“I am eager for the darkness. It is, after all, what we have come for. My husband and I catch each other’s eyes across the plunge pool and grin at each other. We are thrilled to be back out here, in the middle of the Outback, waiting with butterflies in our chests for Uluru’s nightly show.”

The first time my husband and I went to Uluru we drove. From Townsville. It took us five days – a window-down, dust-swirling drive that had us singing to ourselves (in the absence of a radio) and playing mad games. It was a fascinating experience – imagine the places we stopped to sleep – but one neither of us was too keen to repeat.

Fortunately we aren’t backpackers any more. And so on our most recent trip we flew in from Sydney and bedded down at Longitude 131, a hotel we had both been desperate to stay at.

It didn’t disappoint. We spent two nights sleeping with Uluru at the foot of the bed. We sipped champagne as the sun set over the red rock and we laid back in our swag to look at the Milky Way, spread across the sky like spilled cream.

There was more to this trip besides. We boarded the Ghan train from Alice Springs next and headed south to Adelaide and the short hop to Kangaroo Island – a haven for Aussie wildlife, and another place we had always been desperate to go.

Read all about our trip in my feature for the Times