The human mind wants to see personalities in inanimate objects — to see the shapes in clouds other than clouds, to see the outline or silhouette of a mountain or rock and compare it to a more familiar creature. Sometimes entire mountains are carved into these shapes, such as Mt. Rushmore. We take blocks of stone or marble and turn them into people, creating amazing art work out of lifeless stone. It’s the same the world over, and for some reason, it comforts us to see these mountains and hills and boulders turned into the familiar. If you’re traveling to Melbourne, Australia, and checking into one of its top Melbourne hotels, you may have already become acquainted with a dozen of these objects out on the Great Ocean Road, just a day trip away. I’m talking about, of course, the Twelve Apostles.
The Twelve Apostles are a series of rock formations jutting out of the ocean, seemingly hunched and praying, as one might imagine apostles to do. In order to see them for yourself, find your way to the Great Ocean Road, which is a bit of a misnomer, as it only seems to occasionally hit upon the coast for a moment at Glenaire, but turns inward again up Lavers Hill, then back down again to Princetown. It’s filled with rolling hills and valleys, which contrasts greatly with the coast, once you do hit it. You’ll come across the Gibson Steps lookout first; the second stop will be the Apostles. There’s a large parking area on the right and a pathway underneath the Great Ocean Road (similar to the car park in England on the way to Stonehenge).
Depending on when you arrive, you may have to deal with coaches filled with tourists, but you might have the area all to yourself as well. Nearby, there’s an airstrip with cattle all around it, running each time a plane or helicopter arrived or departed. Out to sea, though, you will find the rocks we’ve anthropomorphised. The stacks of rocks that jut out of the water are made of red sandstone, up and down the coast. The cliffs are red, the vegetation climbing them are green, and the water, of course, is deep, deep blue. Perhaps the best time to see them is at sunrise or sunset, especially if the sea is a bit wild, churning round them. I don’t know if it’s because of their name or their shape or both, but you can’t help but think of these as human souls praying out beyond the shore.