In my slumbering semi-consciousness, there were things I did glimpse that momentarily woke me like in the way a barking dog unsettles a dream. Just below the Southern Alps are fields of corn where it looks like Ohio—except, of course, for the 16th-century castle looming above the maize. When rounding a switchback, I saw a tractor pulling a narrow trailer with gated sides, and in it was a bull the size of a Dodge Power Wagon, sporting a 10-kilo nose ring in fist-sized nostrils. As we were speeding through a nameless village, a girl on a scooter passed by in the opposite direction, her shoulders leaned into the wind, her black ponytail whipping against her back, her skin soft and pure in the sun. Her image was the beginning of a movie I’ll never know the end of.