Alice and wonderland

“Morning my lovely. What shall we do today? I know, let’s get showered and dressed and make our way down to the Queen Addi for breakfast. Then we could visit one of the most remote towns in Australia and take a stroll in the hottest of mountain ranges before returning for cooling drinks and a spot of lunch eh?”. “That sounds most agreeable my dearest. You showering first? I’ll just snooze here a little longer and count kangaroos and camels through the window. Don’t dally though dear, I’m feeling a tad peckish.” It’s tough waking on the Ghan contemplating an equally tough day ahead.

Lying in that bunk, big challenging questions begin to trouble you like “should I go for the smoked wild Tasmanian salmon and eggs hollandaise, or the full cooked breakfast this morning?”. You won’t find ‘full English’ on the card, not in Australia. They just wouldn’t afford the poms such national recognition. As it happened I’d already enjoyed the most exquisite Tazzi smoked salmon and eggs hollandaise, draped on and around lightly toasted Turkish bread, for our first breakfast in Darwin, when I had an early bite at the Fannie Bay Cool Spot. Fannie Bay is a popular spot to eat of a morning in the Top End, and I for one could have gone back for more. However you can have too much of a good thing, so this particular morning on the Ghan I went for the ‘full pom’, with extra toast of course.

Today’s stopover was at Alice Springs and we’d chosen, alongside a mere dozen other travellers on the entire Ghan, to enlist for the guided hike in the West Macdonnell Ranges which sit about 20km west of Alice. On descending from the carriage we first posed for the essential ‘Welcome to Alice Springs’ platform shot.  Grinning in our respective trek attire, Jacky and I stood side by side, chic by cheap. We had been advised to dress in long trousers as the occasional taipan or ‘common brown’ had been known to enjoy life in the terrain we were about to explore. As we fought our way to our excursion’s dedicated minibus, against the overwhelming flow heading for numerous large coaches assigned to the alternative ‘about Alice’ tours, I began to wonder if the other 300+ passengers knew something we didn’t.

Alice Springs grew from a water hole which sat conveniently half way between Adelaide on the southern coast and Darwin on the northern. It’s positioned pretty much at the geographical centre of Australia. The original ‘Alice’ was the wife of the telegraph pioneer Sir Charles Todd. I’m sure she was quite thrilled to find herself a member of a select club of ladies who’d had distant water holes dedicated to them. How grand and socially elevating is that? How envious her friends must have been.

The 28000 doughty inhabitants of Alice Springs represent a wide range of ethnic groups and also nationalities. For example 2000 residents of the Alice Springs District hold US citizenship, many connected with joint US-Australian geological research and satellite tracking projects. However bubbling underneath the cosy tourist imagery of quintessential Australian outback happy place, as depicted in Nevil Shute’s 1950s novel A Town Like Alice (and the subsequent movie with Virginia McKenna and Peter Finch); all is not so jolly in Alice at the moment. The Alice Springs of 2017 is experiencing high levels of crime and social disorder. Alcohol abuse, street brawling and domestic violence are sadly rife, predominantly (whilst not exclusively) within sections of the indigenous community, which forms one third of Alice’s population. Night time disturbances, sadly involving groups of mainly indigenous youngsters, are reported to be a regular occurrence. In addition crime statistics for the year to October 2017 recorded a 22 per cent rise in house break-ins. There’s currently much to do to mend a town like Alice.

Our ‘minibus’ was a high lift all terrain vehicle with tough tyres and similar attitude. It bounced us to the foothills of the West MacDonnell Range where we commenced our trek, benignly tagged by the guide book as being ‘of moderate difficulty’. Firstly through flat sparse bushland, on by distinctive ghost gums and then up into the hot red foothills of the mountain range. Our guide took us steadily and cautiously up to exhilarating viewpoints and then ultimately into the beautiful Simpson’s Gap. The ‘gap’ being a narrow gorge break in the mountain range, which is occupied by a permanent water hole and frequented by amongst others, black-foot rock wallabies. It’s a tranquil, sheltered space and a sacred spiritual place for the indigenous Arrernte people. Within the echo chamber of the high Gap walls our guide expertly played the didgeridoo. Its deep sounds, designed to mimic those of its surroundings, swirling around the space between the high rock walls. The Gap’s birdsong increased in intensity as if in direct and customary response.

The sense of being in a very unique and special place was palpable. As our guide slowly brought the didgeridoo’s low frequencies down to the smoothest of landings, and its soft vibrations escaped from the body, our small group applauded appreciatively and turned to walk back in search of further rock wallaby shots. I hung back, and once more stroked that ancient sandstone rock. Again hard yet soft, tough yet smooth, neither warm nor cold. Yet again, as at Katherine, I felt what could only have been an imaginary tingle, the mind once more playing tricks. I was touching something that predated not only the oldest living species but almost life itself.

I recall quite vividly as a young boy, lying in summer fields gazing at cotton wool clouds, their movements certain yet almost imperceptible, and experiencing a similar, almost thrilling sensation. As a young adult I’d experience that same consuming sense of wonder looking up through the Milky Way on a clear summer’s night and, if really lucky, half glimpse the tail end of a shooting star. And now, as a not so young adult, I recognised that same almost ‘outer body’ sensation from just stroking and contemplating that rock. A confusing, contradictory recognition of my own insignificance and yet greater relevance. Of greater distance and yet deeper connection. If that’s the ‘spiritual’ then it’s complicated and probably best left out there in that wilderness wonderland. Let’s keep things simpler and easier to share. Like a drink and stories with strangers in the club car on the Ghan. Time to get back on board – kick off the boots and shed the long pants. Adelaide awaits tomorrow and a new home on wheels.

“Goodnight darling that was a most interesting and stimulating day don’t you think?” “Yes dearest it was, but please try not to snore so much up there tonight, I can’t hear the train clatter and clunk”.

Yes I think the ‘spiritual’ is safely back out there in wonderland. Waiting to kiss and confuse the next unguarded passer by.