We returned to Melbourne 10 days ago, and I am haunted by the sense that i have returned *from* Australia, to *another place*. My idea of Australia has grown so much that Melbourne seems like an international city, part of an international community of cities, but certainly not integral to the Australian identity. We spent a week travelling from Broome back to Alice Springs, through the Tanami desert. I had decided to read Australian books on my holiday- I read 'Cloudstreet' and 'Dirt Music' and a true crime book about Bradley Murdoch. I had attempted Cloudstreet before, and found it unbearably kitsch. A story from my parents' childhood. This time I loved it. I suppose things can seem kitsch just because they are unfamiliar.