Roads, buses and roadhouses

Bus to Uluru.

 

Driver tells us the history of Alice Springs. Telegraphs. Alice Todd was the wife of the main man building telegraph line.

 

I stare at the road ahead. It narrows.  It is in perfect condition. No bumps, holes or recent work. Random scattered abandoned cars and blown out tires.

 

Around me passengers chat and laugh. They all say where they are from and where they are going.

The driver describes the trees and scrub around us. And he talks about the early explorers.

 

Desert contains many floodway signs.

 

Driver: I don’t know why people want to climb it. They are unfit. Don’t do any exercise. Suddenly they want to climb a rock.

 

And its not a good way to see it. You don’t go to the Mona Lisa or David and think I’d like to sit on top of it to appreciate it properly.

 

Bus from Uluru back to Alice.

 

We loiter around reception waiting to board a bus. I talk to the guy in reception. He says: From Sydney. Originally Thailand. All the staff are from somewhere.

 

Bus arrives. Scanned in. Luggage gets tagged. Board bus. Get a seat as close to front as possible. Before grabbing a seat, I look at the sun. Need a seat on the right side of the bus in the shade. 

 

A different driver. He commentates for five minutes about the mountain on our right, Mt Conner.

He finishes and a lady says: What is that mountain over there?

 

He talks about the early explorers who named everything. After benefactors or themselves. Searching for route to WA or Darwin or an inland sea. They travelled with their mates against the conditions. It was us against the environment. Not us against them.

 

The road has no intersections. No fences. No signs of cattle. Famished looking scrub on both sides of road.

We never pass another car. Ahead us small cars become larger and larger and whiz past us on the right with a small wave.

 

Road built for us. Straight. One intersection in 200 kays.