Yulon's Travel Journal (I)

Pentos—the Sugary Port, the City of Schemes

It was the Free City on the continent of Essos closest to Westeros's capital, King's Landing.

Before the ship had even reached the shore, the wind carried Pentos's "scent" to us: a cloying aroma of wine, so sweet you could almost chew it between your teeth. It clung to the salty sea breeze and wouldn't go away. They said it was the city's breath, its soul. To me, it was simply Pentos's most straightforward introduction: here, anything could intoxicate you, and anything could be assigned a price and traded.

Pentos was originally ruled by a prince, chosen from among the adult men of forty noble families. He ruled for life, and another prince was selected only after his death. Nowadays, the city was actually governed by magistrates. The prince was still chosen from among the forty families, but his role was purely ceremonial: he presided over meetings and festival banquets.

The peace treaty stipulated that the people of Pentos could own no more than twenty warships, hire no mercenaries, make no contracts with Free Companies, and maintain no army beyond the city watch. So this city was weak! So weak that it had to give gifts of gold and silver to the Dothraki horse lords.

I took a look at the palace the magistrates of Pentos had given to the Dothraki khal. It stood beside the bay, with nine tall towers and ivy covering its brick walls. It was the place where a story began, and well worth a visit.

Pentos was a thriving port city, so its docks were the busiest and most bustling place around.

The docks were crowded and noisy. Piles of brightly colored carpets, like poisonous butterflies spreading their wings, were stacked so high they seemed ready to bend the wooden planks beneath them. Merchants came forward with smiles sweeter than wine and words stickier than honey. They raised silver cups and spoke endlessly of "friendship" and "respect." But I knew that every compliment here came with a bill, and every glance was measuring your worth. If you praised a carpet, its owner had already worked out a price in his head; if you looked at a slave, he was already wondering whether you wanted to discuss a human transaction. So I only smiled and nodded, stingy with any genuine praise. In this city, silence was the highest courtesy.

Today I visited three wine merchants and drank no fewer than ten cups of their vaunted "vintage wines."

Without exception, they were sweet. Far too sweet. So sweet it made me uneasy, like drinking syrup. The merchants proudly swirled the purple liquid in their goblets and told me about their family traditions and treasured secret recipes. But all I could think was: the first cup of this wine is a pleasure, the second is something to tolerate, and the third is a burden. A truly good wine should make you want to come back for more. And I, who had sailed the seas since I was seven but had never been allowed to drink, found that my first taste of this so-called "nectar of the gods" left me... disappointed.

Before this, I had never drunk wine because of my age. After tasting the Pentos sweet wine that everyone praised, my impression was that these so-called wines were just grape juice for children!

In the afternoon, I went to the vineyards outside the city.

Under the blazing sun, the vines grew in neat rows, and workers bent over as they picked the grapes. Everything was just as it had been centuries ago. I plucked a plump grape that was nearly splitting open. Its juice burst out, dark red as blood. Such perfect fruit... and it was turned into sweet water to please children. It was a waste, and a disgrace.

The idea in my mind grew clearer and clearer: this was an opportunity to let the people of this world taste what real wine was like! It would bring in a fortune! But I would have to wait until I returned to the Iron Islands to really give it a try. I could control the fermentation temperature, or introduce some of Dorne's dry spices to balance the sweetness, improve the packaging, and make the wine able to travel farther and longer without spoiling...

The people of Pentos were skilled at trade, and I would offer them a deal they had never even imagined: I wasn't going to buy their wine. I would use their grapes and my methods to redefine what wine was. One day, they would curse me for stealing the business they were so proud of, all while drinking their fill of the rich wine I had perfected. And my purse would be full of the money I had taken from them.

Two and a half years to complete my travel plans was certainly a tight schedule. Most of that time would be spent on the road, so I couldn't spend long exploring any one city. In the end, I stayed in Pentos for fourteen days. My trip to Pentos earned me a total of 2,600 points.

Norvos—Stairs, Bells, and the Shadow of the Monks

We arrived at a city divided by religious authority and stone walls. Norvos was not one city, but two: one perched atop a mountain, the other crouched in a river valley, connected by the famous Sinner's Stair. The three hundred feet between them separated not only rich from poor, but two utterly different ways of life.

The upper city was sealed behind massive stone walls, a fortress of the bearded monks. Life there was as hard and cold as its buildings. Summers were hot and humid, winters bitterly cold, and the only thing that never ceased was the endless sound of prayers from the temples. Everything was wrapped in an atmosphere of solemn, dull, suffocating piety.

But their goods were undeniably useful: their sturdy textiles could withstand the salty winds of the Iron Islands, and their fine oak was just what we needed to rebuild our fleet. I kept my patience, hoping to get what we needed in exchange for gold and silence. I met with the monks, who wore coarse sackcloth robes and had beards that reached their waists. There was no merchant's greed in their eyes, only an unfathomable scrutiny. Doing business with them felt strange—you felt as though you weren't haggling over prices, but taking part in a silent confession.

Walking down Sinner's Stair felt like falling from an altar into the mortal world. The lower city was filled with dockworkers' chants, the low laughter of brothels, and the clamor of taverns. The air mingled the bitter smell of dark beer with the sour reek of fermented goat's milk. I tried their "Winter Cake," a hard pastry made with ginger, pine nuts, and cherries, along with an iron cup of honeyed milk wine called "Nasa." The taste was rough but vivid, much like the city itself.

"Longlegs" Lomas called the bells here one of the world's miracles. When I heard the three great bells ring out together, their thunder seeming to rise from deep within the mountain and shake both the heavens and the hearts of men, I had to admit he was right. Their sound was solemn and majestic, as if it could cleanse all sin, yet it also held everyone firmly within the order of the gods.

Still, haha, a bunch of monks ruling a country suddenly reminded me of some of the Buddhist kingdoms in Journey to the West. It was a strange feeling. If I ever got the chance to make these bearded monks come down from the steps and become true monks with no worldly desires, that would be very interesting.