Nothing takes me into a google k-hole like abandoned paradise.
Empty Croatian hotels in Kupari. Varosha in Cyprus. The Poconos.
Sometimes, the world starts to feel like it’s so full of people, that it’s becoming so interconnected and identical, populations swelling and pushing up against each other. It feels that way downtown during lunch, with mobs of people on sidewalks, in the mornings when transit is a mass of bodies confined in one foot spaces. The way urban areas roll out into one another in concrete and endless condominiums, stacking people’s lives into the skies. And everything is globalizing and I’m eating Pizza Hut pizza in the core of Thailand where I haven’t seen another tourist for hours and no one speaks fluent English. Everything will just move forward until there is nothing left.
And then there’s a picture of a place that used to be symbolic of everything advancing, a leisure hub, a beloved spot. It’s still perfection, water to swim in and sand to stretch out on, but now silent and wasted.
No one who had the last holidays in those places likely imagined this, over iced afternoon drinks in brightly lit restaurants and lobbies. They were probably concerned about their love lives, how they looked in a bathing suit, and what to eat for dinner. The price of tomatoes. Maybe the last ones knew things were shifting, talking about the rising conflict as the sun set, or how another garment factory had started laying off people.
Sometimes the world does not move forwards, density moves in reverse.