The Devil in the Hills - pg. 61

Oreste's house had a peeling, reddish terrace, and it overlooked a sea of valleys and ravines bathed in a strong light which hurt your eyes. All morning I had ridden through the plain, a plain which looked familiar to me, and looking out of the train window I had caught sight of hedgegrows, mirrors of water, flocks of geese and meadow expanses that I recognized from my infancy. I was still thinking about these things when we entered between precipitous banks and you had to look up to see the sky. The train stopped beyond a narrow tunnel. I found myself in the heat and dust of the station square, my eyes meeting chalky slopes on all sides. A fat waggon-driver showed me the road; I had a good way to climb, for the village was high up. I threw my bag on the waggon and we went up together, matching the slow pace of the oxen.