AFTER HAVING JOURNEYED through the city of Katalena, I felt bewildered, as if all my instincts had disappeared into the damp air that reflects this temperamental town. Although I rejoiced in all its avenues and tenements which have brought about the significant attributes of this erratic city, I felt somewhat robbed of my own unaffected wayfinding. At every corner and edge of this maze of an urban metropolis, a subtle yet persuasive suggestion was made, somewhat anonymously, regarding my continued trek. Without even realising it, I was affected. Where did this anonymous voice really lead me?

Not to the people nor the smells. Not to the memories awaiting to be created with every stately footstep. Not to the artisans and musicians alike who fill the avenues with their creations, allowing by passer's minds to wander off into the unexplored corners of their mind. Not the reflective light ricocheting off the windows of the grand halls which once housed pivotal minds. Those same pivotal minds who opted to cover the city’s corners and avenues with useless signage with the sole purpose to lead the visitor to the obvious. The landmarks. The city squares. The parks and the rivers. The obvious does not a city make, at least not for my wandering kind. 

Lead me to the obscure and honest. To the concealed gems of the town, where smiles are unconfined, laughter is omnipresent and sudden acts of performance is encouraged. To the taste of scones, and the smell of morning brew blowing in the wind. To a scene that invigorates every traveller’s mind.

Trekking the Katalena of today, one leaves its boundaries with an untruthful perception of its most important attributes, only perceiving a few glimpses of its true essence. The question remains – what honest memories do you actually leave with?