When I was 21 I was working on a farm on Samsø a small island off the coast of Denmark, all the workers were young and were from all over Europe. We lived in tents but had access to a barn with electricity and cooking facilities, however it got dark at about 9pm and work started at 4am so we'd sit around with tea and chat or play cards. I was there for over 3 months and one conversation would come up every now and then, I guess to stave off homesickness. We used to describe something about home, on this one night we were telling each other what we could see out of our bedroom windows.
The first few people had their turn and then I had my go, following me was a guy called Fred and he lived in Todmorden in England, he told us about the view from his window across the valley, and the fields with animals in, the hills and the little farm right opposite his house with the stone outhouses.
All the while he had been talking another guy seemed to be listening more intently, once Fred had finished his description the other guy, Ben, asked what colour the front door on the farm was.