The Dock With No Return
A quiet field note about a dock that didn’t lead anywhere — but helped you leave something behind.
A quiet field note about a dock that didn’t lead anywhere — but helped you leave something behind.
A story about a closed Thai temple — and how it welcomed something quieter than footsteps.
A soft travel note about stepping onto a ferry without knowing the destination — and finding that stillness can be its own arrival.
A city designed to make you loop — not get lost. A travel note about the beauty of noticing more each time you pass the same place.
A quiet riverside bench in the shade of a banyan tree offers unexpected belonging — even when no one is there.
A dreamlike alleyway in old Bangkok reminds us that some places aren’t meant to be found — only felt.
They don’t appear on most maps.
But if you walk early enough — before the motorbikes take over the air — you might hear them first: the quiet crunch of gravel, the creak of old wood, the sound of something not yet erased.
The old tracks run behind a forgotten station on the outskirts of Ayutthaya. You won’t find a sign. But you’ll know you’re close when the air suddenly holds still. When a cat darts across the path. When the rusted rails cut through tall grass like a sentence left unfinished.
Local kids ride their bikes across them in the late afternoon. Elderly vendors dry herbs on flattened platforms. And if you ask about trains, most will smile and say, “No more — just stories now.”
But if you stay long enough…
You might feel the hum beneath your shoes.
You might hear the faint bell.
You might wonder if something still remembers how to return.