("... Still another time, we sat in a French restaurant in UB, run by an African woman from Senegal who had married an American Peace Corps volunteer from Philadelphia who took her to UB and then divorced her; she landed on her feet, teaching African spices and French wine to young Mongolian girls. Passing in the falling snow on the boulevard below, we counted: a herd of sheep, a camel being led by an ancient granny, many Russian motorcycles with sidecars, many Mercedes of various vintages; horsemen, Ladas, Chinese "jeeps", a Suburban with black windows (Mafia, they say). UB is a postmodern cyberpunk city at the heart of Central Asia, with whole suburbs of gers, stretching as far as you can see, with horses and guardian mastiffs chained and threatening, and television antennas and motorcycles...")
Rolf is German, younger than me, and grew up mostly in South Africa and Spain; the only property I know of that belongs to him is in our county, a few acres on the west side of the Magdalenas. But remember this book cover? I put it up as a tease last month.
|Our editor at Muleshoe Ranch last Christmas|