Alice Springs, a Cold Desert Night

Nobody warns you how cold the desert gets. I packed for the Centre the way I'd pack for Darwin: sundresses, sandals, one cardigan out of politeness. By six o'clock on my first night, the temperature had dropped to four degrees and I was standing in a motel room wearing every item of clothing I'd brought, including a sarong as a scarf.

Day one

Flew in over a landscape that looked painted: rust and ochre and scrubby green, dry riverbeds like veins, the ranges running east to west in long folds. Picked up the hire car and drove into town with my mouth slightly open the whole way.

The motel is simple and clean, with a little patio facing the MacDonnell Ranges. The ranges turn purple at dusk. I watched them do it with a cup of tea, then went into town and bought a proper jumper, a beanie and thermal socks. The woman at the shop said, "First time in winter?" I said yes. She said, "Everyone does it once."

Day two

Busier than I expected. People here work long hours in remote places and come into town for supplies, a proper meal, and a bit of company. A ranger. A pilot. A nurse from a remote clinic. Every one of them was polite, a little shy and genuinely grateful. One told me it was the first time in six months he'd spent time with someone who wasn't a colleague.

Day three

Took the morning off and drove out to one of the gorges. Walked in the cool air through river red gums, with the rock walls glowing overhead. Sat on a rock for an hour and didn't think about anything at all. It was the most rested I've felt in months.

The last night

A booking with a quiet man who works on a cattle station. He'd driven three hours in the dark. We sat on the patio first, wrapped in blankets, looking at a sky so thick with stars it looked like spilled sugar. He pointed out the Milky Way's dark shapes and told me they have names, older than any of the constellations I learnt at school. I hadn't known. The rest of the evening was warm and unhurried, a small fire against the cold.

Leaving

I flew out at noon. From the window I watched the red country roll out beneath me until it blurred into cloud. I'll come back, next winter, with better socks and a slower schedule. Some places ask you to slow down. The Centre insists.