The caravanserai (Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia)
Some years back, I hitchhiked from Yinchuan, in China's Ningxia province, to the border of Inner Mongolia. The borderland was wilderness, and crumbling ruins of a wall (part of the series of walls that make the Great Wall). There were no tourists there, hardly any traffic, and the land was all mine to wander.
I thought about all the people in the ancient days who had traveled through here to the west along the silk routes. There must have been a caravanserai where the caravans going in different directions rested for the night. I wish I could go back in time to listen to the stories told by all those Persians, Koreans, Chinese, and half a dozen other nationalities that no longer exist.
These days, the nearest I can get to the caravanserai experience is the huddle spaces that I find at airports —around power plugs and outside lounge that have easily guessable wifi passwords. Like this morning at Kuala Lumpur's budget terminal.
In such places, strangers share chargers, wifi passwords and tips about each other's destinations. Momentarily, like those intrepid people in a caravanserai, we become friends. More so when our phones are entirely out of power, and there is nothing much to do.