RICH, ENDURING CULTURE
A huge interest in the ancient knowledge held by Aboriginals in Australia is driving a tourism experience,
PORT DOUGLAS, AUSTRALIA— We traipse single-file through the world’s oldest living rainforest — eyes peeled for birds, lizards and the treacherous stinging gympie gympie plant — until our guide, Tom Creek, suddenly stops.
“Yuda binga binga ngayu jenan oondool yali jilbanga,” he calls out, using the native language of the Kuku Yalanji. The dense tree canopy nearly swallows Creek’s voice, but he seems satisfied his message has been received.
“I’m letting the spirit world know that we’re here and why,” he explains.
An indigenous guide at Mossman Gorge in northern Queensland, Australia, Creek shares insight into how his people survived in the rainforest for thousands of years. Continuing towards the river, he points out plants used to heal wounds and demonstrates using sassafras bark as soap.
It’s not just a hokey act for tourists. The Yalanji still practise these traditions today — and it’s these authentic experiences visitors to Australia are increasingly seeking out. In 2015, Tourism Australia launched a new campaign recognizing indigenous experiences as one of the key drivers of tourism, with14 per cent of international visitors taking part in an Aboriginal cultural experience.
What I discover on the Cassowary Coast, though, is the most powerful experiences are owned and run by the Aboriginal people themselves.
Named for the vibrant emu-like birds that inhabit the region, everything here seems Dr. Seuss-ified. The road stretches out between lush green peaks shrouded in clouds, while gum trees and glimpses of Australia’s iconic red soil punctuate the passing banana plantations.
After driving two hours south of Cairns, we arrive in Tully, the home of Café Chloe, a social entrepreneurship supported by G Adventures’ Planeterra Foundation.
In addition to offering an introduction to the Janbanbarra Jirrbal Rainforest people’s culture, through activities such as boomerang-painting workshops, the café provides Aboriginal students such as Demi Gutchen with vocational training.
Gutchen, 17, shyly says she used to work on a banana farm that “smelled like rats.” Now, she’s working towards a future in hospitality and tourism.
“It’s all about sustaining culture,” explains Café Chloe’s owner, Sonya Jeffrey.
So far, the centre has trained 10 students and welcomed more than 1,500 travellers. Goodwill alone doesn’t bring in tourists, though, so after a lunch of “damper” (bush bread) and barramundi cooked traditionally in ginger leaves, I ask Jeffrey why she thinks tourists are suddenly so keen to tap into Aboriginal culture.
“There’s a huge interest in the ancient knowledge that’s been passed down from generation to generation,” she says.
For the last five years, her company Ingan Tours has been taking visitors on indigenous-guided treks and whitewater rafting tours through the rainforest, where they learn about the Jirrbals’ connection to the land.
“The rainforest was our hardware store, our supermarket, our chemist; it fascinates people that you could get everything you needed to survive from this beautiful landscape,” says Jeffrey. “It really opens people’s minds.”
Although there had once been more than 500 different Aboriginal “nations” — with languages, cultures and customs as diverse as the country’s vast landscape — this strong connection to the environment is a common thread.
It’s evident as we weave through the cultural centre at Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park, some 2,700 kilometres away, and learn how the local Anangu people live by the customs of Tjukurpa, or the principle that the people and landscape are one.
Also known as Ayers Rock, Uluru became a hot spot in the early ’50s, when tourists started flocking to the red centre to see the famous monolith. It wasn’t until 1985 that the land was given back to the traditional landowners.
Since then, the Anangu and Parks Australia have jointly managed the area and Tjukurpa is once again a ruling principle. Photography at sites of cultural significance is strictly offlimits. Even climbing Uluru — once a brag-worthy statement slapped on souvenir T-shirts — is discouraged, as it’s considered a path of spiritual significance.
After reading about the medicinal properties of irmangka (native fuschia), I wander down a path that leads, predictably, to a gift shop. It contains no made-in-China wares — Anangu women produce everything at the Walkatjara Art gallery. Sitting on the floor, they’re focused on creating dot paintings characteristic of the region. Home to 60 artists, the notfor-profit is Aboriginal-owned.
However, understanding Australia’s Aboriginal people — and their connection to the land — is far more complex than something that can be bought in a gift shop.
After exploring the base of Uluru, my group heads out to the sunset viewing — a scene best likened to an outback tailgate party, complete with barbecued food, “Eskies” (coolers) filled with beer, and Champagne corks flying.
Yet, as the light changes, so does the atmosphere. Uluru’s hazy orange hue slowly transforms into a deep scarlet, and a quiet reverence settles over the crowd.
This moment, our tour guide Keilie Stokes believes, is something that can’t be packaged or sold.
“I think the Anangu got it right,” she says. “There’s something very sacred about this place.” Jessica Wynne Lockhart was hosted by G Adventures, which didn’t review or approve this story.