I watched the sun smack the sweltering bitumen, sending swirls of giddy air dancing above the rocky horizon into the blank, blue sky. I’d landed in Mparntwe, in the heart of Arrernte Country. Alice Springs.
I wasn’t there by choice. Earlier that year a serious spinal injury had led to two operations, unexpected complications and the unravelling of my physical and mental health. The ensuing months had left me single, jobless, extremely unfit and dependent on a parent for the first time in more than a decade. I needed a place to recover. Dad had moved to Alice a few years earlier and was the only person in my immediate family who could put me up. The town was a far cry from my beloved Berlin, where I’d spent the last few years treading water as a snarky, queer hipster. I was really good at it. As soon as I was able, I planned to resume life among the packed apartment buildings, bustling green spaces and hedonistic nightclubs.
