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'Make your paradise here on earth, your own little paradise.' I can't claim ownership of the little paradise I've found on Earth; it wasn't made by my hand, nor was I the first person to take a step into it. It was crafted by a King, found by Wanderers, and decorated by Mother Nature herself. I am, of course, referring to The Garden of Eden in Kings Canyon, located in Australia's Northern Territory. Personally I am not religious, but when you are standing in this tropical oasis in the middle of Australia's dry, heat-packed Red Centre, it's not hard to believe that the truth lies somewhere between Genesis and Tjukurpa (the Dreamtime, the name of the beliefs that are the basis for Aboriginal religion and culture). In 2014, I embarked on a road trip up the Stuart Highway into the depths of the Australian Outback - referred to by Melbourneians as 'The Middle of Whoop-Whoop'. 'Whoop-Whoop' means nowhere, and I suppose nowhere is the biggest unknown one could possibly leap into. The prospect of disappearing into the middle of whoop-whoop might be daunting to a lot of people, but I was just so damn excited that the scale of it didn't cross my mind. This was until we reached Kings Canyon. There is a trail that takes you through it, and the very start of the trail is a whopping 500 steps. Up. I don't mean a gentle slope with a nice little flat here and there for rest. I mean UP. A sweaty, calf-aching climb that seems to go on and on until you suddenly come across the top and turn around. And my God, my Dreamtime, was it worth it. The views from the top of that stairway stretched for miles. I might've been happy just staying there, but that is not the point of this story. Once you've successfully reached the top (pause here for a moment and regret not having brought enough water), there is the start of a 6km walk through the canyon that leads you through red bee-hive like rock domes, the vertigo-inducing Cotterill's bridge over a chasm, and to the sheer edge of the canyon where one misplaced foot would have you plummeting to the real paradise. All terrifying, all amazing. All not a patch, for me, on the Garden of Eden. We were exhausted by this point. The heat and the length of the trail were making me struggle, and after a long drive from the morning all I wanted was to curl up in a tent and try again tomorrow. But, like the tortoise who won the race, I plodded on, one foot in front of another, until we found it. It is a water hole in the centre of the canyon that gives life to a myriad of lush-green plants and provides shade for the weary wonderers who are drawn to it. It really does seem impossible that in the centre of a harsh, dusty landscape shaped of rock and red is this bloom of life. I look back at the photos we took there and I genuinely look photoshopped into them. The colours are so vibrant, the water is so calm, it's silent and it's beautiful and it does not seem real. I couldn't tell you the names of the plant species, but I'm pretty sure that a lot of them are exclusive to that particular spot. I do know the cleanliness and calmness of the water is integral to supporting some of the life there and for this reason you're not allowed to bathe in it. But in all honesty it would have felt a bit sacrilegious, especially as it is a sacred place for the Luritja - the indigenous people of the Watarrka National Park where Kings Canyon is located. I don't think I've ever before or after experienced true serenity like it. I felt recharged and revitalised, and it took about half an hour for my friends to eventually drag me away to get back before sunset. Nature truly is good for the soul. Perhaps Paradise might once have been lost, but I can assure you that it has most definitely been found.