On Amata town
Around the last corner and the last car, lies the township itself. A pack of semi-feral dingo-like dogs follows my car. The footpaths are red dust. Houses have barred windows, and grubby children play in the street while a wild boar grubs about in the backyard. This place feels like grim poverty, yet the back-drop of the Musgrave Ranges lends it an air of rugged beauty.
I dream of exploring the ranges. But dream it shall remain for now, unaccustomed as I am to the sweltering heat and complete absence of water. Tap water here is obtained from wells, and has an unusual milky pallor and unpleasant taste. I admire the resilience of local anangu, the Pitjantjatjara people, who live and work in this remote desert country every day. And I appreciate the opportunity to visit this place.