The Red Centre

Just because I've been on a long hiatus doesn't mean that we haven't been up to loads of exciting stuff. It's just that adulting really gets in the way.

Excuses made, one of our favorite recent-ish adventures was a three-day jaunt to the desert to get a good look at that giant rock that everybody goes on about.

I can see how visiting Uluru (formerly Ayers Rock) is one of those destinations that give people pause. It's expensive, it's a big rock, it's in the middle of nowhere. I was once such a sceptic, but if you asked me now, 'Is it really worth it?' I would give you a resounding, 'yes'.

We took gamble and visited in December, the hottest and wettest time of the year. The average daily temperature in summer is 38C/100F and 47C/116F is not unusual. There is almost literally no shade and most hiking trails close at 10am this time of year. The well-posted warnings about heatstroke/water/sunscreen are truly dire. The Australian outback is an inhospitable place, even if you're barely venturing 30 miles from the hotel pool.

However, braving the heat has its rewards, not only is it less crowded (Uluru receives about 250,000 visitors annually) but during this time the waterfalls streaming down the sides of Uluru are in full-flow and the sunsets are beyond spectacular.

The fun begins upon arrival at the tin shed that passes for an airport, where you are greeted with this:

Unfortunately, we did not encounter any dingoes

It's a short ride from the airport to the resort and from a distance the resort resembles a semi-permanent refugee camp in the middle of nowhere. This is not the kind of attraction where you pull up, toss your keys to the valet and find yourself just a few steps from the rock.

Uluru is a very sacred place for the Anangu, the local aboriginal people, and to have any man-made structures interfering with the landscape would be a tremendous affront. As a result, the resort is a nearly 20 minute drive from the National Park so there is no disruption to the landscape. Whoever came up with/instituted this policy is a national treasure.

Uluru has been a National Park since the late 1950s but control of the land was given back to the aboriginal community in 1985. Since then the Anangu have leased the lands back to the National Park Service and it is currently jointly managed between these two groups.

Back to our adventure.  So Uluru is big. Really, really big. The circumference is nearly 6 miles around and the only way to really take it in is to walk or cycle the base (we cycled, 10/10 would do again). From a distance you'd never see the waterfalls and 5000 year-old ancient rock art (no photographs please). Pardon the analogy, but Uluru is a bit like looking at an impressionist painting. From a distance, it appears quite uniform and coherent, up-close, it's a total mess.

If that isn't enough to convince you it's worth the trip, perhaps a trek down the road to the lesser-known, less crowded, but (controversially) in my opinion, even better Kata Tjuta (formerly The Olgas) will do the trick.

More big, old (like 550 million year-old), red rocks, yes - but due to weather patterns Kata Tjuta has endured more wind erosion, hence the greater variation in size and shape. Also, if you're itching to get your hiking boots on, this is the place to do it.

While you can technically climb Uluru, it is not only dangerous but extremely disrespectful to the aboriginal owners and these days very few people attempt to do it. Kata Tjuta, on the other hand, has a fully-sanctioned 7.4km circuit hike that takes you into the heart of the landscape and is handily one of the best hikes I've ever done.

While the rocks in and of themselves are staggeringly impressive, it's the overall landscape that completes the experience. As anyone who has spent anytime in the American Southwest will know, there is something almost intoxicating about the sheer space of it all. In a space like this it is dangerously tempting to load up a 4WD and carry on until you run out of road.

Just don't forget your fly net, the flies really are far worse than you can imagine.