A Place for the Soul: Visiting Uluru for the First Time
It’s October 2023. I’m on a plane heading to Uluru, and the captain announces over the speaker that we’re about to land.
I don’t know exactly what to expect, but I have a rough idea. I get ready to move quickly, grab my camera bag, and jump into what I hope will be a photography journey — one that ends up giving me something I didn’t see coming.
As soon as the plane stops and the doors open, I’m hit by a wave of heat. Much stronger than I imagined. I feel overwhelmed for a second.
I pause, still feeling the weight of it — but then my eyes catch something else.
The deep orange of the soil, unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Patches of green vegetation scattered across the land. And above it all, the soft blue of the sky.
It’s bold. It’s striking. And somehow, it’s soothing.
At that point, I still hadn’t seen the reason I was really here.
But then, during the shuttle ride through the desert, it appeared — Uluru.
A massive, quiet presence on the horizon. Resting. Watching.
Breaking the endless flatness of the landscape in the most natural way.
I’ve never seen anything like it.
The closest I can think of is El Peñol, back in Antioquia, Colombia — but even that doesn’t compare. This felt different.
After some rest and a bit of mental prep (because yes, the heat was real), I grabbed my gear and stepped outside.
But something had changed. The sun was lower, the air calmer. A warm breeze followed me as I walked.
Camera in hand, I began what would be the first of many slow, steady walks that felt good — both physically and emotionally.
Later that evening, as I continued walking, I saw something that stayed with me.
That moment just before the light fades, when the day starts handing things over to the night.
Uluru stood right in the middle of it. One side glowing with the last touch of sun, the other already slipping into shadow.
The clouds moved in. The light began to fade. And Uluru just stood there — calm and steady.
I didn’t have time to unpack filters or set up the tripod.
I grabbed the 50mm and took the shot.
This is what I got.
In the days that followed, I kept walking. I kept exploring.
I listened and learned about the place and the Anangu people.
I photographed different sides of Uluru — and slowly, something inside me shifted.
Something inside me softened. I felt more present. More grounded.
Hard to explain — but I felt it.
By the end of the trip, I realised that Uluru wasn’t just a place I came to photograph.
It was a place to pause. To feel connected to something much bigger than myself.
Something ancient, steady, and alive.
It reminded me how lucky I am to be here — to walk, to see, to feel small and grateful all at once.
Here are some of the other photos I took during that visit.
I hope they bring something to you — today, tomorrow, or whenever you find this.
