A cup of over-steeped tea brings back the memory of student days, bent over a book, surrounded by papers, the tea overdrawing and becoming tepid, forgotten, on the desk. Legs crossed at the ankles, or sitting on one foot, it is possible to forget time itself, to say nothing of a cup of tea.
A large grey sky, and the seeping white stain of fog. The evening sun doesn’t know what to do.
We want to travel like vagabonds, wandering through the province as simply and inconspicuously as possible, living as much as possible “off the country” and as the natives do, both because it is cheaper and more carefree and because we can learn more of the people and the country by doing it that way. But we have to compromise to a certain extent between our idea of the kind of people we are and [their] idea of the kind of people we ought to be.
—Eleanor Holgate Lattimore (Turkestan Reunion)