My favorite kind of “travel writing” — or I suppose writing about place — embarks on an inner journey, and uses a physical location as a diving board into one’s depths, into their mind.
I recently had a long layover in Seoul and took the train into the city to wander for the day. With twelve hours, I did what I love most: explored a new city on my own, wandered down alleyways, hunted for street art, and got lost.
I returned to Hanoi and Halong Bay, both in the north of Vietnam. As you linger in Hanoi, you become one with it — the pulse of the street, the ebb and flow of traffic.
I remember then feeling I had to rise against it, that Hanoi was something to be conquered. Maybe I wasn’t in the right place; maybe it wasn’t the right time. You never really know with cities. They’re like people, and you don’t always hit it off.
August was a busy month — weddings, time with family and friends, and exploring cities we’ve never been.
We fetishize the offline experience, especially in regard to time. I admit I cherish my film photographs and negative rolls in shoeboxes: a tangible buildup of time. Or recently, during a weekend in Sonoma County, my husband and I stayed in a cottage that had a VCR and two movies on […]