Right after I checked into my hotel, I confirmed my booking for a dinner show that night called Sounds of Silence. It was mostly couples—honeymooners and older retired folk on vacation. I think I was the only one who went alone, but I befriended two dear widows taking a vacation together from Scotland, so I didn’t feel lonely.

The whole thing took place outside. Everyone had some champagne and hors d’oeuvres before dinner, many of them wearing fly nets over their heads. The waiters passed around finger foods made with emu, crocodile, kangaroo, and barramundi. Vegetarians probably wouldn’t have enjoyed it, and squeamish people probably couldn’t have—there were flies everywhere, and they lit on the snacks and drinks and people’s faces while the sun was still up.

And we watched the sun set over by the Olgas, the light touching over to Ayers Rock. The sky is so huge, the horizon so wide, the little waiting area so in the middle of nowhere that when you watch the sun set, you can’t possibly see all the nuances in every moment. God knows I tried. I took this shot of the Olgas:

And in the same minute, I took this shot of Ayers Rock:

The sky and colors are so completely different in that same minute that it’s like you’re in two or three places at one time.

After the sun set, we walked down to the dinner area where a man played a didgeridoo underneath the moon and the buffet was ready and waiting for the guests. We sat at our candle-lit tables and got to know each other. My table was full of people from Scotland, and I was the only exception. Heck, even my waiter was from Scotland. I’m not complaining; I absolutely adore the accent. The few times I’ve stumbled onto The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson, I’ve had to stop and watch a while because his accent is so beautiful.

The waiters had promised that the flies would go away after the sun set, and they were right. They went away. But … while we traded in our empty champagne glasses for glasses of wine, and we traded in the hors d’oeuvres for a great buffet meal, we also traded in the flies for other, more interesting bugs—big moths and grasshoppers. They love the shiny lit glasses. I had a grasshopper on the rim of my wine glass, and I had a moth on the stem of my port glass. One lady at my table freaked out when a moth fell into her wine and started swimming.

Here’s a photo of the moth on my port glass:

By the time everyone finished their dinner, ready and waiting for dessert, the sky was completely dark. They blew out all the candles until the only light left was the moonlight, and all around us was bush and black horizons. Then a dramatic, mysterious voice started speaking, the deep baritone theatrical and funny, enlightening and wry. He told us about the stars in the sky.

You can’t see Polaris, the north star, from Australia. So he showed us the Southern Cross. H.E., the navigator, is pretty familiar with the night sky, but he has never seen the Southern Cross. He’s always wanted to, and instead he sent me to Australia, and he asked me to look out for it. So when the Sounds of Silence astronomer pointed it out, I looked.

I also saw Orion, which I see at home in Huntington Beach. I didn’t think I’d see it in Australia. The first time I saw Orion in Perth, I told H.E. about it, and he was skeptical because he didn’t think it was visible in Australia. But I got a confirmation from the astronomer—yes, that group of stars is Orion. He also pointed out the zodiac signs. Aries was just beneath the horizon, so we couldn’t see it, but we saw some of the others.

Later, the telescopes were made available to everyone, and after dessert, I went to see what could be seen. I saw the moon up close and personal. I saw the hilt on Orion’s sword. And I saw Saturn’s rings. I could not get over seeing Saturn’s rings. It made me want a telescope of my own.

I wish I could have photographed the night, but the camera insisted that there wasn’t enough light. Even in manual mode, I couldn’t get it to take a long exposure shot of the sky. I was a little bit bummed about that.

But it was an amazing night all the same. I’d do it again for the presentation of the starry sky alone.

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