving to Arizona or back to
California in the next few years.

I woke up early the next morning for my Ayers Rock tour. I was still
feeling the effects of my cold, but I boarded the bus and hoped for the
best. Troy, our tour guide and driver, quickly established himself as a
bumbling idiot. He was training under another guide, named Peter, who was
coming along to observe him.

We drove for about four hours. We passed the Fink River, the oldest waterway
in the world. Then Troy told us all about the Cannonball Run, an annual
race they used to have out here in the middle of nowhere. Named after the
movie and with more or less the same rules, they held it in this part of
Australia because there are no speed limits on the outback highways. A few
years ago, two Japanese guys in a red Ferrari were cruising along at 330
km/h when they flew off the dusty road and flipped, killing themselves and
two race marshals. There has been a monument erected to their idiocy.

Our first stop was at King's Canyon for an afternoon hike. King's Canyon is
a beautiful place. Millions of years of erosion have reduced layers of
sandstone to wind-carved canyons and waterholes. The flies were incredible,
but I outsmarted them all by using a fly net that I brought from Alice
Springs.

We all walked together. The lines just came to me as we hiked through the
canyon. Troy took us to an emergency radio up in the canyon. "Is that for
people who just have to listen to the Spice Girls?" Troy began to explain
that the rock we were standing on is over 600 million years old. "Wow,
that's older than my mom." After reaching the top of an overhang in the
middle of the canyon, I turned and asked, "Is there as ATM around here?"
Everyone seemed to enjoy my musings except for some slimy French guy who
kept on giving me dirty looks.

While stopping for a picture, I dropped my camera five feet onto very hard
merinee sandstone. Not a scratch, and it still works perfectly. Kudos to
Nikon. Troy then pointed out a cycad palm, whose berries are used to make
cyanide.

After our hike, we hopped back on the bus and spent another three hours driving
to Ayers Rock. Peter spent most of the ride discussing the history of the
local Aborigines and their sacred places. Ayers Rock, known as Uluru
(OO-LOO-ROO) to the Aborigines, used to be home and a sacred meeting place
for the Mala, a local clan. The Aborigines ask tourists to respect their
culture and ask tourists not to climb the rock. Apparently, if we climb
and get hurt or die, they have to go through a mourning period, which
involves cutting themselves and other similar unpleasant stuff. But no one
really seems to care. I decided to climb.

We arrived at Ayers Rock in time to catch sunset. We dropped all of our
stuff at our nearby camp and went out to our lookout point. The rock was
just starting to change color when clouds obscured the sun and ruined
everything. So we went back to camp, ate dinner. I was still feeling sick,
so I went to bed early to rest up for our morning climb of Ayers Rock. We
slept in swags under the stars.

We woke up at about 4:30am. After arriving at the rock, we had to wait for
the ranger to get the weather forecast and wind readings from the top to see
if it was safe to climb. He finally opened the gate, and the group of
people that had gathered around began to climb.

The sun was just peeking over the horizon, and for the first time I could
see how massive the rock in front of me really was. The climb is 1.6 km up
very steep, crumbly sandstone. I pulled a groin just looking at it. They
say that since the '80s, 36 people have died trying to climb it, either by
falling off or having a heart attack. I was still sick, and I didn't know
if I was going to make it.

I was on my hands and knees for the first part of the climb, huffing and
puffing after about five minutes. I thought I was going to pass out, but I
pushed on. About one third of the way up, there was a chain we could hold onto
while we climbed. The climb was hellish, and I was tempted to give up and
turn back several times. Every time I thought I had reached the top, I
would rise over a crest only to discover that I had another 100 feet to go.
It was rough. But I kept pushing.

Forty-five minutes later, I reached the top. The sun had already come up,
and to be honest, the view was not worth the effort it took to get up there,
but I was glad that I made it. I collapsed into a wheezing, asthmatic heap
for about ten minutes before getting up to take a few pictures and climb back
down.

From Ayers Rock, we went to the Olgas, a nearby rock formation which looks
like Homer Simpson but is geologically similar Ayers Rock. Troy fell asleep
at the wheel momentarily. I was the only one on the bus who was awake, and
I didn't like worrying that Troy would fall asleep again and kill us all, so
I went to sleep.

A while later, Troy gave us an interesting talk about geology of the region,
which I won't bore you with here (unless you want me to). Then Peter
continued his discussion of the Aborigines. Finally, someone was able to
explain why they roam the streets, drunk and homeless.

Apparently, the Aborigines lack the gene which produces the enzyme required
for the proper synthesis and absorption of alcohol. Some people in Western
society are genetically pre-disposed to alcohol addition (which you would
know if you have been watching your "Loveline"), but all Aborigines are
genetically predisposed. That means that Aborigines literally become
addicted the first time they drink alcohol. Alcohol, therefore, is banned
from Aboriginal society. And when an Aborigine shows up drunk, he/she is
thrown out of the clan and banished to the streets.

Peter went on to discuss the beliefs of the Aborigines in greater detail.
Really fascinating stuff, but I wouldn't want to bore you with it here
(unless you want me to). I definitely think the rest of us can learn a
thing or two from it.

The Olgas were nice, but frankly, the heat and flies were starting to get to
me, and I was ready to go home. I was sick of all the dirt, all the bugs,
and eating out of rusting metal plates. It took five hours to get home.

That night, I made a beautiful crocodile out of Play-Doh at the bar. But
someone else made a map of Australia with lots of tiny kangaroos on it and
won the two jugs of beer. I retired to my room. It was hot as hell in there.
Some old German lady was half-asleep on the top bunk. I asked her if she
thought it was warm, and she said no. She was wrapped up in her blanket,
and she needed the heat on. I tried to sleep, but I couldn't stop sweating.
Every time I would get up in the middle of the night to turn the air
conditioner on, she would get up turn it off a few minutes later.

The next morning, I boarded the Oz Experience bus. There were three
passengers. A Dutch couple, and an old English woman. Marc, our bus
driver, was from Tasmania and was a weirdo. A pathetic, very boring bunch.

We drove for hours, stopping occasionally for food or something to drink.
It was pretty much flat, hot, fly-infested desert the whole way down. The
horizon shimmered in the heat. We stopped at a dingo fence which is 5,300 km
long.

Late in the afternoon, we rolled into Coober Pedy (PEE-dee), which means
"white man's hole" in Aborigine. I'll let you read whatever you want to
into that one. It's out in the middle of nowhere, and it's hot as hell. We
took a quick tour of the opal-mining town, and met some old cracker named
Crocodile Harry. He lives in a mine shaft and is a legend in these parts.

I then booked a room at Radeka's, the hostel I'm staying at here in Coober
Pedy. Most of it is built underground in old mineshafts, keeping all of the
rooms pretty cool. The rooms are all carved out and have bunkbeds. Very
Flintstones.

Last night, my nose started bleeding profusely for no good reason. Then I
caught Martin's Night Sky. Some wily Coober Pedy resident with a huge beard
takes backpackers out every evening and guides them through the beautiful
night sky, teaching them about the stars, constellations, and planets above.
He really knew his shit. I submitted his tour to my Australia travel guide
for future publication.

It finally happened! Last night, I dreamt that I went to a party, picked up
Sarah Michelle Gellar, and took her home with me.

This morning, I decided not to get on the bus. Instead, I'll spend a few
days here in Coober Pedy. I'll wait for the next Oz bus to come through
here, hoping that there will be more people and more interesting travelling
companions for the rest of my trip down to Adelaide.

Now I'm sitting in the TV lounge here at the hostel, watching Imparja, the
only Aborigine-owned and operated TV station. The programming is pretty
cheesy, but it's actually one of the better channels when you're out in the
middle of nowhere. At the moment, there's a pathetic program for kids on.
Teenage kids with headsets are dancing around on stage, in front of a bunch
of confused-looking kids. Wait a second, now one of the guys is holding a
orange cardboard box, and he is trying to convince the kids that he is
holding a cat. How pathetic.

No Regrets.

Jeff