I take their sketch with me when I leave – as a token of gratitude that something as simple as a sketch could open the door to our encounter. Here in Southeast Asia, as on every journey, it is the people who have made each place.
Meeting Ksyucha, a fellow sketch artist, in the Saigon Central Post Office reminds me that it is such sketching serendipities I have come to live for – no matter how long the actual sketch itself may take to complete.
What else can you do at a place where a million people died? What else can you do but leave something, anything, behind that says we were here, and that we remember?
The many little details of Josh’s life bounce around in my head for long after we say goodbye, reminding me that we never know who we’ll meet, and where. As always, inspiration had been worth waiting for.
Behind my decision to bike to Angkor Wat was a desire to feel a sense of exploration; to try and channel the sublime sense of discovery French explorer Henri Mouhot must have felt in 1860.
For days we have been moving the puzzle pieces of our trip back to Bangkok around. It may have taken a while for our plan to come together, but here on a Vientiane sidewalk, I’m glad it left room to meet Nam.
On a balmy Sunday afternoon in Luang Prabang, Laos, while sketching the sleepy town at a sidewalk desk, I realize there’s only one stamp of approval we need to do what we love. Our own.
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.
The passing group of monks never actually stop walking, but when they see what I’m up to, they crane their necks, ooh and aah over my sketch, and wish me ganbatte a hundred times as they pass.
Most of all, what I want to remember from Temple 58 is its classic tiered roof. While it means my first day on the circuit will be longer than it should, I can’t help but drop everything and sketch the temple.