We don’t have these where I live, these vine-draped, sun-splashed oases of calm in the midst of busy cities. But the courtyard at my hotel is, I think,  one of the most enchanting places I’ve ever seen.

Wisteria vines hang heavy over tiled roofs. Something fragrant — frangipani? spirea? — blooms by the pool, which is filled by spouts of cool, piped-in water augmented by a sculpture spring.

A bird I’ve never heard before chatters in the shrubbery. Incense wafts from a small shrine, and water trickles from a quiet fountain.

To enter this courtyard is to feel an ancient spirit, tapping the inner peace of a place designed for tranquility.

Since I’ve been in Nepal I’ve considered the courtyard, the haven it provides, how it soothes the soul. Considered it — and coveted it, too.