In Eden one can imagine no need for painting, and one glimpses its painterless, visually sufficient world in the blank canvas […]

Such a perfect spot to have lunch, and another bifta. I don't think the rest of the tourists with us were pleased that all the guides were getting high, but it's the end of the season, so no one gives a shit anymore.

I then sat down under a goolar tree, to wait for his appearance. The goolar is a species of fig, and the leaves are much relished by cattle and goats.

In memory, all the food they brought us first was red: the bresaola, the fat tongues of roasted peppers laid on goat's cheese, the radicchio, the white china bowl of radish coronets.