I used to dream often of a garden in Kyoto, along the eastern hills in a southern part of town that didn’t—quite—exist in life. I would feel myself wandering through a labyrinth of narrow streets to some station-cum-shopping complex on the western side of town. Why I began to dream of this—or why I remade the city in my sleep—of course I never knew. But it was those hills that always called to me in my conscious life, as the great temples and celebrated beauties of the city never could.
– Pico Iyer
One of the architecturally lovelier airport terminals I’ve passed through.