The Journey NorthWhile climbing an impervious slope, Oskar feared following the same routes, afraid that the Great Ski-lift could bring him back to the same starting point, like landing on the wrong square in a life-size snakes and ladders game.
In this case, the route would still pass through Valle Chiara and the same chain of events would be repeated. A form of logical paradox.
At one point of the climb he stopped to catch his breath and looked down at the plain from which he'd left. He saw Tarcoman, illuminated by the sun. The residual snow was reduced to shaded patches, the city stretched out as far as the eye could see; a vast plain in which flowed a huge golden river, running to the east. The bottom of the valley was alive with colour; the teeming nature was akin to a tropical land
