Travel chronicles are invariably exercises in nostalgia. The docked boat, the trees swaying in the wind, the remains of picnic sandwiches; I was there, it says, and it was summertime. Even visits to imagined cities have that melancholy feel, the trace of the Khan’s grief at being trapped inside his palace.
Stitch in Time
Stitch in Time
Stitch in Time
Travel chronicles are invariably exercises in nostalgia. The docked boat, the trees swaying in the wind, the remains of picnic sandwiches; I was there, it says, and it was summertime. Even visits to imagined cities have that melancholy feel, the trace of the Khan’s grief at being trapped inside his palace.