By Shion Aikawa

It only takes a shuffle from a ledge, of a couple of bad lucks to direct an individual’s spirit, rolling it down the hillside into the dark valleys. The fall is soft and one never realizes how thick the ground is from the moss of the grass. You are presented with a thick fog as you begin to stand up — a fog as thick as a duvet meant for a cabin in the high mountains. Taking a step is heavy, and you’re never surefooted, having you wonder if taking a step at all is worth the…

A Trek Through Sapa, Vietnam


‘The Vietnamese call us cats,’ Mai explains while sitting on a faded red, low plastic chair in a hillside farmhouse after a morning of trekking through a high mountain pass — a parting of trees amidst a shallow valley that may have once been a waterway long ago. The clearings were special to the Hmong people where there once were wild hogs to hunt between the dense spear-like trees. Earth was compact, trapped as if the dirt had been trampled by stampedes of men and hog for generations, hiding the history of centuries-long war…

Shion Aikawa

I write about my relationships with food through travelogues, memories, dreams, and emotions. To make sense of the universe by taste and smell… like a dog.

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