An Anangu Elder on What Tourists Don't Understand About Uluru
Barbara is a Pitjantjatjara woman who has lived in the Mutitjulu community near Uluru for over 50 years. She works as a cultural guide at the Uluru-Kata Tjuta Cultural Centre, paints traditional dot art for Maruku Arts, and has raised four children in the shadow of the rock she calls Uluru — a name that predates European contact by tens of thousands of years.
I sat with her at the Cultural Centre on a winter morning. Outside, tour buses were pulling into the car park. Inside, it was quiet.
What's the first thing you wish tourists knew before they arrive?
"That Uluru is not a tourist attraction. It's our church, our school, our history book. Imagine if 300,000 people a year came to photograph your church and then left without learning anything about your faith. That's what most visits feel like to us.
I don't mind visitors. We welcome them. But the ones who come, take a sunset photo, and leave the next morning — they've seen nothing. They've seen a rock. Uluru is not a rock."
Can you explain Tjukurpa in a way visitors can understand?
"Tjukurpa is sometimes translated as 'Dreamtime' but that translation is wrong. It's not dreaming. It's not the past. Tjukurpa is the law — the creation stories that explain how the world was made, how to live correctly, and how everything connects.
The marks on Uluru — every groove, every cave, every stain — they're chapters. The vertical lines on the south face were made by Liru, the poisonous snake people, during a great battle. The round caves on the northwest are where Mala people sheltered. I can't tell you all the stories — some are restricted to initiated people only. But the ones I can share, I share every day on guided walks.
Think of it this way: you have your Bible, your Quran, your Torah. We have the land. The stories are written on the land itself."
How do you feel about the climbing ban?
"Relief. Pure relief. It should have been banned 50 years ago. We asked politely for decades. The signs at the base said 'We prefer you don't climb.' And people read that and climbed anyway because it was polite, not firm.
Climbing Uluru is like walking across the altar of your church. You wouldn't do that. You wouldn't do it even if there were no sign saying don't. But because Uluru looks like a rock — just a rock — people thought the rules didn't apply.
Thirty-seven people died climbing Uluru. Thirty-seven. We felt every one of those deaths. Anangu believe we are responsible for visitors on our country. Every death was a failure of our protection.
So yes. Relief."
What's the best experience for visitors who want to understand, not just see?
"Walk the base with an Anangu guide. Not the self-guided walk — the guided one (AUD 180-250). We stop at specific spots and tell specific stories. We show you the rock art. We demonstrate bush tucker. We sing, sometimes.
Most visitors are surprised that the base walk has more impact than watching sunset. Sunset is visual. The base walk is cultural. Different organs — one hits the eyes, the other hits the heart.
Also, come to the Cultural Centre before you see the rock. Watch the films. Read the exhibits. Context makes everything different."
What do visitors get wrong most often?
"Photography of sacred sites. The signs are clear — no photos in certain areas. But people think the signs are suggestions. They're not. Some of the stories at those sites are restricted to initiated men or women only. Photographing them and putting them on the internet causes real harm to our cultural protocols.
I've had people argue with me at the base. 'But it's just a rock face, what's the big deal?' Imagine someone photographing inside your sacred ceremony and posting it on Facebook. That's the deal.
Also, people pick up rocks. Please don't take rocks from Uluru. Every year, hundreds of rocks are mailed back to the Cultural Centre by tourists who took a piece and then had 'bad luck.' We call it 'sorry rocks.' The superstition is theirs, not ours, but the point stands — don't take pieces of our sacred site home as souvenirs."
What's your favorite time at Uluru?
"Dawn after rain. It rains maybe 15 times a year in the Red Centre, and when it does, waterfalls pour off Uluru's surface — dozens of temporary waterfalls cascading down the grooves and crevices. The sound fills the desert. The pools at the base fill up. Animals come to drink.
Rain at Uluru is rare and it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I've seen it hundreds of times and it still stops me.
Also, the stars. I take my grandchildren out at night and we lie on the ground and I tell them the star stories. The emu in the sky — you find it in the dark spaces of the Milky Way. The Seven Sisters. The Morning Star. These stories are older than any written text in any language. My grandchildren will tell them to their grandchildren.
That continuity — that's Tjukurpa. That's what Uluru holds."
What would make tourism better here?
"Longer stays. Two or three nights instead of one. The people who stay longer relax. They stop rushing. They start seeing instead of photographing.
And more Anangu-led experiences. We want to share our culture. We want visitors to understand. But understanding takes time, and most tours are designed to be efficient, not meaningful.
If I could change one thing: every visitor would walk the base with an Anangu guide before they go to the sunset viewing area. See it as a sacred site first, a photograph second.
