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  • Tamlyn Currin
Written by
  • Tamlyn Currin
27 Feb 2017

It's dusty, windswept, almost African in its wide-flung spaces and scraggy escarpments. Isolated old farmhouses, propped up with corrugated iron, shelter rusting car chassis in the yards; wildly pink bougainvillea tumble over decrepit walls. Sheep dot arid, grazed-up, grey hillsides that finally give way to vines. A few rows here and there begin…