The thing is everything is disappointing. He remembers being disappointed by the Eifel Tower and wondering what was wrong with him, how could he be disappointed by something that everyone found so grand, so everything that is the opposite of disappointing? Was he incapable of wonder? He went to the Cirque du Soleil and found it boring. The first time he saw the Statue of Liberty, he started humming Is That All There Is? not as some snarky reaction to what he thought was, essentially, a simple statue, but because he had felt so underwhelmed by it. And cheated by his own reaction. He was underwhelmed by spectacle of all sort, by the skylines of cities, by the cathedrals of Europe, by a bridge that he was told would be breathtaking, or by an elephant, or by a sunset. The only thing that never disappointed him, for whatever reason, was a mountain, and the more mountains the greater his awe. That and the perfect steamed pork bun. He’d always thought if he could eat the perfect steamed pork bun at the base of a mountain, he would have his moment, a kind of perfection that he could then describe forever, but he had yet to have this moment, because he’d discovered his feelings about steamed pork buns relatively recently, and hadn’t yet had a chance to test his theory.