We board our silver winged flier - more bird than butterfly (except in turbulence) and slide across the farmers' fields and feathery copses lightly sprinkled with sequined houses. Then valleys deepen and wooded hillsides steepen into mountains. An orange road wriggles along the crests of ridges. The land becomes a huge green corrugated cake with cumulus topping. Gradually it levels to a tufted carpet of endless forest. At last the flat brown coffee of the river, the cricket pitch landing and the woven palm leaves terminal.
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