Elsewhere, I traversed a park whose paths were not of stone, concrete or beaten earth but grass, an evenly mowed lawn as if humans and the wood had made a compromise of sorts, one unentirely to the benefit of my porous soles slicked with dew.
I found my way, after some time, to a road leading up from valley bottom to plateau height and passed beneath a length series of scaffolding, all metal frames and poles and plywood walls. Trees and shrubs poked in through the opening between walls and scaffold ceiling, some six or seven meters above, and I could not help but think myself in some greenhouse gone awry.
Still farther on, I came across fortification remains and eroded bastions, now isolated and made art displays for want of tactical value, and set within concentric white stone circles. From a distance, I spied a white villa, complete with expansive gardens.