The adage 'leave only footprints, take only photographs' doesn't always apply to Uluru. Apart from not leaving footprints on the rock itself (see post on Staying grounded at Uluru about the climbing situation), you'll also encounter signs at some sections around the base that ask you not to take photographs of various points of the rock.

Aboriginal culture has some intricate ceremonies and rituals that are male or female only, and the sacred sites where they take place can't be viewed by the other sex. So the request for not taking photos is to make sure that the pictures don't end up in the wider world, where those who aren't supposed to see them encounter them by accident. (Anywhere without signs means it's fine to snap away.)

Beyond that, the other thing not to take from the rock is, well, the rock itself. The idea seems innocuous enough - like collecting shells on the beach. But here's the thing: every week, the National Park office receives packages from visitors returning chunks of the rock (and hefty ones, too, the heaviest to date weighed in at 15kg). The rocks are accompanied by letters detailing horrific luck they've been inundated with since (accidents, illnesses and worse). These returned rocks pile up in the park office while rangers try to figure out what to do with them. Uluru's visitor's centre can reel off some classic examples of people who've found themselves cursed since souveniring a piece of the rock.

Some people say it's ironic that there's no tradition in the Anangu's culture of it being bad luck to take pieces of the rock. But the rock's sacred place in Aboriginal culture means that it wouldn't occur to anyone to take a piece of it any more than it would occur to, say, an art lover to hack off part of Michelangelo's statue of David as a memento.

And regardless of any physical reminders of the rock, it's truly unforgettable.