We had traveled many miles to see the place and had been driven back by the growl of motorcycles and the jostling of too many revelers. But we were not deterred; merely deflected and rerouted. We parted ways with the main drag and crisscrossed a softer, gentler part of the city. The streets were bathed in sodium light and we peered into living rooms that glowed with the blue cast of late-night TV. It was an architecture crawl of sorts, and we were content to wander, hold hands, and debate the differences between a mansard roof and a Dutch one. This may seem a strange way to pass a Saturday night. But this is what our people do, and our people are a colony of two.

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