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Researchers into olfactory memory, that curious nostalgia of the nose, have put it all down to the limbic system. I have read but cannot always parse the literature: the academics tend to lose me at the orbitofrontal cortex. But the
It was one of those stories that I sometimes pitched to make sure that I had money coming in: a throwaway that meant nothing to me, but which was curious enough that an online magazine would run it in return
It is a small but committed cross-section of drinkers that has found itself arranged along the tasting room bar. We are here because we have missed the tour: my wife and I accidentally, having thought it was scheduled to begin
Hat Yai is what Sungai Kolok wants to be: an actual den of sin and iniquity. It oozes sex, which runs along its gutters like gunk, clogging them in the rain. The latter hasn’t stopped yet, and won’t before I
The Pattani bus stand is a little out of town, swathed in greenery, which trembles slightly on the breeze, seemingly excited by the prospect of rain. I take a motorcycle taxi into the center of town, hanging off the back
The Cityline bus from Kota Bharu takes an hour and a half to cover fifty kilometers and stops with a start fifty meters from the border. Rantau Panjang is alive with activity characteristic of border towns the world over: roadside
This story begins in Malaysia. It begins in Malaysia, in Kota Bharu, the capital of the north-eastern state of Kelantan, on a dusty train platform at the edge of the city, not far from the river, which leads to the
In 1969, Jimi Hendrix visited Essaouira, Morocco, a blue-and-white-washed village on the country’s Atlantic coast. Tales have been told of his visit ever since: that he ate here and stayed there, that he nearly bought the nearby town of Diabat,