Journeys Farther Afield:

In addition to our many day trips and occasional weekends away, we took several longer holidays to some of the most beautiful places I've ever seen.

The Red Centre: Our first big adventure took us to the central part of Australia, a region known as the Red Centre (Aussie spelling again), because of the deep rust color of the rock formations and soil. This is dry country. Water is unbelievably scarce. Temperatures during the summer months can reach as high as 45 degrees Celsius, or 113 degrees Fahrenheit; on average the temperature reaches 100 degrees on about half the days each summer. Rainfall amounts average just under eleven inches annually, and relative humidity in the region has been measured at 3% during the summers. The climate of Australia's Red Centre makes the desert Southwest of the U.S. seem mild by comparison.

We arrived in Alice Springs, the only substantial city in the area, at midday on the 28th of September and upon stepping off the plane onto the portable stairs leading down to the airport tarmac, were hammered by the heat. This wasn't midsummer -- it was barely spring -- but the temperature was 36 degrees (that's 95 Fahrenheit to you non-metric folks) and the stiff wind blowing across the cement offered no relief. At least not from the heat. Only after we retrieved our bags and started making our way to our rental car on the sheltered side of the small terminal did we realize that the wind had been keeping the flies at bay.

Ah, the flies. Let me begin by saying that they didn't bite, for which we were and are extremely grateful. If they had, we'd have killed ourselves that first day. What they did do was land on our faces, or clamor at our eyes, or run aerial suicide missions into our ears and nostrils at supersonic speeds, their buzzing actually seeming to reach us after impact. They were relentless, and there were a lot of them.

In the airport parking lot, in those first innocent moments of our journey, we didn't understand all of this. The flies seemed an annoyance. We were glad to get away from them and to turn up the AC in the car. Only later, after we had checked into our hotel and decided to take a walk in Alice Springs' small Botanic Garden, which was near the hotel, did we begin to understand the scope of the problem. On this walk, we also discovered a second annoyance -- a plant with small, sharp burrs that clung stubbornly to our socks and then crumbled into hazardously barbed little fragments when we tried to remove them. We never learned its true name. We called it several things, none of which we'll repeat here. By the end of our walk, which lasted perhaps an hour, our daughters were quite ready to return to Wollongong. Thank goodness for hotel swimming pools, the fact that flies are strictly diurnal, and the fortuitous placement of a very fine Thai Restaurant in the hotel lobby. Without these, our trip to the Red Centre might have ended rather badly.

We began our first full day in Alice with a visit to the hotel gift shop, where we bought head nets for the girls. These are simple mesh nets that fit over one's head or hat and keep flies and mosquitoes away from the face. We bought two, figuring that they would keep the kids happy and that we could tough it out. It was a dismal decision. The following morning we were back in the gift shop buying two more fly nets. Funny, the clerk in the store didn't seem surprised to see us again....

(Below: A view of Trephina Gorge, east of Alice Springs.)

The flies notwithstanding, the Red Centre was an amazing place. The highlight of our stay in the Alice Springs area was a trip out to Trephina Gorge. Located about sixty kilometers east of Alice, Trephina Gorge is a natural area centered around the rocky valley of a river that is dry nine months out of the year. Even without water, however, the river gorge is beautiful. The brilliant blue of the sky, the deep red of the sandstone, and the white trunks of the Ghost Gum trees growing in the gorge make for striking contrasts, and the desert around the gorge supports an amazing amount of life, especially in light of just how harsh conditions here can be. It was really hot on this day. We reached the gorge by mid-morning, and already it was well past ninety degrees. Still, the place was teeming with wildlife. We saw a monitor lizard sunning itself on a rock. We saw lots of birds and a surprising number of butterflies dancing from one flowering shrub to the next. The ability of nature to thrive in this place was both inspiring and humbling. What was even more astonishing, was the realization that Aboriginal cultures had flourished here tens of thousands of years before Europeans even saw the place. Without the benefit of technology, or running water, or any form of transportation other than their own feet, these people managed, through hard work and innovation and sheer perserverence, to build a society and make this unforgiving wilderness into a home. What an accomplishment.

(Below: A Ghost Gum grows out of a rock outcropping along the Kings Canyon Rim Walk.)

From Alice, we drove south to King's Canyon National Park and then to Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park. For those of you who have traveled in the American Southwest, Kings Canyon reminded me a great deal of Zion National Park. The centerpiece of the park is the Kings Canyon Rim Walk, a seven and half kilometer loop that followed a trail up to the top of the canyon and then around the entire rim. We started our hike at 5:00 am in order to beat the heat, and were treated to one of the best days of our entire year in Oz. The early morning sun bathed the sandstone in golden light. There were ghost gums growing literally out of the stone, and other trees that had been burned in past bush fires, their trunks blackened, their charred limbs reaching into an azure sky. Along the canyon rim were worn, mounded hills (referred to as the Lost City) that looked surreal and bizarre in the deep shadows of early morning. At one point, the trail dipped down into a hidden part of the canyon where there was a permanent waterhole. Honeyeaters and shrike-thrushes sang, their voices echoing off the canyon walls. Butterflies -- blue, white, yellow -- floated by. Lizards scuttled over the rocks. It was, in short, one of the most spectacular hikes any of us has ever taken.

The next morning, we drove to our final destination: Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park. This is a site that combines the tourist drawing power of the Grand Canyon with the aboriginal cultural significance of, say, Mesa Verde or Chaco Canyon. It is far and away, the biggest draw for visitors in the Red Centre. It is also a World Heritage Site, listed as such by UNESCO since 1987.

(Below: Uluru -- Ayers Rock -- as sunset approaches)

Uluru, also known as Ayers Rock, is perhaps the most sacred natural symbol in the entire country for Australia's native peoples. It is an enormous, single piece of sandstone, rising from the desert plain. It is, in fact, the world's largest monolith, measuring 3.6 kilometres in length and reaching a height of 348 metres (over 1,100 feet) above the plain. It is so red, that the photographs we took of it at sunset don't look natural. They are. It is pitted and scarred with potholes and other markings from millions of years of weathering, and in Aboriginal lore, almost every mark on it has a story.

Kata Tjuta (which means "Many Heads" in the language of the Aboriginal peoples of this area), also known as The Olgas (for Mount Olga, the tallest of the Kata Tjuta monoliths), lies about thirty kilometers west of Uluru. It consists of several red monoliths, all of them also rising abruptly from the desert floor. The Olgas are, of course, smaller in mass than Uluru, though some of them are taller. Both the Rock, as Uluru is sometimes called, and the Olgas, include sacred areas that the Aboriginal owners of the land forbid visitors to enter.

We were at Uluru for a couple of sunsets and at the Olgas for a sunrise, all of which were magnificent. We should mention here that at Uluru and Kata Tjuta, sunrises and sunsets are a bit different from what we're used to. In general, you don't watch the sky where the sun is rising or setting. Instead, you turn your back to the sun and watch the play of colors on the rocks as they change (at dusk) from reddish-brown, to deep orange, to fiery red, and at last to a deep crimson that we saw the first evening. At dawn, of course, the colors are reversed, but the effect is still quite striking. The sunset and sunrise viewings are a phenomenon in and of themselves. Hundreds of people line up with cameras, camcorders, and the like. Everyone is very friendly, all hoping for a good show. The place kind of has the feel of what I imagine a NASA launching might be like.

We also took some great hikes, including a ten kilometer hike around the base of Uluru, and, most memorably, the Olgas Valley of the Winds hike, a winding, undulating walk of 7.5 kilometers through the center of Kata Tjuta. It was a strenuous walk, on difficult footing, and on what quickly turned into a very hot day. But it was a stunning hike just the same, particularly the middle portion, when we were in the heart of the formations. We saw kingfishers, falcons, cool lizards, and those same beautiful desert butterflies.

The Red Center was quite possibly my favorite part of Australia. It was very easy, living where we did for the year, visiting beaches and the Blue Mountains, to forget that most of Australia is desert. It is harsh, unforgiving country, but don't let anyone tell you (as they tried to tell us) that it's empty or barren. There's lots of wildlife to be seen: birds, lizards, wallabies, dingos, butterflies, and amazing plants that manage to thrive without rainfall, without even a noticeable trace of moisture in the air. There are magnificent landscapes, not just in places where the scenery is dramatic, like Kings Canyon or Uluru-KataTjuta, but throughout. There is a subtle power to the entire region, something moving about just experiencing so much open space, untouched by technology or even basic modern human society. And most of all, there is a rich Aboriginal culture, of which we were given small, tantalizing glimpses. Much of this culture remains hidden, however, purposefully shrouded in secrecy by people who have endured centuries of oppression and exploitation, and who now view the outside world with understandable wariness.

New Zealand: Yes, I know: New Zealand isn't part of Australia (although most people don't know that the Australian constitution actually has a provision in it stating that if the people of New Zealand ever express a desire to make their country an Australian state, they are to be allowed to do so). But the two countries are neighbors and we spent two glorious holidays there, one on the South Island, with its magnificent mountains and spectacular glaciers, and one on the North Island, with its beautiful coastline and fascinating geo-thermal areas.

(Below: The shores of Lake Wanaka as sunset approaches. Those are the mountains of Mount Aspiring National Park in the distance.)

We saw a good deal of the country, and I won't try to touch on everything we did -- just the highlights. On the South Island, those would be our visit to Wanaka and the wilderness near Mount Aspiring National Park, and our day at Milford Sound. Wanaka may be the world's most perfect place. Sure, it's a bit touristy, but you'd expect that of the earth's most perfect place, right? It's a beautiful town located at the southern end of Lake Wanaka and in the shadow of a vast alpine wilderness. Our hotel was right on the water, and in the evenings we walked down to the lakeshore and watched the skies darkening over the mountains. Our first full day there we hiked to the top of a small rise just north of town. It was a difficult hike -- steep in places and fairly long. But it was a cool, breezy day and it was definitely worth the effort. Upon reaching the top, we were rewarded with phenomenal views in every direction. To the north stood the mountains, thick clouds draped about their shoulders, the sun breaking through occasionally to light a snowfield or cast shadows across stony outcroppings. To the east and south the waters of the lake reflected the blues and greys of sky and cloud. Just beautiful. We had packed some snacks, which we ate at the crest before heading back down. We drove into town, bought some ice cream, and walked around the shops for a while. Then we went to a winery located just a kilometer or so from our hotel. Did I mention that Wanaka is just about the perfect place? Well, it is.

Milford Sound is one of the South Island's major natural attractions, and is usually enjoyed by boat. On the day of our cruise we woke to rainy, windy weather. Fortunately we were prepared for this, having spent enough time on the South Island's west coast to know what the weather would be like. We had spent the night in the town of Te Anau and had a drive of some ninety minutes to the sound. The more we drove the worse the weather grew. We had planned to stop and hike along the way, but wound up not stopping at all, except when we had to. Two thirds of the way to Milford Sound the road began to climb into the mountains of Fjordland National Park. And about twenty miles into the park, we reached Homer Tunnel. The east entrance to this one-lane, two-kilometer-long tunnel is at the base of a mountain in a sort of natural amphitheater formed by several peaks. By the time we got to the tunnel, it was pouring rain, and had been for some time. All around us, water poured off the mountains in thin, tattered ribbons of silver. There must have been a hundred waterfalls, maybe more. Traffic through the tunnel is carefully controlled of course, it being one way and basically unlit within. When our turn came, we drove through, feeling for a short while that we had left behind the world of light and sound. Emerging on the other side, we again found ourselves surrounded by cascades -- even more of them this time -- winding their crooked paths down the mountainsides. It was one of the most remarkable sights any of us had ever seen; truly breathtaking.

(Below: One of the many waterfalls cascading into Milford Sound. To get a sense of the scale of the place: see the little white dot just to the left of where the falls enter the sound? That's another cruise ship -- it's probably big enough to accommodate 50 to 70 people.)

We reached the sound a short time later and were soon on board a small boat, setting out for our cruise. Just as the cruise began, the rain stopped and the sun began to fight it's way through the clouds. A heavy mist hung low over the glaciers and mountains that rose steeply from either side of the sound, and thin tendrils of vapor clung to the mountains and trees. Water flowed off the peaks into the sound, distant peaks appeared, vanished, and materialized again as we sailed past, like ghosts in some Spielberg movie. The waters of the sound remained calm until we cruised out into the open waters of the Tasman. Even then, though the boat rose and fell with the swells, it never got so rough that it wasn't fun. At one point, the captain steered the ship directly under a towering waterfall so that those of us on the front deck could look almost straight up into the flow. We got soaked, of course, but we didn't care. It was very cool. We also saw penguins during the cruise -- Fjordland Crested Penguins to be precise; the first penguins of any sort any of us had ever seen in the wild. We saw fur seals as well.

Mostly, though, we were struck by the incredible beauty of the sound. We had seen pictures of Milford Sound on a clear day in the winter, when the peaks surrounding the water are covered with snow. It looks awesome. But all things considered, we wouldn't have traded a sunny day for this one. It never actually got sunny while we were on the boat, but the rain held off for must of the cruise before starting again in earnest just after we disembarked. And the clouds and mists that lingered throughout the cruise enhanced the beauty of the place. They shifted constantly, so that every minute or two the views changed, revealing one aspect of the landscape while shrouding another. None of us will ever forget it.

(Below: Pohutu Geyser in Rotorua's Te Whakarewarewa Thermal Reserve)

The highlights of the North Island were the geothermal regions in the Rotorua and Lake Taupo areas. For those of you who have been to Yellowstone Basin, they were similar to that, though much more extensive. Our daughters complained about that rotten egg, sulphur smell that hangs over all thermal regions, but they got used to it, and they were amazed by the geysers, mud pools, fumaroles, and steam vents that covered the landscape. The volcanoes that have shaped this region are part of the Pacific "Ring of Fire" that also includes the volcanic peaks of our Pacific Northwest. As elsewhere, in New Zealand the geothermal activity is linked plate tectonics, specifically to the subduction of the Pacific plate beneath the Indo-Australian plate. Whatever the cause, the results are a wonder to behold. It's not just the drama of steaming geysers, boiling mud pools, and churning hot springs. In many places the deposits of minerals from all this activity have created vividly colored stone terraces that steam constantly like sidewalks after a summer rain. I often forget that our planet is more than a rock floating in space and providing a home for the plants and animals that we think of as constituting "life on earth." This rock is itself alive, constantly changing, sometimes gradually, sometimes abruptly, even violently. In Taupo and Rotorua there are reminders of this everywhere.