There was a single round lantern directly above my head, floating over two banana trees. On a night when I’d felt entirely disconnected from the city, I was suddenly right where I needed to be. I was beneath the lantern’s glow.
Here in Vang Vieng, I am reminded of what it means to go beyond your initial encounter with a place. If you’re patient, and persistent, sometimes there is hidden beauty to be found – beauty hidden in the hills.
As I sketch, I keep looking out over the city spinning and swirling below me, feeling like I’m not only in the center of Tokyo, but in the center of the world itself. I found the Wakō after all – and so much more.
It is this vista that will remain with me the most from Nokogiriyama – because of the view, because of the cherry blossoms, and because of the way they really won’t be there for much longer.
Sometimes, when I think about all these little pockets of existence around the world – existing with only bicycles for cars and docks for roads, existing without us ever knowing it – it’s almost too much to comprehend.
Ever since visiting Macau three and a half years ago, glowing Chinese lanterns have never failed to fascinate me. I find them incredibly evocative – a symbol, perhaps, that I have truly arrived Elsewhere.
I find such enclaves of a culture fascinating, the way they instantly transport you to another world. By simply crossing the street you’re in the Middle East, with shisha pipes gurgling and the call to prayer sounding.
It’s been over two years since I visited the Thai capitol with my mother and our family friends, but the colors and textures of the city still make for a great escape from the greyed-out monochromaticness of London.