For some reason, I have a strange travel habit. It is that I never just pass by a destination I planned to briefly visit. However, this sometimes makes my travels richer. From the wedding I witnessed by the seaside in Taean during my nationwide bicycle tour, to the pen collection that began with a glass pen purchased at a German museum on my way to Norway, and the agony of being unable to stretch my legs on the sleeping bus from Luang Prabang to Hanoi, and so on.
My turning point on this European road trip was a small record store nestled in a corner of the Place de Luxembourg, looking as if starving. Slowly flipping through vinyl records one by one, I found the Coneheads OST; while flipping past “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You,” I discovered “Soul to Squeeze” and came to know “Red Hot Chili Peppers”—it felt like expanding the volume of my life.
Whether it is due to naturally manifesting ADHD or an obsession learned through experience, these are the rare moments I discover at the crossroads of travel destinations where I can neither simply pass by nor stop. But then, jazz, which I discovered by chance, was such a great happiness.
