In search of lost time


You forget

You forget the heat and the humidity, the smell of two stroke exhaust and open drains, the tropical decay, the noise and dust of the towns, the quiet smiles of people in the street and the verdancy of the paddy fields and jungle.

One step from the sterile steel womb of your plane, and in that moment it feels like suddenly you might round the next corner and come upon a younger, version of yourself haggling with a street vendor and trying to figure change in the local currency.





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