Then we entered the fog zone. I would have been afraid to walk in such a murky haze, let alone drive, and Peter, not to be outdone by the locals, sped bravely on, blindly passing slower moving trucks. So now, this morning, under a fresh blanket of hoarfrost and slowly dissipating fog, we set out to visit Semi , the mythological land where my Kambitsch ancestors once lived. Mountains slope widely, terraced and covered in snow. Modest roadside shrines adorned with aging plastic flowers to the Blessed Virgin Mary crop out of the snow next to road signs.
Children walk to school with their backpacks.
Old ladies in babushka scarves carry bundles of wood from shed to house. New houses blend with old, built with flat clay tile-like bricks close to barns with corn cobs tied together by their husks and draped in clusters exposed to the open air.