The Last Village

I live in a highly developed city, where everything is urban and forested areas are rare. Rarer yet are the relatively wild lands, where modern developments have yet to intrude. I visited one such place today. It is the last traditional village in the city.

Now, it is strange that I feel this fascination with a place similar to that which my parents have grown up in. I brought them along, and frankly they were bored. It's too familiar to them. Yet, for me, it is a new experience. The unpaved roads covered in mud and dotted with large puddles. The buildings built of makeshift materials very much like your average shanty. Despite that, there was something missing, I realized. It didn't smell.

I've been to slums and shanties. The thing they have in common is the smell. A place that is unwashed, rubbish everywhere and animal dung all over the place. There's a distinct aroma to such places. That very scent was missing, which I guess felt like a rather unusual omission. Visually it looked and felt like a traditional village, yet some of the sounds and the smells were missing.

Despite that, I felt a sense of achievement, however small that was. I found yet another place that told me that there was more to the image of my city than the postcard images. I find that I like hunting down such places, that there is something new that I can find each day. More importantly, I have managed to personally document yet another piece of the old country that will be washed away by the tides of progress shortly. Soon, all that remains of the past will be memories, and perhaps my images will serve to bolster those memories.