kijal . cities of sand, 1

Late in the year, the monsoon descends from distant skies and distant cities. The ocean charges up and down the sand with a new and electric energy, anticipating the arrival of reinforcements.

You can stand on the beach and drown in sunlight, but when you step out of the water the wind is cold on your knees and ankles.

Thus winter comes to the South China Sea.

kyoto . cities & mountains, 1

The traveler arriving in Kyoto on a grey autumn morning experiences a tremendous sense of calm; as if the mists in the surrounding mountains settle upon the city, and the spirit of the mountains seep into the ancient roofs and walls and travel along the telephone and electric wires until all the time in the city assumes a grander scale, becomes heavier, sleepier, more ponderous and majestic.

The mists transfigure not only the city but the people within it, natives and travelers both.

singapore . cities & songs, 1

The absolute law of Changi is that the traveler’s luggage arrives before the traveler, even in the flurry of airplanes touching down all together at midnight. Singapore is extremely precise. It is also extremely popular at midnight, and so, standing in the tail-end of the reticulated python queue of people waiting for a cab, the traveler is introduced very early to the concept of many people occupying a small but exquisitely maintained place.

On this occasion we travel there in the guise of concert-goers. The concert-goer differs from the traveler in possessing a specific purpose to undertake a journey, that is, to spend half the entire journey in anticipation of a concert future, and the remaining half revisiting memories of a concert past. Very little time is spent by concert-goers talking nostalgically about the past, or food, or shopping, or the future; even less time is wasted by concert-goers loitering about shopping malls all day, or walking by the river, or settling down to have coffee. In this light it is more accurate to record this as a true journey after all. (Sorry Jess)

chicago . cities & desire, 1

The traveler arriving in Chicago this March finds it overwhelmingly large and cold and concreted, alternately brown and white from architecture and snow. From the airport one crosses long lonely highways, skipping from the occasional shadow of one tall dusty building to another. Slowly the distance between shadows diminishes, suburbs come together, leafless witch-trees fade away, bill-boards and flat office walls with glass spider-eyes crowd out the sky. Crossing a bridge, half-asleep, the traveler realizes that daylight is dimming and looks up: sees a darkened sky, crammed tight with buildings shoulder to shoulder, horizon to horizon. The road stretches in front forever; we are forced to stop at irregular intervals regardless, allowing countless intersections full of angry traffic to pass through. Peering down each road, the city continues infinitely in layers and sub-layers of walls and windows and scaffolding, pavements and lamp-posts and traffic lights, all at perfect right angles to one another.