Tokyo Metro, Tsukiji to Omote-Sando  
 


Tokyu Hands, Shibuya  
 


Nishi Shinjuku Hotel, Shinjuku  
 


Tokyo Metro, Asakusa to Shinjuku  
 


Mori Center 50F, Roppongi Hills  
 


Mori Center 52F, Roppongi Hills  
 


Shin-Yokohama Ramen Museum, Shin-Yokohama  
 


Pronto, Shinjuku  
 


Pura Dalem Agung, Ubud  
 


Segara Giri Kencana, Menjangan Island  
 


Taman Sari, Pemuteran  
 


Delta Dewata supermarket, Ubud  
 


Ngurah Rai Airport, Denpasar  
 


shinkansen platform, Shinagawa  
 


Hikari shinkansen, Shinagawa to Kyoto  
 


Kiyomizu-dera, Kyoto  
 


Kyoto Museum for World Peace, Ritsumeikan University, Kyoto  
 


Ryoanji, Kyoto  
 


OPA department store, Kyoto  
 


Shinagawa station, Tokyo

 
 


toro and hamachi, Daiwa Sushi, Tsukiji  
 


breakfast hotdog, Presto, East Shinjuku  
 


unidentified pastry, Presto, East Shinjuku  
 


takoyaki, sidewalk cart, Ueno Park  
 


Japan half-and-half, Bar Del Sole, Roppongi  
 


bi bim bap and bulgogi, Saikabo, Shinjuku My City  
 


ramen, Komurasaki, Shin-Yokohama Ramen Museum  
 


lukewarm soup, unnamed warung, Candi Kuning  
 


banana fritter, Ngiring Ngawedang, Munduk  
 


palm-sugar crepes, Taman Sari, Pemuteran  
 


Pocari Sweat, boat off Menjangan Island  
 


nasi goreng ananda, Ananda, Candi Kuning  
 


random ekiben #1, Shinagawa  
 


random ekiben #2, Shinagawa  
 


ramen, near Kinkakuji, Kyoto  
 


tea spigot, Musashi kaitenzushi, Kyoto

Zapruder Point: The O.M. (0.9M mp3)
from It's Always the Quiet Ones  

I loaded the CD-changer in my car before the trip, so interspersed with all the new Japanese pop and trip-photo sorting and back-at-work denial and willful continuing other-cultural immersion, I've been hearing a few records I was pondering before I left. I'm dancing around to ultra-produced big-corporate techno-pop in a language I only sporadically understand and even less often actually empathize with, but I'm also standing still, humming small, wistful, under-produced, uncalculated reasons for being home to feel right.

It is 12:14am on Sunday in Cambridge, Massachusetts, USA. About 30 hours ago it was 7am on Saturday in Kyoto, Japan, so after two buses, two trains, two planes and too many benches to count B and I are well into Sunday afternoon. Time-travel is possible, but you end up far too tired to think of any clever way to exploit it. We're going to sleep now, and tomorrow it will finally be today again.

If I had 1001 40-armed guardians watching over me I'd probably be more Zen, too.

From being anomalous and anonymous, we have gone to being obvious and implored. Bali is both stunning and desperate in nearly every frame. "Will you come back to Bali?" is the fourth question everyone asks us, and we've barely even arrived. Tropical aquariums are now ruined for me, wider roads now enchanted. An oceanside palace for 4 in Pemuteran costs more than a bed-size room in Shinjuku, but only by about $4. Which is about 50 cents for each form in which I ate bananas.  

The geckos and B and I all send our love.

Hi from the other side of the planet. So many people, so many noodles, so few days. Tokyo is just like San Francisco if we let ourselves be in New York, and just like Mars when I try to pretend I'm Martian. This morning I told a woman I needed to read the drink list and she moved a tray off of it, so apparently my Japanese isn't entirely useless. But I recognize three kanji in ten, understand one whole warning sign in twenty, and almost never have any idea what people are saying to me unless I could have deduced it from context anyway.  

Totally cool.