Dear Aziza*,
Surprisingly, I've quickly taken to the tropical air, and write to you once more at your request of hearing the stories of this poor traveler.
To the west of Malacca and the larger isles of Sumatra and Brunei, is the city of Makassar and its vast holdings, spread across the expanse of the blue ocean. In the city itself we can sense for miles away the smell of the spices the empire is so famed for.
Past the bazaars, which filled to the brim with both traders and great amounts of mace, nutmeg and cloves drying in the sun, in the city centre we can find the most modern and exquisite mosques I have ever seen, with furniture from China, incense from Yemen and sandalwood from India (...) their luxury borders on the profane, and I can understand this rich people's - who are, after all, little more than first generation neophytes - concept of religion as a way of honoring Allah, perhaps more so than to follow his teachings. If I take it that way, then I can also comprehend the Christians' obsession with building their cathedrals ever higher, with gold leaf walls...
Beyond the city itself, I've been told there isn't all that much to see. The outlaying lands of Makassar are said to be little more than plantations and small settlements, so I shall depart soon for the Khmer Empire. I've heard marvels about Angkor. Then, I'm planning to head up through Vietnam, to Ganzho (sic), so I can visit China. You may be thinking I'm aping Ibn Battuta's journeys, dear Aziza, but it is true that I very much admire his writings, and his sound advice has kept me alive far too many times to ignore.
Hoping this letter finds you well,
Khalil.