Now we select side roads. The landscape is hilly and wooded.
Each village has a fortified building, like a trace of medieval quibblings.
We park in Brodnov at random.

Around the oilcloth in Emilia's kitchen, Elsa and I improvise a new language
while drinking a cherry brandy. Our host fills a bottle of coffee for Laura,
who is still painting on the hill. The neighbor asks for a portrait of baby Matteo.

We visit another house, we see the village from inside. Helena's place is more modest
but as warm as Emilia. No one talks English or French, but the Latin roots of the Romanian
language help us to understand simple conversations. The liquor does the rest.