When we arrived at the track on Saturday it was hard to tell where it was. A grandstand loomed, Sovietically, high above the trees and brush, but not much else; you couldn't see any bands of asphalt emerging from the hills. The circuit seemed to be embedded in some bowl or crater, just beyond our view. We crossed a footbridge that seemed to cross the track but it didn't cross the track; it crossed a shallow ravine of rocks and bushes, and only then were we even close to the track, finally, on that paved footpath that seems to ring every racecar track, shadowed on the outside by an informal one, of beaten dirt.