From Melbourne with Love

How did I end up here? As I leaned on the shoulder of my Australian friend, his authentic Akubra hat shielding me from that harsh Australia sun, I stared out the window in quiet admiration. Our 22-seater bus was filled with the laughter and squeals of those playing games, fingers pointing outside, and those napping to the off-key lull of Marco, the Italian, trying out his ukulele. Here we were, 14 Canadian teachers, traveled from Melbourne to the famous red centre, with a gathering of Europeans.
We had slept the night before in our swags, a half-circle formed around a roaring fire in the most extreme definition of remote. I remembered now, the intensity of our guide’s voice, warning us of the ghosts he had witnessed here not three months ago. The fear that we felt, squirming out of our swags and wandering together, hands clutched tightly, to relieve ourselves with dignity. “What are those eyes? They’re silver!” “Let’s go!” Ben, his name was, all rough-and-tumble demeanor, giant smile, wild eyes. His sly humour and penchant for thrilling stories made us love him, trust him, and guaranteed his spot as the captain of our wacky little family. For five wondrous, short days, we were a family, blending in a gentle swarm as our campfire sing-alongs rose into the night above us.
The next day, the heat, as promised, was strong and unrelenting. We were a day's trip out of Alice Springs and headed to the Big Event, our Uluru walk. We had already laid witness to jaw-dropping beauty of Kings Canyon, the humbling vistas of Kata Jtuta, and were feeling the swell of excitement pooling in our stomachs as Uluru rose majestically in the distance.
To stand in front of the worlds’ largest monolith, its earth red walls akin to the beaches of Prince Edward Island, is to both feel home and lost in one moment. As its 10-km walk takes you around its base, into its learning caves used eons ago, its walls undulating and forming cutouts of strange creatures, you ponder. You ponder the many who foolishly (or bravely?) climbed the metal pegs to its summit, those cursed by bringing pebbles of this sacred spot home (only to return them to end misery), and those who, just like you, have made this walk of respect and awe. As we approach a new turn in the rock, I sink into a spot of shade and rub my dried hands against its cool surface. After 9 months wait, 24 years life, and 33000 km traveled, I breathe in deeply and know… This feeling, this bone-deep certainty. I am holding my dreams.