Even now, as you stand at the edge of one of those vast brown fields, you feel like you could walk and walk, walk into your own old age, and meet your Maker out there somewhere, kicking up dust.

Some people who come here even say they have tumbled back in time, but I do not think that is true. They have merely slipped sideways into a place they do not recognize, and may never understand.

Some places look made-up, look imagined. The art deco landscape of South Beach looks like it was dreamed up by the writers of a comic book; the skyline of Atlanta seems stenciled by bankers. Las Vegas was set ablaze by electricians; Richmond is ridden by dead soldiers on marble horses.

This place is not like that.

Photo: Magdalena Solé

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