Good evening. I apologize half-heartedly for rushing, breezing, sneezing, careening and on all accounts ignoring all tempo marks as I told you about the first day of my trip to Nikko. While Monday was spent largely taking off my hat to nature’s handlesswork, Tuesday I spent in a mild rapture thanks to the supreme wood works protected at the world heritage sites. Temples, Shrines, Mausoleums, kitschy ‘love’ shrines, well worn museums, and of course the ancient Yuba restaurants lining surrounding the area.

Waking up on the brighter side, I walked off towards the complex. Once again the fresh air of Nikko infiltrated all the recesses of my mind and left them feeling all fulfilled and fuzzy like. Nice crisp breaths, the sound of the main river bending through town beneath the bridges, a few cars politely stop-lighting, a cup of coffee at the shop inside of the museum. Somewhere towards the front of Jack Kerouac’s Dharma Bums he writes about how fantastic it is to climb up a mountain side and stop for a pancake breakfast with coffee mid morning. Of all the Kerouac things to remember this is the only impression which I’ve carried with me over the years with total admiration. Forget the booze. Forget the girls. Forget the spinning stars. Forget the half-baked beatnickies. Bring on the fresh morning mountain air, pancakes, and coffee. As life adds up, that seems to really be what it’s all about.

With that sort of mentality I traded my coffee in for a ticket to the greater Toshogu shrine and temple complex. As always, a large Touri gate stradled a set of stairs behind which the deity guarded gate hid snugly in the fury trees. Even upon entrance one is immediately hit by the difference in wood work here. Chinese motifs seem to swarm out from within the wood structures. As during university I studied music history and music theory with a little bit of ethnic studies …directed by a focus on music, I don’t have the expertise to tell you just what makesNikko’s carvings and architecture important, relevant, gorgeous, and inspiring.

The delicate yet century surviving figures weaving in and out of each other remind me most of looking at a painting while hallucinating. You know it’s just a painting, but all of a sudden the depth and space of the painting opens up. The figures appear to suddenly assume an animated suspension. They seem incredibly alive as they pose, allowing you to walk around them to appreciate their manipulation of empty space from all perspectives. I suppose a more contemporary thing to reference would be 3D printing as is all the rage these days, but that’s still a bit sterile. The last time I felt so inspired by a man made structure I was in the Alhambra in Granada, Spain. Both structures were intended to overwhelm the senses of their ‘guests’, and the success of their vision to amaze us continues hundreds of years later even in states of decay.

However, the Japanese are working very hard to repair the site. In some spots you could see the transition from the heavily weathered and damaged areas of the structure to the repaired sections. Based on what I saw, we’ll have to wait a year or two to see the finished work, but when it’s done it will be astonishing. From a foreigner’s perspective, there are incredible amounts of interesting things to see in Japan though most people only have both the time and money to travel from Tokyo to Kyoto. However, should you be able to fit it in, Nikko definitely deserves your attention.

My October 18^th through October 20^th trip to Nikko was marked on both ends by taking the Spacia train from Kitasenju. One thing for which I applaud the Japanese is their appreciation of train travel: local trains are all business, but as soon as you get on a speedy train you better have some beer and grub for the journey. Lunch boxes, yakitori, onigiri, salty snacks, iced tea, coffee, beer, beer, beer. This is the common fare. Imagine, taking a high speed train from Chicago to the Grand Canyon. Chicago to Memphis. Or Chicago to Quebec in Canada! …all the while sipping on a refreshing beer after a hard day’s work. That’s the stuff dreams are made of, my friends.

Getting back to Tokyo meant a return to routine and test prepping. In December I’ll be taking a language proficiency test much above my ability, and it’s kind of exciting. Yet that also means I’ve been spending most of my free time studying when not working. You can be doin whacha love t’do, but too much routine is too much routine and the weekend away was just what the …

…gas build up, migraine, nausea, woozy, shakes, chills, vomiting, tingling numbness, loss of motor control, an ambulance ride, ER trip, taxi home, and the Doctor ordered me some meds. That’s what the doc ordered, as about a week after my trip to Nikko I ate something which didn’t like me very much. The feeling was mutual, I’d say, considering my body’s reaction. Three full days have passed since the Monday night’s incident and my body feels largely recovered but I’ll admit it took quite a bit out of me.

If anything, dealing with the ambulance and ER here was a very hard and clear reminder of where I live. Well, more so who I live with. All of the things I admire about Japanese society as well as all of the things that I find disappointing about Japanese society came up in one thrilling ride. In a way I experienced all of the major culture shocks I’ve had along the way in the matter of 6 hours magnified by my physical condition which was feverishly unstable.

Now that that’s all winding down, I’m looking towards what’s ahead. Though I absolutely hated assignment books in school, when it comes to personal accomplishments as an adult it seems time and time again I’ve created lists of goals, plans to fulfill them, done what I could, and then relied on the help of others to help me get through it. Due to my Wednesday through Sunday work schedule, searching for things to do with other people on Mondays or Tuesdays has proven to be absolutely fruitless. Zip. Zilch. However, as some of you know, I’ve been trying to find a Shakuhachi teacher for quite some time. Finally, after almost a year of being here, this Tuesday I’ll have my first Shakuhachi lesson. Pretty damn exciting. The album notes and writings of famous jazzers which inspired elementary school aged trumpeting AJ tipped me on to traditional Japanese arts, as well as the sound of the Shakuhachi flute. Ever since first hearing the music, I wanted to try it out. In some ways which I can’t quite explain, just as I grew out of the sounds of the electric guitar and grew into the sounds of the classical guitar – the part of me that was a trumpet player always wanted to have a go at this whole bamboo flute thing.

I guess it’s kind of like the time that I went to la Valle de Jerte in Extremadura to see the cherry blossoms despite the cold rains. This year has been all sorts of exceptionally high and low experiences. So many adventures spent with family and friends in situations I would never have imagined years before. On the other hand it has without a doubt been the most isolating lifestyle I’ve ever lived. Believe me the successes outweigh the hard knocks but the knocks have been steady. Nevertheless I’ve still got things to do, and I’m not ready to throw in the towel until I give’em my absolute best shot. Also I’ve sorta made a contract with a friend who once re-inspired me to be true to myself, and following through on those promises feels exceptionally rewarding.

So, pretty soon I have finally tested my Japanese proficiency and started Shakuhachi lessons. What else is going on these days? Fall in Japan is treating me well. The late summer festivals simply bleed into the fall season as every weekend since the late August I’ve seen some sort of festival somewhere. It all started with small neighborhood festivals where the community hoists a mikoshi (where the enshrined deity sleeps) on their collective backs and marches it around. Depending on the shrine from which it comes, the particular festival, and the neighborhood which holds the event it might be accompanied by parades, dances, and fairs. As they carry around the deity sometimes they play games with it to amuse the enshrined spirit. It’s really a fun thing to watch. In some ways it reminded me of Easter processions in Caceres. Granted the somber mood of the Easter processions is a little different that the mikoshi carrying in Japan; I don’t think an already dying Jesus would like to be shaken around as he hangs from a cross, and Mother Mary has enough worries on her mind as it is.

Apart from the neighborhood shrine festivals as well as the Obon festivals there are tons of other things going on. In Nakano, there have been back to back festivals for various events: supporting nearby agriculture, Okinawa culture festivals, a special display of very artistic floats from this year’s Nebuta festival, and not so typical things like a weekend long Japanese Anime music festivals replete with Karaoke stars (for realz, these people are stars), DJ’s, cosplayers, and otaku’s doing their signature “otagei” dance. Like many Japanese words, the word otagei comes from the words otaku and geisha. If you split the words and then mash them up you get ota-gei meaning something akin to otaku-art. They perform these oddball and highly enthusiastic dances when their favorite idol (or aspiring idol) gets on stage to perform their songs. You may recall several nights ago when I told you about the Maidreaming incident, as well as the time that my friend Cindy and I decided to late night hop around Akihabara with the purpose of checking out a maid café. It was hyperdelica unfiltered. Once you get in there, you are the umcouth minority who doesn’t understand the common vernacular nor the proper customs, manners, and unspoken rules. There was one very clear spoken rule which we got at the entrance where a maid went from her meowing character to instant intimidator and said in really fine English, “No touching the girls.” After a moment of reinforcing her message with very sincere eyes, she meowed back into character. Now, they are playing the role of maids…but it’s clearly their show, their restaurant, and their business. Now, the main attraction featured at that café was the singing and dancing of the various maids and the light stick wielding otakus cheering the idols on with their otagei dance certainly marked my memory of the evening. So, this weekend as I came home mentally drained from work I stepped out of the train station and into the idol/anime/cosplay/otaku occupation of downtown Nakano. It was cool, and refreshing from the inundation of vanilla normalcy that sedates me every Saturday and the extremely stressful Sundays I spend with a mixture of totally obedient and emotionally frustrated children.

I have a student who, being Chinese growing up in Japan, faces some serious challenges in life. The kid is brilliant and learns eagerly, asking me what’s this what’s that what’re ya doin why you doin that …both in and out of class. When I ask him how he’s doing, he responds, “What was it again? Oh yeah – I’m ANGRY PUNCH!” Of course he’s angry punch. He’s six years old and sent into a room away from his mom (his only protection in an ostensibly anti-Chinese society) where a funny looking Wisconsin boy talks at him in English. Not Chinese, and not Japanese. In general, the kids in this class don’t get that their parents want them in the class. In fact they think it’s the reverse: that some group of people takes them against their will, and if they sufficiently perform silly tasks speaking in meaningless jibberish they will be returned to their families. I’ve heard them say to their parents through the glass windows, “Don’t worry Mom, Don’t worry Dad, I’m almost out! Just wait a little longer and they’ll let me out!” These brave kids, in the midst of the nightmare, still try to comfort their parents who are helplessly watching the whole thing play out. Depending on their age, they just don’t get the concept (and why should they?) of why they’re in the room. The subsequent stress from the dramas that play out makes me crave two things by the end of Sunday, my last day of the work week: I want whisky or coffee, and a real hot bath.

That’s where I am reminded at how satisfied I am with the neighborhood I’m living in. It’s not only super convenient for getting around Tokyo but it also has all the things that I crave when I want to relax without travelling on the trains which the work week teaches me to avoid. Need that sento bath? Need that fine cuppa coffee? Need that exquisite beer to pamper your socks off? Need to get away from the crowds? Need that dose of subculture and weird? Nice parks to walk to? Neighbors who say hello how ya doin? Quiet nights? Night view of Shinjuku? Home made fresh ramen noodles paired with the finest quality chashu and tsukemen soup momma earth has to offer? Wine bars? Nihonshu bars? Green path? Book shops to feed my addiction fueled collection? It’s all there.

Hanging around Nakano is cheaper than going out to the typical Shinjuku or Shibuya zones without the mass crowds of high school girls and the rather persistent presence of foreign bros going about their bro business. Nakano is a pretty relaxing place to spend the weekends and get over the crazy weeks of teaching. Getting out to hike is much more soul-satisfying; however, when this is home, staying in is quite luxurious. In stereotypical Tokyo style, nothing is inconvenient and the yellow-brick sidewalks never lead you astray.

In about ten days it will be a full year since I came to this place. It feels like the years after university have passed not like a river but like ever morphing clouds and my sense of time is all scattered and stretched out by irregular periods of intensity and repose. I’m honestly not sure the feel of time will truly hit me until I come back to Japan after the holidays and spend my second New Year’s Eve in Japan. Somehow I just don’t have the words to express just what this past year was; perhaps we can talk about that next time we convene on Night the Tenth.

Shapeless cities, box cut sky lines, people fitting into slots running one of mankind’s great real-estate casinos floating on one well propaned capitalist thrust. Discipline, order, courtesy, understanding, judgement. These crazy streets where Pocky Sticks, multi-dimensional Kit-Kats, self-discipline, and decency are the slimy rabbid dogs running rampant. Where you go to college is important, but what you did there doesn’t matter. What, hung up on the Kit-Kats? You may think you know what Kit-Kats are until you visit Japan and realize that you’ve been lied to your entire life. Don’t know what pocky sticks are? Sorry, that’s a tall tale we don’t have time for tonight.

Since last night a whole series of moons have passed with their maxings and whinings. Max’s: getting my classical guitar’s fretboard cleaned up by a professional. Whines: recent food poisoning adventure. If there’s one regrettable thing about Tokyo life it continues to be commuting on trains. I do my best to enjoy it but sometimes before getting on the trains I feel like imbibing a healthy dose of “Deep Numb,” that corporate high vended amongst machines. They getcha hooked on a life line strung out on bureaucracy, budgets and bullshit. The guzzling conical one way spiral which showcases remarkable fits and bouts of reliability, consistency, unapologetic commercialism…Now, don’t worry, I didn’t come here tonight to lecture about Japan’s love of the four most commonly sported brands: Prada, Gucchi, Brooklyn, and NYC. Rather I’ve had some fascinating experiences lately that I’d love to share.

Recently I’ve made my way out to see trails near and further along the train lines. First I took a day trip out to walk the pleasant trails and waterfalls about Mount Takao. It’s a rather pleasant place, so pleasant most people picnic atop it drinking beers and taking in the soft scenes that mark the transition between Tokyo and the hills which precede the journey west to Mount Fuji and the journey north to the Japanese Alps. Then, the following week I made a dayer trip out to Mount  Mitake. This mountain is a decent sized hill from which many, many trails veer off towards other mountains which comprise the quite beautiful Chichibu National Park. The woodland hills of Honshu are so incredibly lush, just a few hours at a time can be nearly overwhelming. I live on the western side of the greater Tokyo metropolis, which is about a half hour from Tokyo, Tokyo, TOKYO itself and yet escape the seas of charming little houses still takes about two hours. Needless to say you become unacclimated to reality while living within the impressively manifested structures born of our originally intangible concepts and constructs. So, feeling rather cleansed by the pleasantries of Takao and the luscious Mount Mitake environs I decided to finally schedule in a long overdue trip to Nikko.

My intentions to visit Nikko during the August vacation were interrupted by a rather ‘interruptive’ stomach bug, as detailed some nights ago. At that time it seemed all the world was advising me to go during Autumn to see the fall colors. Thus I waited for my available finances and “weekend” days (Monday, Tuesday) to align in the sky and started off for Nikko on a Sunday evening.

Nikko smells of pine trees at night, which was a welcome challenge to the nonsense that rises from beneath the roads in the city. If something that foul should escape the ground it had better be the undead, no one has time for these subterranean born emissions. Now, it wasn’t Rocky Mountain high, but the elevation and wood houses in the neighborhood of the traveler hostel I was headed towards offered up very satisfying air. After checking in and getting to bed, I woke to have breakfast and headed out on a bus towards natural hot springs called Yuomoto about an hour beyond Lake Chuzenji. Being a Monday morning the tourist demographic on the bus was largely retired Japanese and travelling Chinese people. A few beastmen and beastwomen from the west could be spotted amongst the bundle. Like any bus ride through the mountains, being on one’s feet actually offers up beautiful views to the surrounding mountains as the vehicle switchbacks up and up. View after view opened up as we scaled the mountain road. A visually delightful memory.

But, the retiree populace onboard had a rather pungent influence on the limited air flow. Those gases were matched step for step as the higher in elevation we went, and the closer we got to the Yuomoto springs the refreshing pine scent was squeezed out. Why? Well, because the natural hot springs are sulfurous, of course. As we approached the springs, the natural spring smells and the seemingly unnatural gaseous smells from our crowd made merry much to my dismay.

Somehow, we arrived at Yuomoto springs without casualties. I got off the bus and began a walk from the curious sulfur springs towards Kegon waterfalls at the bottom of Lake Chuzenji. On the 3 to 4 hour walk south between the two spots there was quite a bit of scenery to take in; like elderly people bathing their feet in the historically purifying waters. That’s something that Japan has right: foot baths. Baths in general are an aspect of life here that I try not to take for granted be it at home, in the neighborhood sento, the occasional hot spring visit, or these divine foot baths.

After visiting the hot springs, I ventured down past the stone lanters of Onsenji (Hot spring temple…) I walked the raised boardwalk trail bouldered on one side by moss covered rocks and flanked on the other by a mixture of unbelievably clear mountain water mixing with streams of milky sulfur spring water. The ice cold, sulphur hot, super clear current carrying forth rivers of white was all sorts of holy coexisting contradiction. The ducks of the area clearly love it. Blessed be the ducks. Wait, what is that? It’s a sign. What does it say? …How can ducks stay afloat while feeding…? All along the boardwalk were educational signs for children, so I naturally fell prey to them. The smell of yellow pines came to the forefront, paired with mixed crunchables underneath, the invigorating smell of decaying matter as well as the comforting smell of green humidity exhaling off the lush greens still out and about. Being early in the morning the sun hit all the right angles marrying the best of the Baroque lighting to the best of the Romantic ‘yuugen’ just trailing and trailing off into the endless pines across the way.

Along came the first waterfall of the way. Boy was she a beaut. I don’t think I’ve seen a sloped waterfall like this one ever before. It roared but didn’t fall, it just sort of floats down in choral cascades. From atop, a decent perch reveals one of those idyllic Japanese countryside scenes: magical river slants down an impossible vert leading off into layers wave-like ridges and forested hills. A well formed contrast of elevation diving into the foreground contrasted with an everlong view of the horizon in the fading background. From below, the best way to describe this waterfall would be to describe the excessively long pant legs worn by central figures in Kabuki theater which, when used appropriately, play a trick on the audience’s perspective and make the dancer/actor appear exceptionally tall.

After the first fall there was a delightful forest walk along the subsequent river that forms leading into a wide moor of marsh and tall grass. All of the burnt colors we crave during Fall were set on by the sun and displayed. Going from the closed space created by a forest into the openness of the moor was compounded by various mountains enclosing the horizon. I’ve always found the cut lawns of the United States suburban ideal to be a bit disturbing, as I’ve surely told nights before. There on the moor I was able to take in all the beauty of drying wild grasses left to their own devices. Most of the tourists came for “fall colors” because, let’s be honest – most of them have lived their lives in Japanese cities far from anything resembling nature. If I would go to Nikko during fall again, it wouldn’t be for the foliage. It would be for the ambers, gilded grasses, burnt vermilions and other villains that invade autumn landscapes. The scent of the moor was just as outstanding as the wood-worked houses in town, the sulfur springs, and the crunchy paths along the well sustained forests.

The following section flattened out to cut through yellow crested trees on both sides. Like a shadow cast on a curtain, the western sun reinforced the silhouette of a mountain through the trees which collectively caught it in the net of their intermingling colored branches. The mixed effect gave off the illusion of seeing a handsome golden mountain. All along the way there were small rifts and drops which created small falls as the river advanced towards Lake Chuzenji.

The next major landmark was called Dragon Head falls. While the view from atop as rather exciting, the view from below was owned by a gift shop full to the brim with frothy tourism. Not the ideal place to view nature from but nonetheless it provided some well earned scenery to the sceneless days that steal away in the city. From these falls I decided to take a bus along the medium sized lake’s shore in order to catch Kegon falls before sunset. The bus ride was stop and go as this heavily trafficked tourist area overwhelmed the local roads with unnecessary congestion. The turtle pace and vantage point did offer me two things however: rest for my feet, and a great view of the low sun coming through the colored foliage lining the lakeshore path opposite the road. Oddly, seeing the sun dance on the lake’s surface reminded me of Wisconsin, as I haven’t seen much water during my stay here.

When I finally reached Kegon Falls and got off the bus, the afternoon warmth started to escape with the sun and layers were added on. The destination has two main ledges to view the falls from: one along the crown of the rock formation on level with the very top of the falls and another about 100 meters below via an elevator which allows people to get a better view of the pool which forms beneath the falls. The profound view from the bottom brings up all sorts of unexpressables that come along with witnessing something magnificent. The vertical patterned rock formations along the seemingly hanging foundation command admiration and awe (from those who aren’t busy taking selfies.) Amidst feelings of reverence and revelation before the stunning work of nature, the low sun started to fringe out above and for a brief moment the filtered light was caught by all the mist dominating the air near the bottom of the falls. After this misty moment of illumination settled down it was clearly time to get a move on as not much light was left. Back up top the falls I witnessed the last of the light hit the falls while eating some Marron flavored soft serve.

Which brings me to another aweful incident. Rather, awful accident. Still feeling up for a snack on my walk back to the bus I caught a glimpse of advertisements for a Jyazu-man in the window of a shop. Now, I’m a creature of curiosity and I can’t say eating novelty for novelty’s sake has always rewarded me, but this inclination coupled with my fervent love of knee slapping puns set me up for disaster. You see the something-something-man is a breaded dumpling whose insides are something-something, yeah? For example, a “niku-man” is a steamed bread dumpling whose filling is hopefully some sort of meat derived substance. No one cares to ask, really. There are a handful of common types of steamed breaded dumplings that can be bought in markets, bodegas and the like but never before had I seen a ..jyaaa—zzzuuu—man…Jazz Man??? Oh no, they didn’t. Yes they did. And I ate it. All unsatisfactory 350 yen of it. Boy was it mediocre but the pun was exquisite. The advertising blamed such an existence on Utsunomiya. That’s where they’re from, apparently.

Anyhow, my first day in Nikko was filled with a great deal of nature gawking. I couldn’t get my fill. It was just too good. It also tuckered me out quite a great deal and I slept through most of the hour and a half stop and go bus ride on the way back to town. Down the mountainside’s switchbacks, one could see red lights back to back to back like several miles of candle bearers walking out into the night.

A good friend recently asked me a glorious question, and since both my job and school are on vacation at the moment I’ve had some time to think it out. From a long unheard friend, I might add, and put rather plainly, simply and vulnerably. For someone who, for whatever reasons or motivations, avoids talking in direct powerless/defenseless ways at whatever cost I made it my personal wicked agenda to only engage with her if she makes an effort to put it out on the table. When she does it she’s so powerful.

It’s a rather dirty thing to do, but sometimes that warm glass of water is the only thing that’s going evoke the poisons from their perches. Being an agent of projectile vomiting isn’t necessarily the prettiest metaphor, is it? Anyhow, she recently asked me for a glass of really warm salty water, and the question which surfaced was, “Do you ever get lonely there?” To which I responded, “Yes.”

Since then, just what types of loneliness I may be feeling in Japan became a part of my environment, background, and attention. People feel various sorts of lonely no matter where they are, or who they’re with. The presence of some loneliness necessarily goes with being human, and being alive. In the not so united States in North America, I felt loneliness born of the inability to share with others equal values of perspectives and priorities politically, philosophically, and psychologically. I have a feeling it’s a common affliction among people raised in the United States precisely because of its cultures and sociopolitical divisions.

In Spain, loneliness was born out of how distinctly opposite understandings and comprehensions of friendship were compared to my Wisconsin upbringing. No matter how loving, welcoming, touchy-feely, instantaneously inclusive, free-conversing, free-critiquing, no-bullshit-straight-ahead sincerity was involved in rather miraculous friendships, more vertical understandings of each other were rather taboo. After a life in the United States which trained me to identify my best friends as those individuals with whom I share extremely intimate one-on-one conversations, seeing that this type of conversation was actually bothersome to Spaniards gave birth to a certain loneliness that I only felt in Spain.

So, now back to my friend’s inquiry about life in Japan: “Do you ever feel lonely there?”

Yes. I do, and the peculiar loneliness felt here compared those back home or in Spain intrigues me. After several months of working here, I found myself front row to serious anomaly on the late train coming home from work in Hachioji, or as another co-worker once put it, “Shin-Osaka.” It’s so incredibly far away from where I live, not because of duration but because there are no rapid or express trains on the way towards my town late at night. Just local, stop everywhere kinda trains. The constant stop and go makes for a blissless eternity. Anyway, during one such cross-Atlantic voyage the most unexpected thing happened. I felt someone touch me, and rest there. In fact, my neighbor had found a luxury pillow in my bony shoulder. Poor thing. Overworked, over-commuted and exhausted. Everyone on the train knows it, feels it, gets it: Tokyo can be draining, and trains are one of the only places Japanese will do something very un-Japanese by completely falling asleep on the person next to them. Japanese people are touchless, small-talkless, and largely personable-less which is great when you feel like being left the fuck alone. Yet, because of this, any time someone does touch me it seems like I’m witnessing the Northern Lights, or some sort of revolution. Granted, when I go hopping around bars people often make small talk with me, and woman like to touch the hair on my arms saying, “It’s so golden!” Students in my kids classes try to hug me, foreign friends will give very brief hugs as hello’s or goodbye’s, and on very rare occasions a Japanese person will touch my arm during conversation. However my life in Japan is contactless, touchless, un-physical when compared to the United States and especially to Spain. Even eyes can’t meet. As a consequence of this culture’s touchless norm during communication, I’ve come to feel a certain physical loneliness.

On the one hand I’m also a single man and so it can be said that feeling physical loneliness is just part of the game, but – think about all the communicative roles touch plays in your life, and now imagine that they all disappeared both as a set of tools for you to use and as a common understanding among those around you. The absence of this incredibly powerful method of communication creates a physical loneliness entirely separate from a romantic physical loneliness. Whereas both the U.S. and Spain were at times overloading and suffocating, Japan can be (and famously so) isolating.

The Japanese culture’s norms for and appreciation of touch differ vastly from the Wisconsinite culture which raised me.Now, in the various walks of life in Tokyo very few of them allow you to go on about your business without obscene commutes. Commuting a total of two hours a day is a common minimum among the people I meet here in Japan. Everyone lives far from each other, and commutes quite a ways. This is just one reason that massive stress is involved when trying to catch trains. People run absurdly to catch a train that connects to another train which changes over to their destination at precisely the right time. It’s fascinating to watch. People run here. Isn’t that fascinating? Speedy efficiency, time/space management. Everything is maxed out and at a premium in Tokyo. Now, this phenomenon isn’t actually that Japanese which is why I bring it up later on. This is the city. The big city. Actually, Tokyo is kinda The Big City. This is big city life.

While there’s a lot more that can be said about loneliness as a result of not having family or lifelong friends here in Japan as well as the result of being single, this doesn’t seem to be the time for those things. As it is, focusing on just that one emotion and its relation to my experience in Japan has been rather taxing – this is enough for now. After all I’ve got things like summer blue skies, fantastic espresso, a trip to the ice skating rink, meeting my college roommate one night for drinks in the last place I’d expect to see him, a day trip to the gorgeous city of Kamakura, lots of guitar playing, a dangerous burrito desire, language studying, discovering new neighborhoods on humid walks, going to a certain special bar one last time before it closes up, listening to hours upon hours of Erykah Badu and D’Angelo because I can’t go to the Summer Sonic concert this Sunday, going to see a friend perform contemporary art dance, going to my favorite art bar, going to the Flying Teapot to hopefully catch some avant garde music, a couple night walks, how I’m going to finish up my summer vacation, and things like that – you see I’ve got things like that on my mind. My friend asked me a great question, and hopefully she’s pleased with how I answered. Which leads me to say: if you ever want to ask me a question, please do.

Let’s start with the blue skies. Some precious summer blues with their funky high-rise cumulus clouds accumulating in every corner of the visible sky – it’s been a real treat lately. Even though their persistence spells “dry”, it’ll be autumn soon enough – and then winter – and then Tokyo’s incessant cold rains will have their way again. Therefore, I’ve been putting on the good vibes via mp3, wav, FLAC, or whathave you, and taking strolls around. I’ve found some extensive waterside walkways, one of which extends from East Koenji just past Asagaya. That wouldn’t necessarily be very far, except that the path swerves and winds doing something so uncommonly granted by life in Tokyo: enjoyment at the loss of efficiency. It feels so good to put on some slow grooves and meander through the tree covered path. People here may be ‘stinky-water’, as they say, meaning a bit standoffish, but even when bits of nature are forced to inhabit unnatural fittings everything seems to lock in step and reach out for extended embraces. Trees are too beautiful. Everything from moss, fungi, to squirrels and hawks make use of them to live, and the trees just keep on keeping on, giving all they can give. There aren’t too many humans like that. There are parents of course, but I’m starting to understand that once a human becomes a parent they become some kind of super human and they don’t deserve to be lumped in with the rest of us.

When I’m not out being an old man who enjoys his mildly wooded walks, I’m still an espresso fiend. A bean hog. A know-it-all coffee brat. What the hell is Specialty, anway? Looking back, we used to use the word “special” to talk about someone in a nice way while still perfectly conveying our shallow judgments of other people. Anyway, few things are enjoyable on a day off like taking out time to do absolutely nothing and enjoy some specialty coffee. Over the past months I’ve raided shops all over Tokyo. Starting with my friends Saeric, we hit up a great deal of places that are in the know. Our collective favorite may have been Kayaba Coffee. Quality, Vibe, Location, Company. We also checked out the uncountables of Harajuku, Omotesando, and Shibuya. It was a great deal of fun, and since then I’ve done a great deal of exploring and haphazardly stumbled upon many a chalkboarded, minimalist chrome-cement-wooded, X divided emblem printed, baseball cap wearing, really smug coffee shops. I’ve also visited quite a few that have none of that character. Further, as relayed a couple nights before, I do love visiting the old-old fashioned ma n’ pop style Kissa where I can exchange the flannel-smug for a flannel drip. At this point, my favorite place to grab a really well made pour over coffee is right here in Nakano. Just beyond the hip bar lined Renga Zaka, in the Ole’ Peach Orchard Neighborhood Meeting Hall corner – one can stop into Muto Coffee Roastery. Two people run the show. They roast their own beans, which doesn’t always mean excellency – but when it does it means supremacy. These people pour their love and soul into their coffee from start to finish and it pays off: both in quality of experience and in the 548 yen it costs. Still, much better than the pour over coffee I’ve paid even higher prices for in Shibuya, Harajuku, and Omotesando. Now, there is a rather expensive joint in Shibuya that serves up really stellar coffee: Fuglen. (Besides the main store near Yoyogi Park, in Harajuku their coffee can also be had just around the corner from Streamer Coffee in a super chic bar that has outdoor seating in the corridor between two fancy lookin’ retail buildings.) The Fuglen store near Yoyogi park brews a solid cup of coffee. Here and there, I treat myself after a long week of School/Work by sipping on some high priced brews.

Notice, not a word on espresso here, yet. While many a store offers stellar latte art, the most important aspect – the espresso itself – has always been a bit lacking. Not terrible, not bad – just a little subpar.  I’ll admit, while there’s a lot of good espresso around compared to what you can get at the ubiquitous Detour’s, Starbuckies, ProntoTonto’s, and whathave you – after being spoiled by working at Bradbury’s Coffee Shop back home – I just can’t get no satisfaction. But all that changed upon a recent walk over the hills and through the hills to Nakano’s Broadway we go. In the deep dark woods of this subculture mecha shopping center, I realized that there were two entire floors I had previously neglected.

What had I stumbled upon? Why, what pretty grinders you have. Why, what a sleek Marzocco you have. Why, what tempting cocktails and craft beer you have. “All the better to eat your money with,” said the big bad wolf. Yeah, Takashi Murakami, whose art is truly hyperdelica at its finest, he sponsored a Fuglen coffee shop smack dab in the middle of all the weird subculture shops and rather provocative art galleries. This Fuglen shop, called Bar Zingaro perhaps after the Zingaro subculture art galleries, also has Tim Wendelboe roasted coffee on tap. Ungh. For the first time in a very long time I had espresso in Tokyo that was better than passable, more notable than inoffensive. Notes, aromas, texture, feel, temperature, balance. Whoever Goldilocks was behind the counter, she knows how to extract espresso. That’s the thing here in Tokyo. Tokyo has money. They have all the money needed to buy an image, to look the bill and foot it. Yet, not many Tokyo establishments follow through with care, quality, soul, effort. It’s just like anywhere else in the world, really. The global culture loves to look. We’ve bought into an understanding of life that is deplorably, often repulsively so, visually based. Anyhow, point of the story, I ran into the big bad wolf and she served me the best espresso I’ve had in Tokyo.

This past week, my old college roommate stopped into Tokyo and we were able to meet for some soba, sushi, and sparkling wine one of these hot summer nights. I hadn’t seen Suresh for years, so when he filled me in on his life I was rather startled as to how much I had missed. There are few more agreeable people than Suresh. One of the few Americans that isn’t trying to be someone, who isn’t narcissistic, a self-serving moralist, or trying to one-up everyone around them. Yeah, the game of constant one-up-manship: I don’t miss that. Suresh blew my mind. Since we last talked in Madison he had done the following: self-educated himself to get a new job and move out to work in IT on the east coast while living at a Co-op (go Suresh!), after a year and a half quit (go Suresh!)to take a travel break (Go Suresh!) whereupon his first destination was, “Hey, why don’t I go live for six months in Jordan?” (Go Suresh!). Once his Visa to live in Jordan ran out he set up shop in Hong Kong from which he’s been travelling all around (Go Suresh!). What’s next? He’ plans to live in rural China for a few months before travelling to Singapore to meet up with his sister and father. Man. Talking with Suresh after so many years was in itself a beautiful thing, but this new travelling-Buddha-like happiness that emanated from him was inspiring. He’s doing it, and it’s clearly doing wonders for him. In a weird way, I’m really proud of him for taking up such a big journey. More so, I’m extremely happy to see one of my friends so satisfied with life. I’m impressed, and moved. Go Suresh. The stories of his travels were inspiring, and extreme – all told through his typical good humored, unpretentious Suresh-style narration. It seems that about once every two months I get to see a friend from abroad here, and it’s surreally rejuvenating each time.

Speaking of rejuvenating, during our conversation he asked me about the music scene here in Tokyo and whether I had found any good live music. If it weren’t for the live music here I’d be in big trouble, especially at the mercy of the extremely regulated J-Pop domestic music market. For a while I was renting a great deal of cd’s from a rental store and picking up swaths of music from a different genre each week all in hopes of getting a better grasp of the J-Music scenes. Japan has an absolutely massive domestic music industry. I find its volume to be quite impressive. However, even more so what I find most impressive about the Japanese music industry is the cultivation of extraordinarily high BPM’s. Across the board, regardless of genre there is a trend towards really high BPM music. This is, of course, only in relation to the music I’m familiar with as the tempo change is made aware to me largely when I step down off the J-Pop clouds and set foot back on familiar grounds. Not only is there a trend towards high BPM, but a heavy handed rhythmic approach that hits every beat like a morphine button: on the head and impatient for the next pulse. Most music begins, without being given the chance to become. Rhythms are straight as a laser, flat as a pancake, and clean as a sterilized swab. Really front heavy, on the beat music leaves little room for [insert Humanity here], as these traits belong to military march music. A surprising amount of pop music around the world involves listening to militarized melodies march on into a policed state of oblivion. Are these lines wide enough? Good. Music and culture go hand in hand.

So why is this relevant to rejuvenation? Because none of that lifelessness pertains to the live shows I’ve been seeing here. I continue to see all sorts of faith-in-humanity restoring performances. The bottom dollar isn’t always the bottom line, and when I can afford to check out live shows I get a whole different perspective of what it means to be Tokyo-ite. You know what they say, don’t trust the media. More so, an unbalanced diet of cultural narratives makes Jack a dull boy. In that vein, the bartender that served Suresh and I wine that night also happens to be a contemporary dance performer and choreographer. I’m really excited to see her perform this weekend! I’m sure I’ll have something good to report on it come another night, but for now I must confess that this evening’s time is running short.

Before we part, I’d like to share with you a tidbit from this week’s vacation. After 27 years, I finally made it to the giant Buddha statue in the wonderfully historic city of Kamakura on the coast of Japan. There were tons of tourists taking photos of the statue and moving on moving on. I was curious to know what the unmoving Buddha was looking at so contentedly. Turning around, it became evident that the statue was taking in the ocean, going nowhere. Good on Buddha. So before I headed home I paid my respects by visiting the beach, getting in the water and going nowhere for a while. The sounds: laughter, water cresting, tide pulling, sand drying, birds calling, tents flapping, the sky opening. The feels: cool sand meshing with veritable freshly made ash-hot torched sand, capricious ocean bay winds, tired feet, straight back, massive sun, distantly bent horizon, curious and tireless tides, happiness.