"I think I've accidentally moved to Alice Springs."

A friend from home had texted asking how our trip was going. Reflecting on the previous month, that was my reply.

Alice Springs was supposed to be a few days, a week at most. But now I'm pretty sure I live here.

I'm halfway through the "big lap" with my husband and my two-year-old daughter.

It's a well-worn trip among grey nomads and young families with varying stories of the same theme — tired of the grind, they've sold it all to live on the road.

We took the slightly more risk-averse option. We rented out our place in Melbourne, secured unpaid leave from our respective employers and set aside eight months to see Australia in a camper trailer.

Everyone who does the big lap finds trouble. There's at least a million Facebook groups devoted to the lap, full of stories of woes.

The flat tyre, the booked-out caravan park, the problems with homeschooling.

We'd already had our snafu — we got two flats in two days, in the middle of the outback.

Some humble bragging on Instagram about how wonderful and intrepid we are (and $1000) later, we were back on the road.

We were finally making our way into Yulara to see Uluru and Kata Tjuta, arguably the Red Centre's star attractions, when we first noticed our 4WD overheating.

We had a mechanic in Yulara confirm our worst fears — probably a cracked cylinder head.

The family's first travelling snafu came in the form of two flat tyres in two days. ( Supplied: Hannah Mifflin )

We were advised to limp back to Alice Springs, the only place within cooee where we could have it repaired.

Once here, we learnt it would be 10 days before the car could even be seen by a mechanic, let alone repaired.

We weren't in Kansas anymore.

Then the bad news — parts needed to be ordered from Adelaide. How long would that take?

They were told it would be 10 days before their car could even be seen by a mechanic, let alone repaired. ( Supplied: Hannah Mifflin )

"Could be here by next Monday. Maybe. We'll see."

We were on Territory time now.

I felt like a tourist until I started running into people

Every few days we called the mechanic. No, it hasn't arrived yet. No, we're not sure when.

And the best response: "'We called the courier. The radiator's gone missing."

So we waited, and slowly became absorbed by Alice Springs. We found our local cafe, we started going to a local church and we became regulars at the council pool.

I still felt very much the tourist until things started getting a little too familiar.

It started fairly innocuously. I noticed the barista had given me a side of hot water, which I like, but hadn't asked for.

Surely we hadn't been here long enough to be a regular?

Then came the birthday party invitation. Our two-year-old had already managed to get invited to a local kid's birthday party.

Don't you have to have friends in town for that to happen? Surely we weren't at that stage yet?

Then the job offers started.

"If you stay any longer, I'll have to give you some work," said the caravan park owner.

From a new local friend came a link for a job going at her office. From another came an offer for some labouring work for my husband.

Soon we started running into people. I took me a few years living in Melbourne before I started running into people I knew at the shops.

The family became slowly absorbed by Alice Springs. ( Supplied: Hannah Mifflin )

We'd been in Alice for three weeks and I was chatting with my barista at the pub.

Like I said, it absorbs you.

One evening we found ourselves our for dinner at the local pub with a local family we met at the local church. When did we become so local?

Red Centre a 'genuine melting pot' of language and culture

It was at this stage that I started to wonder if we had accidentally moved to Alice. It's not an uncommon story apparently, people breaking down in Alice and never leaving.

I wondered early on if there was some kind of racket where the townspeople collude to keep people here.

Hannah Mifflin came to love Alice Springs "in a funny kind of way". ( Supplied: Hannah Mifflin )

But then I came to love it in a funny kind of way. There's an allure to Alice; to the entire Red Centre.

Alice is diverse and messy. It's only small, about 25,000 people — incidentally, the same population as our suburb in Melbourne.

It is, however, a diverse 25,000 people. I would suggest far more so than the 25,000 in Glen Iris.

Here in Alice you will hear Warlpiri, Pitjantjatjara, Eastern/Central Arrernte, Western Arrarnta, Luritja/Pintupi, Alyawarr/Anmatyerr and English.

You will also hear Malayam, Filipino, Tagalog and Mandarin. A genuine melting pot.

There is something about being somewhere ordinary — a supermarket — and hearing something extraordinary — an ancient language still spoken fluently.

I could write about the apparent poverty among Aboriginal communities, but I don't know these experiences well enough to comment beyond saying that I learnt from locals engaged in social work that it is a generational and institutional poverty.

It comes from displacement and disconnection with land.

Hearing this, and being lucky enough to meet and speak with Luritja and Arrernte women at the local Uniting Church we attended, has taught me that I need to cast aside any uncomfortable feelings I may have due to my white privilege and east-coast upbringing and actually learn more about our First Nations people.

Likewise, I want my daughter to know that she lives on land that was never ceded. That she lives in a country where the word "stolen" has a central place — a stolen land, a stolen generation.

It should fail to appeal — but appeal it does

Almost a month to the day that we arrived in Alice, we hitched our trailer and drove away.

I tried to evaluate my feelings. At one point there, my husband and I genuinely discussed the possibility of moving to Alice.

Hannah and Alex discussed the possibility of permanently moving to Alice Springs. ( Supplied: Hannah Mifflin )

The town had a grip on us in a way I couldn't explain. It is hot, dry and dusty; it should in every way fail to appeal. But appeal it does.

It is the beating heart of our nation and I definitely felt the love.

We might come back, we might not.

For now, however, I write from Tennant Creek — another town that has taken us captive because yes, just 500 kilometres from Alice, we have broken down again.