Don Quixote

He is on the quest. one fine morning in two thousand twelve. Early Autumn. He just passed through a valley covering with faded green leaves, yellow, red and gold. In the distance, inside a park that stretches from south to north adjoining two parallel streets, there are people sitting at a long table, having breakfast. Birds sing, flowers send off their fragrants. Listen! Some wind instrument music floats by. Some say "it's Japanese", some say "it's Chinese", others say "it's Indian". Don Quixote thinks to himself "it's Indonesian". He is heading to the Pagaruyung Palace in West Sumatra, to witness the splendor of the colourful and horny structure, a palace that has great appeal, and has appeared in his dreams twenty two times.

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