Return to Alice Springs

An hour before dawn, the French rose from their swags and started chattering away in full, daytime voices: apparently a group unclear on the concept of Other People. They were mostly kids, with a couple adults, a man and a woman. I couldn't understand much of what he said, but the man seemed to be performing a pre-sunrise stand-up routine, judging by the periodic bursts of youth laughter that erupted each time he paused.

Chris and Krystal were in their tent nearby, closer to the French. Chris unzipped their tent door and stuck his head out. I heard him ask, in a friendly voice, "so where are you folks from?" The answer came back, "France," and Chris replied, "Right, so I'll be sure I never go to fucking France, and in the meantime do you think you could keep it down, some people are still trying to sleep." They whispered for a few minutes, but then forgot or couldn't help themselves or didn't care and lapsed again into loud conservation and laughter.

Not that I was too bothered. After fourteen nights sleeping out I had become rather more easy going than usual.

In two weeks we walked about 250 kilometers, across rolling red plains grown up with witchetty bush and mulga, and along dry river washes dotted with big white gum trees; we passed through numerous red rock gorges, deep and rugged, boulder hopping past small green waterholes and ancient cycads; we made steep climbs up to and down from the windy mountain heights, walking always westwards on open rocky ridges with far views in all directions. We spotted the occasional hill kangaroo, watched rock wallabies at twilight at waterholes in the gorges, listened to dingoes howling in the night and ravens in the mornings croaking in resigned complaint. We met other hikers, like Chris and Krystal, and stopped to talk about the trail and weather and food and campsites and where we were from. We lived out of our backpacks, ate muesli with hot water in the mornings, various dehydrated dinners at night, which seemed to taste better and better as we went along. We slept out some nights, but most nights in the tent, always with the fly off. The nights were cold, but not too bad, though there was ice in the water bottles that one morning. The moon was full to start, a bare crescent by the end, and every night I saw shooting stars....

After the early morning French wake-up call, I rose and went inside the nearby main building. I sat on a couch to write in my notebook, and soon Chris and Krystal appeared, as did the French, who sat down at a large table for tea. Chris was annoyed to see them--if they weren't leaving early, why the early and noisy start?

We had arranged a ride into town the day before, with a couple who works for West MacDonnell National Park (which we had mostly been in since leaving Alice). We'd met David and Carey at Redbank, and Rachael had discovered they were going into town today and would be happy to give us a ride.

At nine they rolled up in their '75 sky blue Combi--a VW camper van--with small trailer behind. We thought they were coming later, so I had to break down the tent in a hurry and quickly pack my pack. Soon Rachael and I were in the backseat, Chris and Krystal too, heading east towards Alice Springs at a strangely rapid pace.

Carey turned in her seat and chatted with us, clearly happy for the company. She was an attractive woman with short gray hair and blue eyes, probably in her mid fifties; David had the barrel chest of a man of the same age, and a thick moustache and bushy head of iron gray hair. He also had the calm and confident demeanor of a man who can fix things; later I learned that he was modifying another old VW van, a pick-up style sort, to manage rough dirt roads; also, he'd owned a motorcycle shop on the east coast in the 1970s and 1980s. As we drove, Carey told us much about the Combi (the term for VW camper vans in Australia), which was immaculate and all original and obviously much beloved. They had bought it six years earlier, from the original owner (who had put just 70,000 kilometers on it), put a new engine in, replaced a few faded pieces, like the curtains and seat covers, and set out on the road. They'd been all over Australia, including across to and around Tasmania.

They had recently settled in Central Australia to work for a few months as Park Managers. They oversaw three campgrounds (and lived in housing at one), visiting each one each day to clean up and to maybe chat with the campers. On the way to town, we gave them some assistance at one, Ellery Creek (where Rachael and I had camped--and picked up one of our food drops--around day six of the walk). Chris took a shovel and trash can and cleaned ash out of the fire pits. David cleaned the gas barbeques (a regular feature at Australian campgrounds, as grilling is a national obsession). Rachael and Krystal did the woman's bathroom, while I helped Carey with the men's. She was quite fastidious, but my work passed inspection. I hadn't really considered the possibility of cleaning public toilets as part of my Australian experience, but I was happy to do it. When the toilets were done, we got down together on our hands and knees and scrubbed the dollops of bird shit off of the stone floor, chatting as we worked.

We got dropped off in town, after the 130 kilometer drive, and walked the last kilometer or so out to Rachael's house. I immediately unloaded my pack and we started a load of laundry. My few items of clothing were impressively filthy after two weeks of desert walking. I'd been able to rinse out shirts and underwear and socks a couple times along the way, but it hadn't done much other than make me feel a bit better for the attempt. We took turns taking showers, and a hard-earned shower is a large pleasure.

Later we walked into town for groceries. For dinner we were joined by one of Rachael's colleagues, Gai, who'd been staying at the house while we were gone. Rachael made a salad (fresh vegetables!) and baked potatoes, and she grilled kangaroo steaks for Gai and I. Interesting, but maybe a little bland. The package label said that kangaroo meat is very healthy--98% fat free--and as kangaroos don't produce methane, they are much easier on the environment than cattle and sheep.

Rachael works at the Alukura Women's Center, which is part of a larger organization, the Central Australian Aboriginal Congress, which is aboriginal-led but employs many white people. Her job title is Maternal and Child Health Coordinator. Gai is a research consultant who Rachael hired to conduct a study of aboriginal women's attitudes and ideas about health services. The health situation for aboriginal people here is quite dire, and Rachael's trying to find ways of improving services. The people live in "town camps" in horrific third world conditions; alcoholism and domestic abuse and violence are rampant, as are acute illnesses such as diabetes.

(Today's newspaper headline is about a death in a camp near Rachael's house: a man's body was found last week by children going to school. He had been half consumed by dogs, but authorities are not yet sure whether the dogs killed him or ate him after he was dead. There's a two-dog per household limit in the community, but it's not enforced. Plus, there's not much difference between owned dogs and feral dogs, which are attracted to the camps by the trash and food scattered about. Though they have houses, many of the aboriginal people live--and cook and eat--almost entirely outside.)

Gai is asking the women two sets of questions. The first is about their ideas concerning mothering, fathering, and the role of extended family in child rearing; the second addresses their feelings about the intensive nurse home visit program, which all interviewees have been participating in. Once she's gathered her findings, Gai will write a report for Alukura.

Until recently Gai was a professor of Health Sciences at Latrobe University in Melbourne. At the university, she worked in the Australian Institute of Primary Care, which is an important center for national health evaluation and policy development. She was being groomed to be the next director when she decided she didn't really want to continue in that direction, and would rather do field work. She's a slight woman, about fifty, and was dressed in professional attire, black pants, grey blouse. She pushed her hair back on each side repeatedly as she spoke, telling me about her work, about the health situation in the Northern Territory. I found her a remarkably intelligent and articulate person. When we spoke about my work, she asked very good questions.

Her husband is the head of the literature department at Melbourne University, one of the top two schools in Australia. He's currently on leave and writing a book about 18th and 19th century versions of virtual reality. His sister is partnered with Joan Nestle (a noted pioneer of Lesbian scholarship), whom he secured a position at his university.

She and Rachael spent much of the post-prandial conversation discussing conditions at their shared workplace, which at the moment are rather difficult and dramatic.... I listened with interest, until dead-tired where I sat, I had to excuse myself for bed.