After the experience of Wurzelbrut, I decide to come back to this area, dragging into ruin two good guys who have never touched Swiss limestone. The setup couldn’t be better: we can’t quite tell whether we are in Switzerland, Ireland, or the lower reaches of Lombardy, but at some point we find ourselves at the base of the Signal wall, shrouded in mystery (you can barely see it). We imagine ourselves on the north face of the Eiger—it's freezing cold and we are in the middle of the clouds. We imagine sunshine down in the valley, but it’s only that: imagination. We descend quickly, and meanwhile our imagination runs wild, weaving dreams about the surrounding walls, which we only catch fleeting glimpses of whenever the clouds briefly lift.