Good teachers are fire starters, I find. The intellectual firestorm they created in the young mind would spread for me into uncharted territories as fiercely as the Victorian bushfires in the summer. By the time I got into the third Honours year of the geography programme in 1968, my mind and mental horizon had expanded beyond the bounds of geography, while deepening it. Like the engulfing fire, they couldn’t be confined by artificial firebreaks. Like one starving without food from wandering in the desert, I found myself ravishing over a feast of knowledge that still left me unsatiated.
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