(Rock in the Kata Tjuta range/Olgas, near Uluru/Ayers Rock in Central Australia)
Read an interesting article in the Times about a race between car and train across the vastness of Australia. The article is at http://driving.timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/driving/features/article1590764.ece
I've always been rather impressed with the sheer size of Australia. Having grown up in Holland, a miniscule, densely populated country in North-West Europe, where travelling more than two hours in the car in an easterly or southerly direction will transport you into another country, the enormous size of Australia is daunting. You have only to look at the map or a globe to see just how big a country it is. My parents who lived in Australia for sixteen years told me stories of farmsteads that were bigger than some Dutch provinces. My mind used to wander upon hearing these stories. Another one was about the road from Adelaide north to Darwin via Alice Springs that used to be straight as a line on a piece of paper, travelling through hundreds and hundreds of miles of seemingly empty terrain. And how they had to artificially install a number of bends and twists in the road. Not because these were necessary but because too many accidents occured on the road when drivers fell asleep behind the wheel on this endless dead-straight road.
When I was in Australia for the first time again two years ago we flew from Melbourne to Alice Springs to visit Uluru. After leaving Melbourne, an ocean of red-coloured suburban rooftops, I saw the land beneath me open up and becoming ever more sparse. There were fewer and fewer signs of human activity that I could make out and in every direction the vastness stretched silently.
I saw how great furrows in the desert rockbed ran off into the horizon. It made a big impression on me to be surrounded by such imposing country. It dawned on me that Australia is about the land itself rather than anything else. The land that is so ancient you cannot help but pick up on some very intriguing vibes. I noticed this particularly in the old forests in Tasmania and also in the area around Uluru and Kata Tjuta in the Red Centre.
It is a most puzzling and challenging experience to be confronted by the land's deep silent soul. It was as if the soil was saying to me: "So, this is me. Who are you?"
Landing back home in the UK, arriving at Heathrow I was at once immersed in people, and noise, and traffic, work et cetera. Yet the memory of that big old place on the other side of the world lingers and seems to become more vivid with the passing of time.
When I was in Australia for the first time again two years ago we flew from Melbourne to Alice Springs to visit Uluru. After leaving Melbourne, an ocean of red-coloured suburban rooftops, I saw the land beneath me open up and becoming ever more sparse. There were fewer and fewer signs of human activity that I could make out and in every direction the vastness stretched silently.
I saw how great furrows in the desert rockbed ran off into the horizon. It made a big impression on me to be surrounded by such imposing country. It dawned on me that Australia is about the land itself rather than anything else. The land that is so ancient you cannot help but pick up on some very intriguing vibes. I noticed this particularly in the old forests in Tasmania and also in the area around Uluru and Kata Tjuta in the Red Centre.
It is a most puzzling and challenging experience to be confronted by the land's deep silent soul. It was as if the soil was saying to me: "So, this is me. Who are you?"
Landing back home in the UK, arriving at Heathrow I was at once immersed in people, and noise, and traffic, work et cetera. Yet the memory of that big old place on the other side of the world lingers and seems to become more vivid with the passing of time.
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