My journey to the centre of Australia with Ayurvedic Practitioner Helen Gregoriou was an empowering, transformative experience.
It was a dream of mine to see the rock. How wonderful, then, to step into warm sunlight at Alice Springs airport in the middle of a cold winter. Tour director Helen Gregoriou was welcoming in a drizabone and dusty boots. I’d met her once and found her elegant and poised. Now her long hair was in plaits and her childlike smile disarming. Our driver and guide Ringer, Aussie lad with an akubra and a twinkle in his eye, hefted our bags into the small bus. As we hit the road into the scrub, a sense of freedom dawned on the eight of us guests (by chance all women) and we fell into the gentle rhythm of the outback.
Helen handed us folders with exercises and charts and began to talk us through this Ayurvedic journey of self discovery that we’d be taking in combination with our journey to the centre of Australia. The energy of the group focused in the bus and a sense of trust and warmth enveloped us. Helen played beautiful music and we sang ancient happy Indian songs, our “city selves” melting away and our inner children popping out to play. The adventure had begun.
The open desert was surprisingly fertile, covered in soft grasses. ‘Roos hopped by and bizarre red rock formations, worn with time yet intensely present, skirted the horizon. At the incandescent ochre pits of Ormiston Gorge we drew green, red and white dots on each other’s faces. Ringer, who’d spent years worked closely with the traditional land owners, began to tell us about the complex ancient communities and how deeply they valued the ochre, which they used for art and to trade.
We hit the first campsite at the coincidentally named Glen Helen, with huge green
canvas tents nestled below the peachy cliffs. Sitting as a group at the table in the big dining tent to peel and chop, preparing an Ayurvedic soup packed with grains and vegetables. We ate our dinner it by Ringer’s roaring camp fire, with Chai tea to finish. Helen began to take individual sessions, reading our Ayurvedic Dosha’s and analysing how we could adjust our lifestyles for more energy and balance. Ringer rolled out the big blue canvas swags for the hot blooded members of the group (mostly Pittas and Kaphas) and they stuffed them with sleeping bags and pillows. I slept in my huge tent. We woke in the chill to the smell of campfire smoke, and breakfast of Quinoa porridge, fruit and toast.
In the morning, the sky was a bright, clear blue. We set off for the exquisite Ormiston Gorge, reading tarot cards and listening to Ringer talk about the region as the bus bumped along. When we reached the gorge – the water still and milky brown and rimmed by pale green scrub – we all fell into a peaceful reverie. I noticed that while the Pitta girls jumped straight into the water; the Vata girls stretched and climbed the red rocks, and the Kaphas walked and waded, gazing at the play of light on the water through the bending gum trees.
Later, we sat in the sun and ate lunch on the sandy creek bed below Mount Sonder. This was a mountain so impossibly old, I felt it’s presence from a kilometer away in the bus. Even now, worn almost level to the ground… the spirit of the mountain remains monumental. Camped beside it, Helen invited us to pair up and we began bonding over an exercise called “Why not?”. The idea was to make a statement about ourselves, a negative self belief such as “I can’t lose weight” and for our partner to keep asking us “why not?”, until we had unraveled our core obstacles. It was quite emotional and confronting, but we felt a lot closer to each other and ready to face our demons.
That night Helen continued her consultations over dinner, and – after a warmup singalong around the campfire – Ringer gave an impromptu concert at the Glen Helen station pub. He sang classic Aussie tunes and held the whole pub in raptures.
Our second stay was on the stunning remote property of Lilla. The landowner hosts have granted Initiate Tours exclusive camping rights. We arrived at Reedy Creek as the sun set, golden grasses catching the lilac evening light. After dinner, our terrible didgeridoo attempts brought peals of laughter from the house of our hosts. Vivian (5) came to see for herself, curling up on Helen’s lap. We all slept around the campfire in a circle of swags under the blaze of stars that night.
In the morning Vivian, her grandmother Sonya, and her uncle Clinton – who had recently returned to his bush home after living and working in the hospital of Alice Springs – took us on a tour of the property. Sonya led us to a sacred women’s cave where generations of her tribe had given birth and carried out sacred rituals. Further on, Clinton showed us bush medicine plants and a learning cave covered in ochre rock paintings. The red swirls were the three sacred water holes – symbol for the Lilla area – and the hand prints were family portraits. Vivian crawled over the rocks and placed her hand against a tiny red print made by her great grandfather when he himself was five. Next, we were taken to sit in silent contemplation by a exquisitely beautiful water hole.The shaded water was pure and tranquil and bottomless, a perfect mirror to the cliffs and could scudded sky. Sonya closed her eyes to commune with the spirits. I could almost hear them whispering in the blue gums overhead.
That afternoon Vivian, Cliton and Sonya took us out into the plains to find bush tucker. Along the way to the site, we stopped to buy a ‘roo tail to cook on the campfire. My kangaroo rights instinct flared up, but I knew it wasn’t the indigenous over-culling adult roos along the east coast. The Kangaroo was totem to many tribes of this region – sacred and revered. As we trecked out into the open desert, Clinton and Ringer dug for honey ants, trying five or six spots before unearthing a nest, like fishing. The sun beat down on our backs. It had traced a simple, unobstructed arc across the sky and was now directly overhead. At that moment, watching the intent labour of Sonia, Clinton, Vivian and Ringa, my “cultural travel experience” became a stark reality: life in the desert was sun up, search for food, sun down, rest; and it had been this way for thousands and thousands of years.
When Clinton at last struck golden honey ants, Vivian was overjoyed. He set about digging a pit in the orange sand. It took him the better part of an hour and he was covered in sweat by the time he uncovered the small dark corridors of the nest. One by one, he delicately took out the boated insects and handed them to Vivian, who placed them in a pile for her guests.
Sonya boiled water for tea and singed the hair off the kangaroo tail, cutting it into chunks for us to eat. Once the honey ants were eaten (just the fat golden tail, not the ant itself, but this doesn’t spare them), we dug in the tree roots for witchetty grubs and cooked them in the coals. Being a vegetarian I sated myself with tea. That night I was grateful for Helen’s delicious damper and veggie curry.
As our Initiate tour continued the next morning, we climbed the red cliffs of the extraordinary Kings Canyon. Along the way Ringer told us about how the elder tribesmen walked the desert at night, completely overtaking young white travelers who attempted to cross it by day. When we made it to the flat top of the cliffs we lay with our faces over the edge of the canyon, hair blowing in the wind, and gazed way down at the tiny white cockies sailing between the treetops far below. We ate lunch and Helen took us through a deep guided meditation. The sense of space was awe inspiring, the sunlight dazzling. I felt a peace.
The next day we walked up into the high red domes of Kata Tjuta, the Valley of the Winds — sacred to elder Anangu men. I had been excited about this. I’d read about the concept that Kata Tjuta and Uluru form the sacral chakra of the Earth – a centre on the planet’s energy meridians. They are also powerful dreamtime sites on the songlines. It felt strange, walking into Kata Tjuta, as though something was resisting our presence. The atmosphere was dense and haunting as we climbed up into the windy valleys. On a stony plateau Ringer spread out a map of Australia, covered in the small countries of the Indigenous tribes. He told us that in tribal wisdom, knowledge was reserved for different levels of maturity. Some knowledge was so complex and powerful it could only be passed on to the very wise. As we left, I sent a silent prayer of thanks to the spirits of the region and breathed a sigh of relief.
When at last we spotted Uluru from the windows of the bus, silhouetted on the horizon, she took our breath away. “She is the rainbow serpent” said Ringer, “can you see her coils?” I stared, slack-jawed, at the purple shadows cast over her red expanse. She was so pretty. I was surprised. I had expected magnificence but I had not expected her to be so soft and smooth. We parked at the lovely Uluru campsite and marched up to the viewing platform as the sun set over the rock. Detox over – it was time to crack open the champagne. At camp that night we were all excited. Our tarot cards proffered unexpected yet fortuitous destinies for all as we shared our deepest wishes by the fire. Sleep did not come easily…
Just before dawn we piled out of the steamy-windowed bus into the cold darkness, and found ourselves parked with dozens of tour buses just half a kilometer from the rock. We huddled together with hot tea and coffee along with the hundreds of international travelers, watching the golden sun came up over her magnificent arches. Helen led us on a walk among the swaying yellow grasses at her base. We trod the winding path with the wonder of children walking into a fairytale… Green bushes nestled among the boulders. Her shoulders were set proud and free and rusty red against the ultra blue sky. She was carved with smooth round caves inhabited by silver trees and soaring birds.
We stopped at a magical golden billabong at the base of Uluru and in the still water I could see the sun-drenched red rock reaching to the clear blue sky. The energy was pure joy and we all felt it, flopping over each other on the bench for photos. I was so light and happy. A lifelong dream had come true. The tour ended with Helen’s final workshop at a table in the centre of the Australian outback, Uluru beside us. We visualised our goals and made new dreams for oursleves. We set intentions and were flooded with new purpose.
I returned to my life energised and centred and with some lovely new friends. Through the money raised for the local communities by Initiate Tours, I also felt empowered to help and make change.
This story first appeared on moonology.com.
It was a dream of mine to see the rock. How wonderful, then, to step into warm sunlight at Alice Springs airport in the middle of a cold winter. Tour director Helen Gregoriou was welcoming in a drizabone and dusty boots. I’d met her once and found her elegant and poised. Now her long hair was in plaits and her childlike smile disarming. Our driver and guide Ringer, Aussie lad with an akubra and a twinkle in his eye, hefted our bags into the small bus. As we hit the road into the scrub, a sense of freedom dawned on the eight of us guests (by chance all women) and we fell into the gentle rhythm of the outback.Helen handed us folders with exercises and charts and began to talk us through this Ayurvedic journey of self discovery that we’d be taking in combination with our journey to the centre of Australia. The energy of the group focused in the bus and a sense of trust and warmth enveloped us. Helen played beautiful music and we sang ancient happy Indian songs, our “city selves” melting away and our inner children popping out to play. The adventure had begun.
The open desert was surprisingly fertile, covered in soft grasses. ‘Roos hopped by and bizarre red rock formations, worn with time yet intensely present, skirted the horizon. At the incandescent ochre pits of Ormiston Gorge we drew green, red and white dots on each other’s faces. Ringer, who’d spent years worked closely with the traditional land owners, began to tell us about the complex ancient communities and how deeply they valued the ochre, which they used for art and to trade.
We hit the first campsite at the coincidentally named Glen Helen, with huge green
canvas tents nestled below the peachy cliffs. Sitting as a group at the table in the big dining tent to peel and chop, preparing an Ayurvedic soup packed with grains and vegetables. We ate our dinner it by Ringer’s roaring camp fire, with Chai tea to finish. Helen began to take individual sessions, reading our Ayurvedic Dosha’s and analysing how we could adjust our lifestyles for more energy and balance. Ringer rolled out the big blue canvas swags for the hot blooded members of the group (mostly Pittas and Kaphas) and they stuffed them with sleeping bags and pillows. I slept in my huge tent. We woke in the chill to the smell of campfire smoke, and breakfast of Quinoa porridge, fruit and toast.In the morning, the sky was a bright, clear blue. We set off for the exquisite Ormiston Gorge, reading tarot cards and listening to Ringer talk about the region as the bus bumped along. When we reached the gorge – the water still and milky brown and rimmed by pale green scrub – we all fell into a peaceful reverie. I noticed that while the Pitta girls jumped straight into the water; the Vata girls stretched and climbed the red rocks, and the Kaphas walked and waded, gazing at the play of light on the water through the bending gum trees.
Later, we sat in the sun and ate lunch on the sandy creek bed below Mount Sonder. This was a mountain so impossibly old, I felt it’s presence from a kilometer away in the bus. Even now, worn almost level to the ground… the spirit of the mountain remains monumental. Camped beside it, Helen invited us to pair up and we began bonding over an exercise called “Why not?”. The idea was to make a statement about ourselves, a negative self belief such as “I can’t lose weight” and for our partner to keep asking us “why not?”, until we had unraveled our core obstacles. It was quite emotional and confronting, but we felt a lot closer to each other and ready to face our demons.
That night Helen continued her consultations over dinner, and – after a warmup singalong around the campfire – Ringer gave an impromptu concert at the Glen Helen station pub. He sang classic Aussie tunes and held the whole pub in raptures.
Our second stay was on the stunning remote property of Lilla. The landowner hosts have granted Initiate Tours exclusive camping rights. We arrived at Reedy Creek as the sun set, golden grasses catching the lilac evening light. After dinner, our terrible didgeridoo attempts brought peals of laughter from the house of our hosts. Vivian (5) came to see for herself, curling up on Helen’s lap. We all slept around the campfire in a circle of swags under the blaze of stars that night.
In the morning Vivian, her grandmother Sonya, and her uncle Clinton – who had recently returned to his bush home after living and working in the hospital of Alice Springs – took us on a tour of the property. Sonya led us to a sacred women’s cave where generations of her tribe had given birth and carried out sacred rituals. Further on, Clinton showed us bush medicine plants and a learning cave covered in ochre rock paintings. The red swirls were the three sacred water holes – symbol for the Lilla area – and the hand prints were family portraits. Vivian crawled over the rocks and placed her hand against a tiny red print made by her great grandfather when he himself was five. Next, we were taken to sit in silent contemplation by a exquisitely beautiful water hole.The shaded water was pure and tranquil and bottomless, a perfect mirror to the cliffs and could scudded sky. Sonya closed her eyes to commune with the spirits. I could almost hear them whispering in the blue gums overhead.
That afternoon Vivian, Cliton and Sonya took us out into the plains to find bush tucker. Along the way to the site, we stopped to buy a ‘roo tail to cook on the campfire. My kangaroo rights instinct flared up, but I knew it wasn’t the indigenous over-culling adult roos along the east coast. The Kangaroo was totem to many tribes of this region – sacred and revered. As we trecked out into the open desert, Clinton and Ringer dug for honey ants, trying five or six spots before unearthing a nest, like fishing. The sun beat down on our backs. It had traced a simple, unobstructed arc across the sky and was now directly overhead. At that moment, watching the intent labour of Sonia, Clinton, Vivian and Ringa, my “cultural travel experience” became a stark reality: life in the desert was sun up, search for food, sun down, rest; and it had been this way for thousands and thousands of years.When Clinton at last struck golden honey ants, Vivian was overjoyed. He set about digging a pit in the orange sand. It took him the better part of an hour and he was covered in sweat by the time he uncovered the small dark corridors of the nest. One by one, he delicately took out the boated insects and handed them to Vivian, who placed them in a pile for her guests.
Sonya boiled water for tea and singed the hair off the kangaroo tail, cutting it into chunks for us to eat. Once the honey ants were eaten (just the fat golden tail, not the ant itself, but this doesn’t spare them), we dug in the tree roots for witchetty grubs and cooked them in the coals. Being a vegetarian I sated myself with tea. That night I was grateful for Helen’s delicious damper and veggie curry.
As our Initiate tour continued the next morning, we climbed the red cliffs of the extraordinary Kings Canyon. Along the way Ringer told us about how the elder tribesmen walked the desert at night, completely overtaking young white travelers who attempted to cross it by day. When we made it to the flat top of the cliffs we lay with our faces over the edge of the canyon, hair blowing in the wind, and gazed way down at the tiny white cockies sailing between the treetops far below. We ate lunch and Helen took us through a deep guided meditation. The sense of space was awe inspiring, the sunlight dazzling. I felt a peace.
The next day we walked up into the high red domes of Kata Tjuta, the Valley of the Winds — sacred to elder Anangu men. I had been excited about this. I’d read about the concept that Kata Tjuta and Uluru form the sacral chakra of the Earth – a centre on the planet’s energy meridians. They are also powerful dreamtime sites on the songlines. It felt strange, walking into Kata Tjuta, as though something was resisting our presence. The atmosphere was dense and haunting as we climbed up into the windy valleys. On a stony plateau Ringer spread out a map of Australia, covered in the small countries of the Indigenous tribes. He told us that in tribal wisdom, knowledge was reserved for different levels of maturity. Some knowledge was so complex and powerful it could only be passed on to the very wise. As we left, I sent a silent prayer of thanks to the spirits of the region and breathed a sigh of relief.
When at last we spotted Uluru from the windows of the bus, silhouetted on the horizon, she took our breath away. “She is the rainbow serpent” said Ringer, “can you see her coils?” I stared, slack-jawed, at the purple shadows cast over her red expanse. She was so pretty. I was surprised. I had expected magnificence but I had not expected her to be so soft and smooth. We parked at the lovely Uluru campsite and marched up to the viewing platform as the sun set over the rock. Detox over – it was time to crack open the champagne. At camp that night we were all excited. Our tarot cards proffered unexpected yet fortuitous destinies for all as we shared our deepest wishes by the fire. Sleep did not come easily…
Just before dawn we piled out of the steamy-windowed bus into the cold darkness, and found ourselves parked with dozens of tour buses just half a kilometer from the rock. We huddled together with hot tea and coffee along with the hundreds of international travelers, watching the golden sun came up over her magnificent arches. Helen led us on a walk among the swaying yellow grasses at her base. We trod the winding path with the wonder of children walking into a fairytale… Green bushes nestled among the boulders. Her shoulders were set proud and free and rusty red against the ultra blue sky. She was carved with smooth round caves inhabited by silver trees and soaring birds.
We stopped at a magical golden billabong at the base of Uluru and in the still water I could see the sun-drenched red rock reaching to the clear blue sky. The energy was pure joy and we all felt it, flopping over each other on the bench for photos. I was so light and happy. A lifelong dream had come true. The tour ended with Helen’s final workshop at a table in the centre of the Australian outback, Uluru beside us. We visualised our goals and made new dreams for oursleves. We set intentions and were flooded with new purpose.
I returned to my life energised and centred and with some lovely new friends. Through the money raised for the local communities by Initiate Tours, I also felt empowered to help and make change.
This story first appeared on moonology.com.