I was in the country, standing on a hill and looking out over the surrounding countryside. There wasn't a house in sight – only a tree here and there. This would be a good place for me to build a house. But would I get tired of living here? I had visited so many other beautiful places. What about a house in the redwoods of California? Or the Rocky Mountains? I remembered the first time I had seen the Rocky Mountains when I had been 19 – they had overwhelmed me. They had never seemed quite as magnificent any of the subsequent times I had been there. Owning a house in the Rocky Mountains would be wonderful. I knew some people could afford to have a second house there and go whenever they wanted. I thought of O.J. Simpson and how he had been rich enough to just hop on a plane and head to Colorado whenever he wanted. But, then, look at him now.

My father and Carolina were standing with me as I looked about, and they also seemed to be enjoying the sight. But our tranquility was abruptly disrupted. Directly to our left was a cliff which rose a bit higher than us. We were also standing atop a cliff and could see perhaps 10 meters to the bottom. A man showed up on the cliff to our left and began dumping garbage over the side of it. I was surprised to see such a sight, and I didn't say anything at first. But then I couldn't help myself, and called out to him that it was illegal to dump garbage there. He didn't seem perturbed by what I had said and he continued dumping. However he did finally answer me, and said something about his living right across the road. He then walked over to the edge of the cliff and jumped off. But he obviously knew what he was doing, because he had jumped into a bunch of vines, tees, and branches, so that he slowly descended to the ground, almost as if he were floating. He then headed across the road.

We quickly realized the man might actually be the owner of this property, and therefore he could dump whatever he wanted there. Since we didn't know who actually owned the property, it seemed best that we leave immediately. As the three of us began moving out, I saw that ahead of us was a vast swampland with trees and stumps sticking out of the water. But that was no great obstacle, because we weren't walking. We were all standing on a small power boat which my father was guiding over the swamp through the stumps and trees; I could see a definite path through the swamp where boats could go. How long had this swamp been here? I had the feeling it was man-made, and that was the reason so many trees were still in it. Some day all the trees would eventually die and only a large lake would be left.

When we landed on dry land, we still seemed to be in the country, only now it seemed more like a farm, because I saw a barbed wire fence. As I walked around, I saw what appeared to be a single gravestone, and I concluded there had once been a cemetery there. I thought this would be a good place to look for things with a metal detector. Then I noticed several concrete water fountains. Walking over to one, I saw that the water was turned on and water was gushing out of it. I wondered if it were good to drink, or was just coming out of a neighboring stream. It might just be there for cattle. The fountains looked old, as if they had been part of a larger complex which had once stood on this spot.

Continuing to explore, I stepped up over a rise, and saw below me a large, old stone mansion. I recalled having seen a picture of this mansion before, and now I realized we had stumbled upon an interesting sight. In fact I recalled that I myself had been here once before. Over to our left was a much smaller house. I saw a motor vehicle which seemed like it might be a white Ford Bronco pulling up in front of the smaller house, and I had the feeling that people came out here to plunder whatever they could find.

Looking more closely at the house, I remembered the last time I had been there, a large square, rock column about two meters tall and with writing on it had stood in front of the house. But now the column was gone – obviously stolen.

As I walked in the direction of the house, I suddenly realized I was walking down the stairs of a large, outdoor amphitheater made of large white rocks. It had obviously been abandoned for many years, and part of it was covered over with grass growing from between the rocks; but it still looked usable to me. I wondered what it must have been like for a person to have sat here and actually watch a play performed on the rock slabs below. Many people must have once come here. In fact I saw names of some people chiseled on the backs of some of the rocks, as if to memorialize them.

Over to one far corner I saw a shaded area which looked as if a lot of stuff had been set up there. For some reason I had the feeling that members of the press were allowed to put their things there if they were waiting for a story. I walked toward that area, and when I was closer, I stopped and looked again at the rocks which formed the seats. It looked as if the seats which were right along the aisles leading up and down were slanted to about 60 degrees. It looked as if it would be difficult to sit in them. I sat down on one to see how it felt, and discovered I could sit quite comfortably in it.

Looking around, I noticed that the whole area was filling up with people, apparently tourists, who were scurrying around the amphitheater. The shaded area I had seen was actually an outdoor shop where tourist items were being sold. As I stood and walked toward the shop, I saw a fellow who like me was also alone (for I had lost my father and Carolina). He was probably in his mid 20s. I thought I might team up with him. I recalled that when I would travel alone in Europe, I would usually team up with someone I met along the way.

But suddenly I heard a familiar voice. It was Carolina and I saw my black-haired wife coming toward me with a large smile on her face. She had called me "Tebo." It was her nickname for my real name, Steven. Suddenly a thought came to me. I thought of a little ditty I had heard before which went, "T-bone, T-bone, where you been? Been down to the track and back again." I wondered if the name T-bone was also a nickname for Steven.

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