We finally made it to the Red Center! I am posting from Alice Springs which is considered to be the geographical center of the continent. On the way to Alice Springs we stopped for a few days at Errors Rock, oppps, I mean Ayers Rock.

That is an amazing place. We watched as tour buses assembled at dawn and again at dusk to empty themselves of a Babel of international tourists carrying point and shoots. They assembled in tight little hordes at the base of the Rock to watch as the sun made it glow more or less a murky-colored, maybe even ghastly mauve especially when it is under a cloud which it often is. Clickedity, click, click - all the little cameras clicked in chorus to archive that mauve image forever.

Watching the tourists was actually the highlight of our stop at the Rock. I conducted a highly 'scientific' survey while I was there, talking to as many folks as I could about why they decided to visit Ayers Rock. It seems that most tourists come to the Rock just to climb it. One guy died in a fall from it, and his memorial plaque at the base of the Rock states that climbing the Rock was his life long ambition.

At least one person a year has died on the Rock since it has become a climbing sensation even though the Aboriginals consider Ayers Rock a sacred place that should not be climbed. There is a certain tension between the parks service and the Aboriginals about this because the park service very much wants the revenues that are generated by the perennial influx of tourists.

As Nicole wandered about the base of the Rock I climbed about 50 anxious feet up the face of the Rock to sit in a relatively secure place where I could talk to climbers and take photographs of their anguished faces and decending butts. It was a great photo opp. But even at that height I had to be mindful of a constant urge to throw up.

Young and old lined up to make 'the climb'. I watched from my safe perch as a 2 year old boy went to the top of Ayers Rock on his father's shoulders, his mother cringing in mortal fear and anger below. I figured a divorce would probably follow that ascent. I also saw many folks in their late 70's in tightly laced Nike's breathing heavily as they took one tentative step after another on their way to the top. One retired man dropped two rolls of film, a lens cap and finally his point and shoot within the first 25 feet of his climb. I worried about him.

Most climbers were not in great shape and they held tightly to an ascending chain to stabilize themselves as they climbed. This was a good precaution on their part although it would have been sounder not to have made the climb at all, but go tell them that. Some young punks, of course, climbed up and back without holding onto anything at all, skipping most of the way and waving madly at the crowd below. This was probably to prove how virile they were.

lmost to the person, everyone I talked with said the descent was 'shocking'. The difficulty of the descent was something that they hadn't anticipated (duh.) Most were sweating profusely as they made their way towards me, with legs that had turned to spaghetti. Many were visibly shaking, some were even crying. Several were so frozen with fear at the thought of finishing the last 50 feet of the descent that I set out my DOCTOR IS IN sign and gently talked them away from the brink of despair.

Of course, they all raved about their climb the minute their shoes touched solid ground. That's the magic of The Rock - the feeling of elation that washes over you as you realize that you didn't die on the Rock.

As for myself, well, I am glad to be heading north. I don't want to see another rock, any rock, close up for a very long time. Australians seem to love rocks for some reason. Ah, but I am dead tired as I write these words. I have probably never looked quite so ragged, walking about in my Aussie hat and dirty boots and in blue jeans that by now can stand up in a corner all by themselves.