Other places: The heady top end.

My introduction to Darwin was, as I recall, in Peter Goldsworthy's Maestro, one of the texts studied for my final year English class. I don't remember the specifics, but on my recent first visit to Darwin the sense of place created by the novel is what came back to me.

Living in Central Australia, I've grown used to sparseness; trees are purposeful and signify many many years of slow, steady labouring. There is luxury in growth; grass does not come easily and red dusty earth takes prominence. Colours are clear and strong: rich burnt orange, deep azure blue, golden yellow.

In Darwin, the air is thick and laced with the white noise of crickets and cicadas. Hues are muted: dusty pinks, pale blues. There is water: ocean, rain, heavy-laden humid air. Things grow almost before your eyes, it seems. Heat is heavy, cumbersome. Sweat beads and pools in channels down your back. Hair becomes wild and unruly, constantly escaping and twisting into flyaway strands. Glasses slide.

Breathing in the ocean was overwhelming after so many months of being in Alice Springs. Here in Darwin, I like the frangipani trees that are bursting with sweet-scented flowers. At home, in Alice Springs, the air smells rich with gidgee when it rains.