A place almost good enough to die, with hilltops, mountains and sudden deep valleys in mist or rather the clouds cast way bellow their place, the snowy white of waterfalls and autumnish browns mixing with the evergreen of pines in winter, reflected in turquoise water, icy cold from rocks high above us, the sky greyish, with the sun breaking through, well, almost, at least here in my head, this is the beauty of this road we travel.