— Argentina — 

The fields of wheat stretched to the horizon and the sky was streaked red and purple. The windmill had been spinning furiously and now hardly turned. We floated in a shallow pool made from the cement foundation of a grain silo. “The wind is no more today,” said the old doctor from Buenos Aires. His granddaughters laughed and splashed in the water. In the corral his son was getting his last work in with the polo horses. He left tomorrow for Switzerland and the start of the European season. “Vámonos,” said the old man. “The asado must nearly be ready. Everyone will be waiting for us.”
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