Introduction
The small town of Hyden in Western Australia. About 340 kilometers east of Perth by car, this town of barely 200 residents might seem like merely a dot on the map. Yet the landscape that spreads around it retains the primordial beauty of Australia in vivid colors.
Hyden’s name derives from a European settler who explored this region in the late 1800s. However, this land holds a history far more ancient. Aboriginal peoples have called this dry earth home for tens of thousands of years. The rock paintings and sacred sites they left behind still breathe quietly in this land today.
While the massive rock wave called Wave Rock is famous in the area around town, Hyden boasts many other remarkable rock formations. Mullet Rock, King Rock, and other granite monoliths sculpted by wind and rain over countless years stand as if narrating the memories of this earth.
The dry climate, vast wheat fields, and scattered salt lakes create a place wrapped in silence and vastness - the very opposite of urban clamor.
Day 1: First Encounter with the Red Earth
The car that departed Perth early in the morning headed steadily east along a single paved road. The landscape outside the window gradually transformed from green to brown, then to a reddish earth tone. We passed several small towns along the way, all enveloped in the same kind of quietude.
Around 2 PM, the town of Hyden finally came into view. A small gas station, a general store, and a handful of houses - that was the entirety of Hyden. My accommodation was the town’s only motel, the “Hyden Motel.” A simple building that seemed to date from the 1970s, but clean and adequately equipped.
After checking in, I decided to walk around the town. Even so, it took less than ten minutes to walk Main Street from end to end. At the general store and post office, a local elderly woman welcomed me warmly.
“Where are you from? Japan? My, that’s far away! Are you going to see Wave Rock?”
Her name was Margaret. Born and raised in this town, she had lived here for over fifty years. While sipping tea she brewed in the back of the store, she shared the town’s history with me.
“It used to be a bit livelier, you know. We had a railway station and even a bank. But times changed, and the young folks moved to the cities. It’s lonely, but that’s the fate of rural Australian towns.”
In the evening, I climbed a small hill on the town’s outskirts. From there, the town of Hyden looked like a small green oasis floating in the red earth. The western sky gradually turned orange as the sun sank beyond the horizon. The silence of this moment was something special that could never be experienced in the city.
Dinner was at the town’s pub restaurant, “Desert Rose.” I ordered steak made from local beef and wine from Western Australia. The meat was a bit tough, but had a rustic, robust flavor. Several locals were in the restaurant, all friendly and eager to chat.
“Where are you planning to go tomorrow?” asked Bill, a local farmer. “I’d recommend Mullet Rock. Tourists don’t go there much, but it’s a place as wonderful as Wave Rock.”
That night, when I opened the window in my motel room, a canopy of stars spread before me. In this place without city lights, even the Milky Way was clearly visible. The Southern Cross showed itself distinctly. In the distance, an owl called, and occasionally cricket sounds colored the night’s silence.
Lying in bed, I reflected on the day. Though it was only the first day, I already sensed that time flowed differently here. There was no need to hurry. I could simply savor each moment as it came.
Day 2: Tracing Memories of Ancient Earth
At 6 AM, I woke to the sound of birds singing. Looking out the window, I saw the morning sun painting the red earth golden. After the motel’s simple breakfast of toast, coffee, and fruit, I drove the rental car toward Mullet Rock.
About twenty minutes from town, a massive rock formation suddenly appeared. Mullet Rock - a monolith about fifty meters high that seemed to grow from the earth itself. Up close, its surface bore natural artwork carved over long ages. Countless lines and shadows created by wind and rain drew intricate patterns across the rock face.
Walking around the rock, I discovered a small cave-like hollow. Faint red paint traces remained there - Aboriginal rock art. Handprints and animal paintings created by indigenous peoples thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of years ago at this very spot. I couldn’t help but feel the weight of time.
After spending the entire morning at Mullet Rock, I headed to King Rock. This was a larger rock mountain that could be climbed to the summit. The path was certainly not easy, but the 360-degree panorama from the top was breathtakingly beautiful.
Red earth stretching endlessly. Scattered salt lakes gleamed white in the sunlight, while green wheat fields were visible in the distance. Beyond the horizon, a single road extended straight ahead. Before this vastness, one realizes how small human existence truly is.
I ate lunch in the shadow of the rock mountain - sandwiches I had brought with me. Wind brushed against my cheeks. There were no human figures around, only the sound of wind and occasional crow calls. This simple lunch eaten in such silence somehow tasted extraordinarily delicious.
In the afternoon, I returned to town and visited a local farm that Margaret had told me about. Tom, a wheat farmer, kindly showed me around. The sight of wheat fields swaying in the wind as far as the eye could see was like a golden sea.
“This land might look poor, but it’s good for wheat,” Tom explained. “We don’t get much rain, but the soil is solid for that reason. I’ve been running this farm since my grandfather’s time, and every year it shows a different face.”
In one corner of the farm, Tom’s wife Sarah served me tea she had brewed herself, along with homemade scones. Touched by their simple warmth, I found myself reflecting on the way of life of the people in this land. Though far removed from convenience, there was a richness of time here.
In the evening, I visited a dam lake on the town’s outskirts. Though an artificially created small lake, its surface reflecting the setting sun was beautiful. Wild birds gathered at the lakeside, resting their wings as they pleased. The sight of white pelicans gliding gracefully across the water surface was like a painting.
Dinner was again at “Desert Rose.” Tonight, roasted lamb. In contrast to yesterday’s steak, this was tender and aromatic. The local vegetables were fresh too, and the simple preparation highlighted the quality of the ingredients.
That night, sitting on a bench in front of the motel, I looked up at the starry sky again. The constellations from a different angle than last night. Orion appeared upside down in the southern sky. It was a moment when I truly felt I was in the Southern Hemisphere.
In the distance, I could hear some animal calling. Perhaps a dingo. Wild breath still remained in this land. Far from the lights of civilization, I felt that my existence was part of the universe.
Day 3: Morning of Farewell and What Remains in the Heart
On the final morning, I woke especially early. While it was still dark, I went outside to wait for sunrise. The eastern sky gradually brightened, and eventually the sun showed its face from beyond the horizon. The red earth, receiving the morning light, glowed as if it were burning.
Over these two days, I noticed that my sense of time had changed. In the city, I was constantly checking my watch, but here the sun’s position told time. Morning light, the strong midday sun, the soft light of evening. I learned the comfort of living according to nature’s rhythm.
After breakfast, I walked through the town one last time. When I stopped by Margaret’s store, she welcomed me warmly.
“Leaving already? That’s quick. But you’ll surely come back. People who fall in love with this land always return.”
Her words carried conviction. Indeed, I felt that this small town called Hyden had been carved into my heart as a special place during these two days.
As souvenirs, I bought local honey and homemade jam. Both were made by Margaret’s friends, she said. “When you get home, remember this place through these flavors,” she smiled.
Until checkout time, I strolled around the motel. In the small garden, plants adapted to this dry land quietly bloomed. Yellow acacia flowers, white eucalyptus blossoms. Though modest, they all conveyed a powerful life force.
At 11 AM, it was finally time to depart. Loading luggage into the car, I reflected on these two days. Nothing particularly dramatic had happened. I hadn’t toured famous tourist destinations. I had simply spent quiet time in a small town.
Yet deep satisfaction filled my heart. The encounters with Margaret, Tom’s family. Ancient memories carved into the red earth. The star-filled sky. Wheat fields glowing in the morning sun. All were precious experiences impossible to have in the city.
I started the car engine and left the town of Hyden behind. The small town in the rearview mirror gradually grew distant. But that landscape was firmly etched in my heart.
On the road back to Perth, I looked back many times. The red earth, blue sky, and the single road disappearing beyond the horizon. Feeling anew the grandeur of Australia’s interior, the car headed west.
I reached the airport in the evening. While completing check-in procedures at the counter, I realized I was already missing the town of Hyden. Even after just a two-night, three-day stay, that silence and the people’s warmth had certainly taken root in my heart.
From the airplane window, I looked down at the Australian continent. Somewhere down there was the town of Hyden, but from 10,000 meters altitude, I couldn’t spot it. Yet the time spent in that small town had certainly become part of my life.
Epilogue
This journey is a product of imagination. I did not actually visit the town of Hyden, nor did I meet Margaret or Tom’s family. The starry sky seen from the motel and the landscape viewed from Mullet Rock were all events within imagination.
However, strangely, these experiences feel as real as if they had actually happened. The dry wind of Australia’s interior, the scent of red earth, the warm smiles of local people - all of it remains in my heart as if I had truly experienced it.
Perhaps travel doesn’t necessarily require physical movement. Using the wings of imagination, we can go anywhere. And sometimes, imaginary journeys are carved more deeply into our hearts than real ones.
The small town of Hyden is merely a dot on the map. Yet by visiting it in imagination, I was able to touch the essential beauty of that land and the way of life of the people who live there.
The boundary between reality and imagination may be far more ambiguous than we think. What matters is what meaning that experience holds for oneself. While hoping that this imaginary journey might someday become the first step toward a real journey, I think I’ll carefully treasure the memories of those two nights and three days in Hyden deep in my heart.
In that small town wrapped in silence and vastness, I feel I discovered something precious. Though I cannot yet put it into words, it was certainly there. And it will surely serve as an important guiding light in my life to come.
