There is the lightness of the clear fine air of altitude, there is the sun that warms and does not burn, the limpid light, the unfailing blue of transparent day; there are the smells of perennial summer, of magnolia, tuberose and lime, of leaves after brief rain, of sun on stone; there are the pleasures of the eyes, rich leaves, glowing bushes, crimson and live green, flowers, bright-winged birds, the snow of far volcanoes, animals moving by the road-side, maize and sugar cane, the flash of baroque façades, pink and gold, in the brief villages, churrigueresque, extravagant and crumbling, the stored warmth of honey-coloured
Spanish walls; there is fruit – muskmelon, mango, cantaloupe, pomegranate…
The hotels are always clean and fairly comfortable, sometimes extremely comfortable and often amusing; the service erratic but present. The food, new, fresh, fantastically abundant, from all right to delicious; drink, good (except for local wine) and very cheap;
all expenses – relatively – low. One is agreeably ravenous in these heights, clothes are light and few, deep easy sleep comes plumb-like after nightfall, one wakes with pleasure
to new mornings, buoyed, curious; one moves swiftly; in short one feels well.