Perhaps everything memorable is born out of contradiction. Like an orange light flaring up under a gloomy, low sky, symbolising bright ideas and a cheerful spirit. That is exactly why Needle and Plate, with the persistence of windmills, keep searching for themselves and refuse to stay the same. The Land of the Rising Sun saw them off to their home turf and bestowed a piece of its own individuality upon them as a parting gesture.

The Hague greeted them with bad weather, which nonetheless felt like the cosiest thing in the world. The wheels of their suitcases clattered playfully over the cobblestones, trying to hide from the rain. At last, the travellers crossed the threshold and dropped their coats right on the floor.

“It’s so beautiful here...”

“You know, far from a big city, among fields and bicycles, you feel kind of special.”

“Tell me about it! I’ve missed our kettle so much. Will you put it on?”

“Only if you get the record player going first!”

A pleasant, familiar crackle filled the air. The magazine Plate had been reading before the trip was still lying on the living room table. It felt as if they had been gone for a year. The cultural contrast was alluring but not easy to digest. Needle walked to the window and drew the curtains apart. Outside, wet rooftops glistened outside, and there wasn’t a single skyscraper in sight.

Nobody talked about the coming work week; nobody checked email or messages. They began to realise that home was a place where a journey becomes a part of you.