Kannahari has no edge, because its boundaries are fluid and impossible to discern with definite clarity. There is no sign proclaiming, “Now entering Kannahari,” just as there is no place where one can say, “I have now just entered (or exited) Kannahari.” Indeed, you do not cross into the city, but are absorbed into it through one of the countless razor-thin gaps in the otherwise impenetrable outer wall, and carried along through a labyrinth of spiderlanes until you stand shoulder to shoulder within a zendela, feverish with commerce and coercion, and unlike any other bazaar in the world.

As a stranger in an unknown city, one might easily imagine themselves in a paranoid thriller, where every door is a check-point and every person an unknown quantity to be assessed. Questions must be asked, information extracted, and if you’re lucky, you’ll get a cup of coffee somewhere along the way. In Kannahari, it is much like this, except the questions are always in the form of an enigmatic story, and the coffee is red and comes with dakra, when they have it.

One cannot simply ask, for example, “where may I find a good restaurant?” and expect anything but contempt. The rudeness implicit in the question itself is that there are restaurants unequal to others in gastronomic quality of food and experience, and worse, that there might be a restaurant which serves less than excellent food. Buried even deeper in that innocent query, however, is perhaps the insult hardest to forgive. Every restaurant in Kannahari is assumed to be run by someone’s mother, and to accuse anyone’s mother of being less than a divine cook is the most serious of all insults to any Kannaharian (even if your mother is known to be a horrible cook). Therefore, it is better to say, “where may a humble traveler such as myself, be allowed the honor of partaking in delicious sustenance?” and then go on to describe two or three memorable meals in great and unyielding detail, with particular attention paid to each of your companions and their meals as well. Feel free to embellish, and don’t worry if your experience may seem too foreign. The success of your story lies in the telling, not in the particulars.

Truth be told, it is likely you won’t make it past the first juncture if you are traveling without an experienced guide. In general, it’s always best to say as little as possible, while your guide does all talking and all negotiation. Trying to interject will only make what are already interminable exchanges, into even longer endurance contests. In effect, you are prisoners until your guide returns you to an entrance, because if you go off on your own, there is statistically speaking, only a .001% chance of returning safely, and that’s the one guy who made it out on his own a few decades ago. It only took him six months.

That is not to say you should altogether avoid conversing with the locals. By all means, negotiating a good deal is as much a time-honored tradition in Kannaharia as anywhere else, and who doesn’t like talking about their children or their imaginary accomplishments? Whatever your situation, you will find no shortage of strangers to willing and able to carry on both sides of a conversation. Just always be sure to ask your guide to confirm that anything you may have agreed to will not be ultimately injurious to you or your party.

Inevitably, you will spend a great deal of time sitting, as eating and drinking are requirements for good story-telling, and you will be doing a lot of both. Whether it’s tea-lunch, afternoon beer, evening suppers, or late-night kabibos (good luck), an even pace is necessary for both a clear head and successful negotiations. Always accept whatever is offered you, especially if it’s anything fresh, but consume the smallest portions possible. As a story is being woven around the offerings of sweetmulch and blackbeer, listen for insights about people or places seemingly unrelated to the story at hand. In a tale about chasing an escaped pig, for example, an aside about a merchant in the next gather selling particularly strong tobacco would be the actual nugget of information you should take away from it. While these stories may appear wistful and even non-sensical at times to outsiders, for locals they are the essence of communication in Kannahari, and story-telling mastery is an absolute requirement if ever one hopes to reach Jendela, the largest and most unusual bazaar in all of Kannahari.

Without a doubt, the most striking aspect of life in Kannahari is the lack of public thoroughfares. The idea that one could walk down a street, passing one home after another, without so much as a hello and a brief recap of local gossip with each and every neighbor is simply incomprehensible to a Kannaharian. In this regard streets don’t exist, instead you have chains, which are just any series of courtyards designated as a viable route from point A to B. Every courtyard is a different family and a different experience (and a different meal).

Kannahari hospitality is without peer, but even the most welcoming of hosts gets tired of guests. Consequently, routes change often and without notice, which is another vital reason to travel with a guide. While it is true that no one can refuse you passage through their home except for very specific reasons, nothing says they have to be pleasant, accommodating or truthful in guiding you forward. Trust us, there is no worse fate than being condemned to a ghost ship, where suddenly you are allowed to travel unhindered from one space to another, but while everywhere you turn you can hear the sounds of people, nowhere are you allowed to see anyone. This can go on for hours or days, depending on the severity of the transgression, and few who have gone through it once, ever commit a deserving infraction again.