Winding Down and Checked In

As March has wound down to an end, temperatures have hit the mid-teens and low-20s. With that, Gabe and I have indulged in shirtsleeves and shorts and shrug our amusement to one another when we pass people who still rely on down jackets to help them bare with the weather. My amusement is muted, because I can still recall a time when the summers in Kyoto gradually eroded my wintry hardiness.  In an alternate world, I too would be in layers for +20.

The last few days though, we were refreshed when the breeze cooled us a bit and found ourselves sweltering if we were inside for too long. As we moved through the streets, the temples and other settings whether ancient or futuristic I was taking it all in afresh. There have been many occasions when the place is just too crowded for my liking, but I have reminded myself to keep pace with those around me and to take in what I can of the surroundings.

The blossoms have edged into the light, but remain timid for the most part. Rains on Wednesday and Thursday may abbreviate the season this year before the flower reach their popcorn glory, but that may depend on whether downpours prevail or the country gets a light drizzle to send the macrophotographers into a tizzy with the extra detail of a bit of moisture to kiss the flowers. Without the cherry trees in bloom, my eyes have drifted to familiar friends: the carpets of moss that provide ground cover at so many temples, the ferns that complement them and the shadows that seem to be more poetic or present than they are in other places in the world.  

As we wound down our last full day in the country before conceding ourselves to our return tickets, we trekked around Osaka one last time and I navigated the trains with ease that had been lacking earlier in the week. It gradually started coming back to me but throughout the last day or so there have been pangs of recognition that there was so much left unseen.  That is the reality even if I’m at home but it is acutely so when trying to repackage 8-years’-worth of “you gotta see” into 11 days on the ground.  For Gabe there will be an idea of the lasting impression in a few weeks or months and it will be interesting to hear what he regales me with as he recollects his experience of this place.  It will be interesting to see if he targets more of the same for his next trip or if he pursues a mix of experiences that are angled toward a different overall experience.

There is the sense though that the Japan he has seen and will discover will be different from the one I know.  The question will be whether the differences in our perceptions of the place are superficial or intrinsic.  Will he remember the odd process of buying a ticket into a temple from a vending machine, but only after having the cashier at the break a Y10,000 bill into Y1000s to put into the machine and then having that same cashier tell us we could put the ticket into the small plastic box that sat on the ledge in front of her. Will he grasp the near sacrilege of a Hard Rock Cafe being not only in Kyoto, but in the neighbourhood of the city normally the reserve of the geishas and maikos that shuffle through the narrow streets of tea houses in ancient Gion?

Much will tumble through my head as I process the trip over the next few days and weeks.  I feel wistful after this long overdue visit to a place that retains the status of second home, a place that has remained with me and informed me throughout the decades that have passed since I left in 2003.  I still gravitate toward the country, its cultures, films, music and books.  As for the books, I scanned a reasonable collection of Japanese novels in translation this afternoon, hoping to discover one that might appeal to me during the trip home and beyond.  During the subsequent train ride, Gabe was fixated on his Nintendo so I picked up my new novel and in the second paragraph came across a direct reference to one of my favorite (English-language) novels. The serendipity of this connection from the one book I chose from all the options available was a reassuring point to conclude upon.

I will dive into this tense little novel, Fish Swimming in Dappled Sunlight, throughout my travels tomorrow and I will contemplate the serendipity that occurred today and at the outset of the trip as well. I would have liked to have more chance and coincidence mark the trip, but there were also occasions to note where I took matters into my own hands to ensure the trip went the way I wanted.  I’m not often one to push things my way, but it was good to see it pay off and keep this little adventure on track.  Next up is the trek back to Tokyo on the shinkansen and on to the airport to begin the return to home.

Warmer and Waiting

The rain and grey that proved pesky and persistent throughout the trip so far relented mid morning Friday after a percussive night of rains.  When we headed out, Gabe in a new pair of shorts intended to spare him from the warmth of his jogging pants, he was relieved at the comfort and freedom of the warm weather gear.  It was in the mid-teens by the time we were out the door and hit 22 in the afternoon.  There were occasional gusts of wind that made me think about where I left my long sleeves at times, but for most of the day we were distinguishing ourselves as Canadians thanks to the absence of down or fleece in our attire for the day.

The blossoms are slowly opening up but this will not be a year like my last cherry blossom season, when the flowers were opened and gone before the first of April.  This year, they are easing in almost timidly.  Apparently the weather was promising an earlier season but the chill of the last 12-15 days put the brakes on things.  There were a few more trees starting to mark the season, but the vast majority, and I risk suggesting that there were tens and hundreds of trees in bloom when I really counted a mere half dozen today, all but one of which were near a parking lot or a construction site that didn’t really invite you to compose an image with an exceptional historic backdrop to it.

My son found a slower, more contemplative stride throughout the stroll through the city today, falling under the spell of the temples he visited and paying his respects as well as he could.  I’ll be interested to see what his camera holds after today’s trek through the city.

Reality is starting to set in as well, however.  We have three sleeps left before we race back to Tokyo on Monday for the trip east across the Pacific to home. Thoughts dwell from time to time on re-packing, accumulating a few souvenirs and to get some gifts for those we miss.  I have achieved my surfeit of pens to that end but there are a few other items as well.  I also grappled with the dilemma of purchasing a funky looking piece of ceramic that was roughly cast in various firings of clay that came out in various shades of denim.  I would either not use it much, or make it a centre piece for my coffee table at home, but the challenge is bringing it back in one piece as it is about a foot and a half wide and a foot long — not exactly the ideal addition to my backpack or my carry on.  To risk breaking it for $100 is not the best move I could make at the moment. Tomorrow, the weekend. 

A Boy’s Pop Culture How To

Thursday meant Osaka, a quick jaunt from Kyoto to the grittier, more urban neighbour to Kyoto’s quieter grace.  We caught up with a friend of mine from back in the day who had not seemed to have changed a bit after the passage of 14 years.  

We kicked things off with a visit to the city’s port, which is a bit of a playground area, marked by a substantial Ferris wheel and other amenities which included, for this youngster a Lego Land.  I’m not sure if it was as large scale as other Lego Lands in the world, but it offered a bit of immersion in the realm of Danish plastics and it featured an outstanding large scale creation of several of the landmarks of Osaka, including its castle, the Umeda Sky Building, the historic baseball stadium at Koshien and a pop of Godzilla ready to glower death at all and any.  Nearby was a substantial aquarium, one of many throughout the country, but one highlighted by a whale shark that was in its central tank.  We did not get to that as we favoured moving through the downtown core of the city, to sate my son’s appetite for all things related to his favorite anime.  

While engaged in that, I got a reminder of how the grit of the city has persisted.  Most of the neighborhood shopping streets feel like they have the same merchants they did decades ago and have not gone in the the contemporary brands that have emerged from Japan and gradually gain franchise presence beyond home base.  There are signs of gentrification and emerging diversity as more immigrants move in to start their lives in Osaka, but today featured the typical bustle Osaka has always had and no more.

My son got his fill of manga related stores, though his favorite characters were in short supply. He blended in easily and got a few items that satisfied him despite the challenges with supply.  With that we headed to a small Star Wars themed bar that was decorated with a plethora of Star Wars memorabilia, including a Han Solo in carbonate sculpture and a washroom made out to resemble Vader’s isolation chamber.  It was just the break the lad needed after my more cultural pursuits the day before.

As Kyoto Brims

 In anticipation of this trip, about a month ago, I told my son that there would be a morning when we would get up as early as possible to high tail it to one of the highlights of the trip, the bamboo of Arashiyama, before the crowds overwhelmed the calm and grace of the setting.  When I lived in Kyoto, I had grown accustomed to visiting the bamboo at my leisure and often during the quieter seasons or moments of the day when its draw only amounted to a few other passers-by.  I’d jogged it regularly only competing with the occasional rickshaw driver and a handful of tourists, often Japanese tourists with only the faintest smattering of foreigners.  Having heard warnings about the numbers of foreign tourists who had been coming over the last decade, I had images of being crammed to a standstill in the bamboo.  My goal was to avoid that.

So, when Gabe woke up at 7am, he was ready to go.  With minimal prep we were out the door. A quick stop at a convenience store for “fuel” and we were on our way.  As we made out way to the train, I noticed a narrow road, its surface comprised of evenly-laid bricks rather than asphalt and I told myself, that if I had to, I could wander down this everyday street, blessed with a touch of history and refinement, and make something of it if we found Kyoto’s new crowds too much.  With that I assurance I rode contented to our destination.  As we closed in, I pointed out the familiar surroundings, commenting on what had and had not changes and retelling the story of how the signal at a nearby level crossing was sufficient signal for me to get my shoes on, descend three floors to the street and jog a few steps to the platform in time for the train.

When we arrived in Arashiyama, I could guide him to our destination without digression or doubt and get into the bamboo for its rewards.  We didn’t find solitude, but the crowds at the bamboo at that part of the morning we moving rather than clotted and I frequently volunteered to photograph couples that settled for shooting one another in solo shots.  There were no blossoms out yet, so many of the visitors gravitated to the purple of an azalea for some surrogate colour to tide them over while the pinks and whites remained wrapped for another day.  

There were hints of pink in the distance but it was evident that the trees would still need more time, but it was unclear whether it would be hours or days.  We wandered on away from the crowds and found another less crowded bamboo grove but one that was troubled by a pair of European tourists who were painstakingly videoing their movements time and again in the pink kimono that the woman was wearing. I paused for a while to assure them they had their shot but abandoned all patience when it was apparent that they’d be doing several takes of their desired shot.

As the day went on and I got a sense of the ways that the tourists were passing their day — some indulging in their vanity photography, others catching up on souvenir shopping at the expense of seeing the place they had paid so much to visit, others simmering at the size of the crowds they were a part of — I wondered if they were getting the deep sense of the place that I had appreciated through out my time living there.  The crowds are changing the character of the place.  Now it risks becoming a snapshot and a checked box when it has the potential to be a deeper experience for the people who take the time or, the people who have the opportunity to become familiar enough with it to be influenced deeply by the calm and routine there.

One highlight of the day, was the bittersweet return to my favorite restaurant in the city, a humble mom and pop that I visited on a regular basis and brought friends along to over the years as well.  This time I was able to bring my son for their version of a fried chicken dish that is one of my favorites and may be among my most comforting.  It was as busy as I could expect, but I got in relatively quick and was able to see everyone doing well.  Beyond that was the treat of having that favorite prepared as always.  It was a brief, insufficient reunion, such is the case when dropping in once a decade, unannounced and while they were at work,  The chicken was as good as ever and the connection consistent as well.

The sense of the crowding struck hard.  My return trip through the bamboo proved a challenge with the numbers of people even larger and the path harder to navigate.  More significant, however, were the crowds at a nearby macaque refuge.  Throughout the years I lived and worked there, I encountered no more than 5-20 people at a time,  The crowds this time around, however, could induce a degree of claustrophobia among the macaques, who had lost a great deal of their space to the nearly 200 tourists who were there to observe them and take in the lives of these primates.  There seemed to be fewer of the monkeys, and I wondered what the hordes had done to the life expectancy of the little guys. It likely would have made for an uncomfortably question so I held off, but it was a point of concern.  I suspect many of the macaques retreated away from the tourists and further into the mountains.

The city still held much of its charm but I wonder how much of that was a matter of my familiarity with its past or something that would survive the numbers who were passing through.  Kyoto’s recent initiatives to control the conduct of tourists around Gion to limit their disrespect of the geishas’ personal space is one intervention in the face of the poor and rude conduct of those tourists who may not know what they could get and experience while in Japan.  If the country’s nation and people cannot be respected, then it is appropriate to protect them and correct the false impressions tourist have.

Hiroshima and Miyajima

One of the pillars of this trip was to take my son to Hiroshima and Miyajima. There is, of course, the historic significance of 1945 that is associated with Hiroshima, but Miyajima, a short jaunt further west, has its own significance to me. Listed by the Japanese as one of the three most scenic vistas in the country I made sure to do a side trip there when I first made my pilgrimage to the city of peace in 1996 and was caught up in the quiet beauty of the quaint, little town that surrounded the temple that had it torii gate based in the waters of the straight between the island and the mainland of Honshu.

The first trip to Miyajima resisted being the last. The roll of film I used to for a series of spectacular sunset photographs ripped during processing leave gaping bare holes in the negative through the dappled beauty of the skies that can only recall.  With that, it became a goal to get back there whenever I had the chance to try to get those photos again.  The second time around, my patience was reward with a sunset that include one of the town’s tame wild deer pacing across the damp low tide sands for a picture that hangs prominently in my home.  Gabe, when he was three, was looking through a Japan travel brochure at the kitchen table and did a double take between the brochure and the shot that hung over his shoulder — the first realization that the pictures on the wall were connected to things well beyond our home.  

Closing that circle with a visit to the torii was a goal from the outset of the trip. We arrived in Hiroshima on a grey, windy day that succumbed to the heavy cloud and spewed rain as we made our way to Miyajima by the local train car. The peace park was well suited to this atmosphere and lent itself to monochromes far better than it did on the sunny days that I had for my previous visits over the years. It was a fitting palette for the place and the significant chapter of history it notes. After surveying the park and falling into the slow reverent steps it merits, we headed out, Gabe grasping the history of the place and the significance of the monuments and the paper cranes that accumulate there by the hour, amounting to 5 tons each year.

When we arrived in Miyajima, the rain grew heavy throughout our stay, which we cut short when it proved that we would get wetter and perhaps get a cold rather than get a sunset shot.  The tide was out once again and the crowds paced the expanded beach and enjoyed a few different angles for the selfies they took from the beach.  Even when we were ferrying across to the island, though, it was evident that times were changing and that the large crowds that friends were warning me about were not a mere doubling over the numbers I was accustomed to.  The ferry was brimming with passengers as it came ashore and when we got to the island, there were enough tourists for long enough to justify and sustain a Starbucks, which was just a few hundreds metres from the torii and neighboured a new microbrewery.  

The franchise’s presence and branding were muted and it may be a matter of taste about whether their signage is less appropriate in this setting that signs that other merchants might have in the same place.  By itself, I can find myself ambivalent about it. I have to admit that I went in for a hojicha to warm up and get out of the rain.  Prior to locating the shop, however, I had seen the ubiquity of Starbucks cups and shopping bags along my amble from the ferry terminal to the beach — not only in people’s hands, but also left behind in places they littered and cluttered up.  As I walked a long I could not help but reach the conclusion that it was not a coincidence that all of these cups and items turned up in such numbers. There weren’t that many people who brought them all the way from the city.

Tourism in Japan may be getting to a point where there will need to be a recalibration or other adjustment to ensure that the numbers of people coming in does not overwhelm the country and its cultural, historical and natural beauty.  There was news recently that foreign tourists were being forbidden from visiting Gion, a neighbourhood of Kyoto noted as a home for geisha and maikos who capture a great deal of tourists imaginations.  The tourists have been less than considerate of the geisha that they see in Gion and interact with them with a sense of entitlement than an appropriate respect.  Consequently, the ban has been implemented. I am not certain if this will have the impact that is sought, but it is a step toward making tourists conscious that they are guests.  Having seen the deer on Miyajima be a bit more conscious of the tourists on Miyajima, whether sniffing out food or headbutting tourists who get too close, it is easy to conclude that tourists are not coming to to revere the place as much as to get their money’s worth for the distance they have covered to get to Japan and for the trouble they have put in to travel in such a foreign and, perhaps, challenging destination.  It will be a difficult negotiation as a balance is struck between tourist and host and I suspect that there are a large number of Japanese who prefer a quieter amble along the paths that are now crowded with tourists.

The face of the country is changing, however. I’ve seen more visible minorities working the country compared to when I lived here. The higher profile retailers such as Uni-Qlo and Muji are looking for staff with better language skills and that is another sign of the unfolding change that tourism may be provoking.  I am just not sure how it will unfold.  

Transit to Hiroshima

We are watching the bedroom towns of Kansai blur past, grey cloud and rain reinforcing the patterns of the apartment buildings arrayed along the sides of the tracks. The Pachinko parlors and their neon overwhelm seem less predominant than memory recalls and it may just be a matter of my attentiveness to them, perhaps the expectation of the wallop of inviting colour to imitate the cacophony of the gambling machines that were assembled behind those glass doors to numb the idle into emptying their wallets in the hope of a big hit.

The weekend was spent moving south and catching up with friends from decades gone by. Tokyo gave me the opportunity to catch up with friends who I knew over twenty years ago to check in, mark the passage of time and determine the way this place has evolved while we have aged more or less well over the 14 years since we last met.  My 12-year-old son’s companionship has indicated the biggest change in my life since my last time through here and hearing me wax nostalgic may have prompted him to zone out are try to contribute to the conversation from the perspective of his own time line and the things that would be significant if and when friends head to Canada to reciprocate this visit and get familiar with my home turf.

Saturday’s travel included a stop in Nagoya and a chance to catch up with an old friend from my elementary and junior high school days. Apart from reminiscing about those experiences and exchanging notes on who we knew from the early 80s, we were able to exchange notes on the parallel paths we were unwittingly on.  We have tracked each other down thanks to Facebook and have been able to acknowledge birthdays on each other’s walls over the last five years but that is insufficient when compared to the connection we could and ought to maintain in light of the quality of conversation we had and the benefit over the course of our lives. There was a bit of what-iffing as we caught up and compared notes on our paths through adolescence on to parenthood and paused to ponder the future that awaits with decisions about retirement and other inevitabilities of middle age.  What is next for us and how are we going to manage getting through it? I hope that over time we can reassure one another that we can maintain the connection, but given the distance and the superficial bandwidth on social media, it would be a challenge.

Similar connections we rekindled when I returned to Hikone, the place where I started teaching in Japan.  About 45 minutes northeast of Kyoto and blessed with a more leisurely pace of life, it was a beautiful place to get a feeling for the routines and habits that are at the core of day-to-day life with the hurly-burly of larger cities set aside.  Meeting these colleagues after 20 to 25 years was wonderful.  Throughout though, I was conscious of the fact that there was not enough time for all of the conversations that could occur and to cover all of the territory that we would cover during a longer stay or gathering. I’m left more conscious of the transience of our lives, especially with the paces we can move at.  Perhaps it is a matter of typing away on a training that is sprinting much faster than the speed of my thought or fingers.  

We have just zipped past Himeji, famous for having the largest original castle remaining in Japan, angling against the window for the very view that would allow us a glimpse through the cityscape that has cropped up between the old edifice and the train station.  A lot of “Hang on, lean this way, THERE!” To get a brief look at it as we pass by after a brief stop.

Throughout the trip so far, I marvel again at the efficiency and timeliness of the trains.  I actually glimpsed a sign in Tokyo two days ago that the bullet trains were nearly running on time again.  It was noteworthy to see an indication that the trains were running with anything less than the precision that ought to displace all metaphors related to Swiss watch makers.  When I first arrived here in 1995, I was always amazed by the train system.  I wanted the trains to show up late, just once to prove that it was fallible in some small way. I’d stand on a track watching the clock and widening my eyes in expectation only to see the train emerge seemingly out of nowhere at the very moment I was ready to mark the occasion.  It was enough to send me into contemplation of the possibility that Japan Rail was hacking the clocks to maintain their success in bring the trains in on time.  Once that line of thought disintegrated into weird conspiracy theories, I abandoned the thought process.

This time around, as I see the efforts that JR staff undertake to navigate the large numbers of floundering tourists through the turnstiles and on their way to the desired landmarks they are here to check off their itineraries on the tourist trail.  The thoroughness of completing transactions, whether face-to-face or at ticket vending machine, is such that there there are rigorous procedures to ensure that everything is done for the sake of minimizing the exposure to failure in any of the procedures and processes that they undertake. Beyond that I truly appreciate the attention to detail that goes into something that other societies would do in a more slipshod, take-it-for-granted manner. There is the establishment of the procedures, but the human buy-in is the thing that astounds.  That attention to detail is apparent in those transactions I participate in and also in the train drivers’ monitoring of their route as they tear across the landscape. Errors do occur, I’ll admit that, but they are exceedingly rare.  All of it rests on the commitment of these people to be equally thorough in their work each and every time they do it rather than letting it fall under the indifference of rote repetition.

Tokyo

Jet lag has yet to really lay into us and we managed a day covering the highlights of Tokyo.  Gabe was keen to see the Godzilla Head that loomed over the roof of a cinema that turned out to be just a few hundreds metres from our hotel.  Before that I introduced Gabe to Japanese breakfast, he stuck to eggs and bacon to accompany his miso soup and rice.  I partook of the same with salmon and a side of beef to provide me up.  The other nuance to the meal was ordering it via a vending machine but the clincher was the complement of ice green tea that went along with it.

From there we acquainted ourselves with the neon of Shinjuku and then we scampered across the city to check off as many of the highlights as we could from Gabe’s Lego set of the Tokyo skyline.  We got Tokyo Tower and Tokyo Sky Tree, where we dawdled for a lunch we cobbled together from the food vendors there.  Navigating the subways and rail were a bit more than I would have liked but I got the hang of it by the end of the day.  

The highlight of the day was catching up with old friends and having some chanko nabe for supper.  Chanko nabe is the typical bulking-up diet of sumo wrestlers and it makes for a hardy warm bit of comfort food as the spring winds continue to chill the bones today.

We even managed to navigate relatively well as we sought to get back to our hotel, something we found problematic upon our arrival.  There were three hotels with the same chain all within 700m of one another and having near similar names, owing to the neighbourhood that were all located in.  We were a little wary of that as we made our way back tonight but managed to aim ourselves at “our” hotel well enough not to see either of the other two.

Prelude: Vancouver

To busy the lede, my son and I are on schedule to depart as planned in about 90 minutes time, subject to the minor vagaries of air travel. I’ll pull back the curtain for a moment to indicate why it is slightly more involved than I suggest with that benign sentence. Monday morning I got an email from Air Canada, which took the initiative to be proactive enough to intercede before anything happened to let me sully their reputation with rants galore.  They invited me to rebook my departure, free of charge, to get out ahead of a major snow event forecast to hit Calgary this morning.  After a bit of pondering and a few reviews of the forecast, I indulged in the caution to fly out a day early rather than subject myself to the stress of sprinting to the airport in the snow this morning and risk sitting in the departure lounge as flight after flight was surrendered to the elements.

The getaway succeeded and we were on our way.  In Vancouver, however, passengers were asked to volunteer to surrender their seats for alternate arrangements.  Once I could confirm the alternative of taking the flight I was scheduled to take and arrive on time instead of a day early, I agreed to sit back for a day.  Air Canada’s compensation made the rearrangement quite appealing.

It is tempting to ponder the synchronicity of it and I may look back on this in the future as an opportunity seized but for now, it is worth acknowledging it as a chance to take a breather and reset myself for the trip.  As the dates on my posts to this blog might suggest, it has been a while — not just to post here, which I haven’t done since August 2011, but to travel this ambitiously as well. There have been trips over the years, but it has been dominated by resorts, all-inclusives and essentially destinations that smooth down the probabilities of travel to the less imposing concerns.  A windier day.  A dearth of my favorite nibbles poolside; that kind of thing.  Not quite as much to write about as has been the case in the past on this blog.

For the last few weeks I’ve been asked if I’m excited, and my response has been muted. I haven’t exactly been jumping out of my skin to the thrill of visiting old haunts that made my neighbourhood and routine when I lived in Japan and reconnected me to the place on so many levels when I last visited in 2010. If anything, I’ve been a bit apprehensive. Part of it is a matter of ensuring that my son and I manage to stay joined at the hip, especially when we are in Tokyo, where he facility for distraction may leave him in the dust somewhere in Shinjuku or in Tokyo Station while I’m more fixed on the path ahead.

Going over this time, I also conscious of my friends’ indications that things have changed since I last lived there and that the tourist trails, especially on the eve of hanami, cherry blossom season will be drastically more crowded when I was last in Japan and took advantage of my local smarts to steer away from the hordes, who will be armed for selfies this time around.

Over the last week or so prior to the trip, however, I was not quite myself and I may have even been dreading aspects of the trip more than looking forward to them. Is my Japanese still up to snuff? Am I going to navigate Tokyo easily enough? Am I, after going as long as I have without a trip of this ambition, capable of enjoying myself.  Apart from the pedestrian nature of recent travels, they have been briefer as well and not quite indulgent as 12 days in Japan (or anywhere for that matter.). There was definitely a stronger sense of dread 36-48 hours ago.  Perhaps I’ve been shaped more by an anticipation of the emotional reaction I’ll have to revisiting places and friends that have left such a lasting impact on my personally, aesthetically and intellectually in ways that remain indelibly evident more than 20 years after I returned to Canada. Still, at the same time, it has left me wondering if my own predispositions or the habits that have formed as a means to get through the last four (pandemic and post-pandemic) years have left a chronic mark on me that needs to be dealt with quite intensively if I don’t “snap out of it” on this trip.

This afternoon, however, after an overnight in Vancouver and a better night’s sleep, I am in a better frame of mind and though there is no empirical measure to tick to a red line and allow the declaration, “Yip, he’s excited now,” I’m more inclined to coach myself to enjoy this and make the most of this opportunity rather than navigate it clear of the chaos that might unfold if my son and I get separated or the crowds diminish that sense of familiar haunts and locations being mine in the way they were when I could visit them at dawn, jog through them without the harassment of tourists, cabbies and rickshaw drivers who will impede my movement during the midday. I even found myself adopting a more open, talkative and grateful mindset during the 24 hours here.  I’m coming around.

Walking Vancouver yesterday afternoon and this morning, my son and I fell into conversations about our surroundings and observations in ways that I anticipate we will when we touch down in Tokyo and then follow the trail to Kyoto and Hiroshima. There was a sense of the rhythm and dialogue that we could fall into when we are on the road. We have figured a good contingency in the event we get separated and we have our first day in Tokyo planned for a gradually return to life with a few key spots to hit as we start to structure the Friday ahead with my first reunion and dinner plans for an item that my son has not had yet.

Time to board and settle in for as much sleep as possible.