Ayers Rock

What have Ayers Rock - that magical and mystical slab in the middle of nowhere - and an iceberg got in common? Not much really, except that you can't see two-thirds of either.
Just like the Titanic's nemesis, it is believed you can see only The Rock's tip and that the remainder lies buried below the surface - in its case dusty red desert sand, not deep blue ocean.
But the one-third you do view - and we first catch sight of it as we cross by air from Cairns into Central Australia (the heart of this vast Continent) - marks it out as a truly unique phenomenon.
We have flown for two-and-a-half hours over sand and scrubland, with few settlements below and the occasional straight as an arrow dirt track road - criss-crossing seemingly once in a blue moon - that appears to run for mile upon mile to nowhere in particular.
Then, like some eerie ghost ship, The Rock - all 348metres of it - appears on the horizon. It is like a lonely, yet majestic, sentinel lording it over barren and flat terrain stretching all sides as far as the eye can see.
We have booked into the rather peculiarly named Lost Camel Hotel (receptionist suggests we place towels at foot of door to keep out unwanted intruders - ie: bugs) for three nights and are going to give The Rock our best shot - a la Grand Canyon - by seeing it when the sun rises and sets. Oh dear. The alarm bells (clock) are ringing again for John.
Having arrived late afternoon and with the threat of thunderstorms and rain, we quickly opt for one organised trip - Sounds of Silence, an evening which promises sunset views of The Rock and a buffet dinner in the desert with champers, canapes and wine under a starlit southern sky. It delivers the goods and we find ourselves paired with good company - Peter and Susan from Ballarat, near Melbourne, and their friends Malcolm and Leslie.
There is not too much silence - rather only sounds of chat and laughter as the vino flows and we get to know each other. A good night is had by all and again new friends have been made (there was a little hush and decorum, of course, when our hostess for the evening explained the workings of Australia's wonderful 'upside down' night sky).
Up at the crack of dawn the next day, we walk to a nearby lookout point to see the sun rise - and it's the same trek at dusk to watch it going down. Like the Grand Canyon, The Rock changes colour as the light shifts - from a nutty, muddy brown to a gorgeous burnt orange, then deep and rich hues of red and finally a charcoal grey.
However there is nothing quite like seeing it at close quarters - and the next day is a highlight. Having spent a relatively lazy day poolside in the shade (daytime temperatures peak at around 34C) we are picked up by coach at 4.45am and taken to a sunrise viewing area very close to AR.
It's cool now, with cloud cover, and we embark on a 10k walk around its base. It take us three hours, but is so rewarding. How different is looks - pitted surfaces, astonishing textures, caves, watering holes & shape-shifting patters. Swear you can picture faces in some sections (no we haven't had a drink, only water, honest, guv. Must be the heat).
There are few people about, so we can leisurely amble around this skulking mass - some areas are off limits because they have sacred and spiritual significance for the Aboriginal people who still own the land.
We return from our walk feeling rewarded and enriched by the experience, but shattered too. We muster one more sunset view (the best yet). We are leaving for Sydney next - and could catch one more sunrise if we decide to get up at 4am.
You're having a laugh. Ayers Rock may be one of the finest natural attractions on Planet Earth - and it is truly a stunning spectacle - but one does need one's beauty sleep.
After all - and we quote from Clint Eastwood's 'Dirty Harry' Callahan here - a man's gotta know his limitations. Man and woman here agree they have theirs, so we'll skip this one if you don't mind and leave this unusual and haunting place with a suitcase full of memories and photographs to match.