In an old train, in autumn. The air is pleasantly sunny, clean, and fresh. I’m travelling across an unknown, ancient, but also somehow modern and vital, western country. I pass by a magnificent old city, built completely around a mountain, whose architecture style lies somewhere between ancient Rome and renaissance Florence. Huge statues of people symbolizing reason, justice, order, serenity, equilibrium. I’m astonished by the complexity and richness of the colors and forms of the city, and at the same time by their equilibrium and harmony. I think that the city resembles life itself. A voice tells me the name of the city: an Italian name that does not sound new to me, but that I cannot remember now.
After a while, the train passes by a magnificent mountain chain, a huge wall of rock with astonishing shades of color, ranging from the deep blue of the shadows to the warm yellow of the rocks exposed to sunlight. The air becomes colder. I feel that we are in the Far East now. Again, I’m strongly impressed by this sight, and I feel deep parallels to the vision of the city.