There’s something I didn’t mention in the previous blog that perhaps I should have. (Hyperbolic intro, boiiii). Millions of readers have been writing in to ask me; why the bloody hell did you go to Yamanouchi, you idiot? A fair question, and one I will answer right now. Well, in the next sentence. Here, look –> Yamanouchi is home to the Jigokudani Snow Monkey Park, a park full of natural hot springs. Because of the cold climate, monkeys will often come down from the mountains to bathe in the pools, albeit being coaxed by staff feeding them at regular times every day. We wanted to get an eyeful of that shit. However, following the catastrophic Typhoon Hagibis that hit the mainland in October this year, the monkeys had not been seen in the pools since (there had been some structural damage to the pool walls). STOP CRYING, they were just up in the mountains somewhere, chilling out.

Anyway, the park was still open, and our hotel owner said to meet him at 9am in the foyer and he’d drive us to the park. On the park website, you can view a few webcams placed around the pools and upon waking; no monkeys. Sadness. We decided to skip the park, which seemed to disappoint the hotel owner (strangely – I mean, he reiterated there were no monkeys there). Instead, we took a wander around the town we were staying at. We found a big ol’ Buddha and a massive bell for ringing, which I did, and shouted “last orders please!” very quietly, for the lols of everyone there (me and Julie).

We decided we’d head back to Tokyo, giving us the gift of time (as we’d have spent a fair while at the park). On the train back, the sunshine broke out and that gave us a splendid rainbow. Thanks, ecosystem!

We arrived at Nagano for our transfer back to Tokyo and had a little time to explore. Trusty Google was our friend, and we found ourselves in Widow’s Record; a little cafe that housed a wall full of second-hand records. We got ourselves a hot chocolate each, and set about finding an LP that would compliment it. We settled on Hendrix’s ‘Are You Experienced?’, which just oozed warmth coming out of the hi-tec amp and speakers. Such a lovely little cafe, which according to Google, could get quite busy at the weekend. We also debated the origin of the cafe name (not with the woman herself, that would have been sadistic) and our estimations were correct. This lady’s fella had passed away and left her with all these records in the will, so she opened up a coffee shop in his honour. Is it dusty in here? 😦 Oh, it’s just the second-hand vinyl.

We arrived back in Tokyo and decided we’d go to Anata No Warehouse. Now, this was a place on our planning longlist that didn’t make the cut, but now we had the time, and with it being its last ever night in existence (it was to shut its doors forever that evening) we felt we should go check it out. The warehouse was in an area of Tokyo called Kawasaki, the place itself being in this huge dystopian building which was giving huge Blade Runner vibes. The inside had a similar aesthetic too, complete with 5 floors full of arcades and such.

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Quelle surprise, it was far too busy to get anything done in there. We spent most of the time stood by the dance mats, marvelling at the Japanese teens who were crazily good at them. They were all doing the moves at the same time as the animations on the screen; this was clearly one last blow out. We wandered around the 5 floors, to find the best arcades had queues, and the pool and ping pong tables had 60+ minute waiting times. You wouldn’t get that in Common Room in town would you, pft. In all the time we spent in there, the only game I played was Q-Bert. HANG ON, slight tangent, where’s my Q-Bert t-shirt?? Julie, when you read this, tell me if you’ve seen it please. Thanks.

We left the warehouse via stepping stones over some radioactive slime, which was all there for effect – I think? Yeah. We were at a bit of a loose end at this point, so I found us a jazz gig to go seek out. It was in a place called Shimokitazawa which, yes, ok, I was also excited to find was the ‘hipster capital’ of Tokyo.

We didn’t spend bags of time in the area as it was pretty late, but to be fair, it did seem like a very cool neighbourhood. A lot of mid-20s alternative Japanese people around, cool bars and restaurants, and some most excellent neon signs towered above us. Photos obviously don’t do ANYTHING justice, never mind neon signs, but here, have a look.

It took us an age, but we eventually found the gig venue down some steps into a basement. I could hear the sweet tones of a breathy sax solo, backed by some jazzy guitar chords. We excitedly hurried down the steps and I pushed the door open like some trigger-happy SWAT team member. The door actually hit a table, the only table, in the room. The four people sat at it, turned to look at me. I shifted my eyes to the left – a tiny bar, with 2 men scrunched up against it. I look to the right and I meet the guitarists eyes, which wasn’t hard as he was a mere five metres away. Basically, this gig was a great success, a sell out! It was packed! I can only hope the six of them enjoyed the show.

We wandered around some more trying to find another gig. We eventually found an indie gig above a record store – we got to the top to find a chap manning a table that said “2500 YEN” (that’s £17 or so) for what was a local band playing in a small-ish room. They were actually playing their very last song so he waved us in. The song was pretty good actually, 90’s Radiohead vibes.

We left the venue, and that was us done for the evening. We made our way back to our hotel, but not before picking up some snacks to eat in our room. CRUSTS OFF EGG SANDWICH, MAAAATE.

We checked out of Hamacho hotel for the first of four times in the holiday, and made our way to Ueno Park with no real plan. It was rather warm for a mid-November day, with cloudless skies. We entered the park and were faced with a map. “Boating lake”. YES! Get in! Love that shit. We made our way there, taking snaps along the way of the usual slice of Tokyo wonder.

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We arrived at the lake, and were one of the first to get on it. Our choices was your bog-standard rowing boat, or a big swan-shaped pedal boat; obviously we went for the latter. Now, I don’t wish to offend, or generalise, but Asian people tend to be smaller than the average person, so perhaps this was taken into account when these contraptions were built. The pedals were so close to the seat that I couldn’t pedal without contorting like some aerobic olympian. Suffice to say, Julie took on that job and I was in charge of pictures and pointing out ducks. Ueno Park reminds me a little of Central Park in that you’re surrounded by so much natural beauty, with skyscrapers popping up all over the horizon. It makes for an interesting juxtaposition.

After a lil’ lap of the lake, clocking all the jealous passers by, and taking a god awful timelapse of ducks on posts, we disembarked the swan and headed for what looked like the heart of the park. We found ourselves at some kind of food festival; bright white tarpaulin had been laid on the grass which made for an EXCELLENT reflective surface if you were the kind of person who is a fan of third degree burns. At the end was a stage with some seats set up. We saw pop singers, dancers, and other oddities, such as a duo singing J-pop, flanked by these big-headed creeps.

A bit more pottering about, including watching a little amateur baseball, we made our way to Ueno Station so we could ride on the shinkansen (you uneducated lot would probably call it a ‘bullet train’, pft, *eye roll*). The big food hall that you go through before riding the bullet train (oopsie) is pretty mad – so much food on offer, mostly in bento boxes. Literally all the food looked incredible, however I cannot remember what main meal we bought, for my mind is entirely consumed by the memory of the desert. We purchased what looked like fish fossils, but they were made of flakey chocolate, with chocolate goo inside. THEY WERE GREAT. We didn’t take a photo, because there is no lens shutter quick enough to take a photo between packaging and my gaping mouth.

The train itself was an absolute delight. Leg room. Smooth travel. Bang on time. Beautiful views. Trays that move independently to the seat, so you could recline to your heart’s content. Take note, aeroplanes! Dream world.

A couple of transfers later, we arrived in a much fewer sunny town (yes, I used ‘fewer’ in place of ‘less’. Why? Because people use ‘less’ incorrectly all the time. I’m redressing the balance, for humanity’s sake). Despite the poor weather, the scenery was beautiful – the town rested in a valley shadowed by hills filled with trees with multicoloured leaves on the green-to-orange scale.

We made our way to our hotel, which, by the way, was a RYOKAN. This involved walking into the reception to be met with a little carpet, and then a raised wooden floor; you cannot step on the wood your shoes on. Ironic really, as that’s the only bit that’s wipe clean. We were met by a lovely chap, who later added me, but not Julie, on Facebook, lololol. Like literally everyone else we had met, he was lovely. One of the main reasons we had booked here was because they allowed you to use the onsens even if you were tattooed. You see, Japan have their own version of banning the burka. Instead of introducing nuanced policy, the government have gone for a flat out policy of – tattoos = Yakuza. I’m not sure the Venn diagram of Japanese Mafia Boss and emo Tallest Man On Earth lyrics crosses all that often, but I guess it’s better safe than sorry. The ryokan-owner had a hilarious gesture whenever he talked about the Yakuza which involved the thrusting of an invisible knife, and blowing a raspberry.

We were shown to our room upstairs. Now, you’ll have no doubt seen these types of rooms in something like Memoirs of a Geisha – traditional Japanese, tatami-matted rooms with the paper-thin walls and sliding doors. Aesthetically pleasing, for sure. It also helped that a late-afternoon sun was beaming into the room from our balcony. Of course, none of this was complete without us donning our yukatas. LOOK!

We made ourselves a matcha tea and headed out for tea (i.e. food, southerners). This one was one of my favourite meals, sushi followed by some awesome chocolate cake. We then returned to the ryokan and booked ourselves into the private onsen, which is the only way you can get in together. We were to meet the owner in the reception at 8pm. We donned our yukatas once more and came downstairs. “Here, you take this” – he handed Julie a torch. Okay. He then led us out the front door. Okaaaay. And down the street. Okaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay. I thought the onsen was in the hotel, but no, it was a short walk around through actual public. We arrived at a house and the chap knocked on the door. 60 seconds later, a couple emerged in their own robes and wet hair . He let us in, and told us he’d be back in 45 minutes. This wasn’t weird in the slightest. It was basically a hut to change in, and then a little patio outback with an onsen built in, with natural hot springs being piped into the water. We stripped naked (OMG) and got in. It was REALLY HOT. (Yeah, that’s right, I’m Mills AND Boon). To the point where you immediately sweat. It overlooked the valley, and an incredible starry night.

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Disclaimer – we didn’t bathe in thick tar, we’ve just darkened the photo so you can’t see Julie’s bits. Alas, it was lovely and relaxing.

We got ourselves dressed just in time for the hotel owner’s return, and we headed back to the hotel and went to bed. Not before we watched about 20 minutes of Japanese-dubbed Terminator 2: Judgement Day, though!

We began the day taking a short ride to Yanaka, a district that’s preserved its history a little more than most areas of Tokyo. First stop; Tennō-ji temple. This was to be our first visit to a temple or shrine in Japan. We apprehensively walked up to the gate, noticing there was nobody around expect a workman on the grounds. We thought the best plan was to do as the Buddhists of the 1200s will have done, and decided to Google what the etiquette was. Firstly, you don’t walk down the middle towards the temple, that is reserved for the Gods. So the Gods are middle lane hoggers? Colour me unsurprised. I bet they don’t use their indicators either. Apparently, at the ‘offering hall’, throw a coin into the offering box, bow deeply twice, clap your hands twice, bow deeply once more and pray for a few seconds. I mean – wtf? I’m not trying to get infinite lives for Mario here, just let me have a gander at your wears! There was another step in the process too that involved pour a bit of water on your hands. You know, like British men do when they go to the toilet.

We finally dared to go into the temple even though we weren’t particular sure whether we were just wandering into someone’s living room. It can’t have been as there was no TV. We had no benchmark at this stage, but this appeared to be quite a small and basic temple, but it was rather lovely and serene.

At a snail’s pace, we wandered through the large Yanaka cemetery, which was home to many famous Japanese people who had passed, not one single one that I had heard of. That’s more a reflection on me than Japan. We then headed for a little neighbourhood full of old style huts, one of which sold drinks. I reckon this is where we first used the Google translate app, which is both mind-blowingly clever, and hilariously inaccurate in equal measure. I probably should have made note of my favourite translations, but the likes of ‘innocent thighs’ and ‘nearly a cow’ were common-place.

Someone from the internet had recommended a little cafe at the top of the Yanaka Ginza, a traditional shopping street. The cafe was dainty, and we had delicious scones with clotted cream and chunks of fruit. The street itself was very much the same, with shops lining each side of the pedestrianised walk-way down the middle (this time reserved for tourists, not Gods). Yes, Julie went in every single shop, yes, she touched All Of The Things….

After a cool 500 hours, we finally emerged at the other side. We now had a bit of a trek to the gardens we wished to see, but the beauty of Tokyo is that you can just about walk anywhere and find natural beauty, beautiful architecture, and bizarre oddities at every turn.

We paid our way into Rikugien Gardens and were immediately in awe with the sight of a few trees teasing a bit of autumn. There was a beautiful river that snaked around the park, which made for great photos (oooh, no pressure on the next photo you show us, Ad!).

Hashtag NO FILTER by the way. Only because I can’t be arsed, otherwise I’d absolutely be wapping a filter on two there, no question.

By now the night was drawing in, so it was time for a bit of grub. We made our way over Koenji, where we’d be meeting some friends (more on them later). Koenji was lovely, lots of little streets with vintage shops, little street food stalls and just a general lack of gentrification. One thing we discovered at this point is that a lot of eateries tend to close around 3pm and reopen around 6pm, so we spent a fair chunk of time looking at the frankly bizarre plastic displays outside of closed restaurants

After circling a block about 3 times, we popped into a noodle bar. We looked to the waiter as we walked in, and he pointed to the vending machine we needed to order from – so that was exciting!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! No but really, it was. The machine had pictures of each meal with a little description. You then made your order, get a little ticket, and hand it to the chefs. This was my first of many – *points* “….vegetarian?” – moments. I was delighted to find the direct translation was “Bejitarian”, so as long as I spoke like Brian Badonde, I’d be absolutely fine. We both ordered fairly basic noodles, but they were delicious. There was a pool of soy sauce at the bottom of the bowl, and the chef had to tell us to mix it all up – TWICE. Alright, mate. A bit keen.

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We slurped, and we slurped, and we flicked broth all over the god damn joint. We had a bit of time to kill, so had a wander around a few shops. Then it was time to meet our friend Holly.

REWWWWWWWINDDDDDDDDDDDDD

Back in 2011, I signed up for a website called February Album Writing Month (FAWM). It’s an global online community of songwriters and lyricists who take up the challenge of writing and recording 14 songs in the month. You then share your songs and people can leave comments, collaborate with you, etc etc. Along the way, you naturally come across some amazing musicians who you follow year after year, and a duo called Santa Dharma fit that bill. Over the years, Myself and Julie have chatted to one half of the duo, Holly (from California, now living in Tokyo), quite a lot on FAWM and Facebook and I was happy that we’d get to meet her and her husband/bandmate Tomo (from just outside of Tokyo).

We met Holly at the train station, with Tomo meeting us later on. Perhaps it’s a product of modern day relationships, but all this internet chatter almost felt like the ice had been broken years ago, so there was no awkward mumbly stage that I usually thrust upon the person opposite me. Holly took us to a quiet Vietnamese-run bar that we would never have found on our own. We were the only ones in there, the walls stacked high with tattered LPs. We were soon joined by Tomo and we laughed and drank wine and gin.

We moved on again to another bar, this one even more hidden away. Holly and Tomo told us that the bar had a someone different running the bar each night of the week, so you never really knew what you were going to get. It turned out that it was Mr “who the hell are these 3 westerners??” tonight. (Disclaimer, he was just curious, and he was lovely). This is where we tried sake for the first time. For those that don’t know, it’s a rice wine; it sort of tastes like a halfway house between white white and some kind of vodka-esque spirit. It was nice enough to have two or three, anyway. In here we chatted Trump, Brexit, music, and the links between shrines and the right-wing. It was more fun than it sounds! We then had a little walk around and made our way back to the train station to go home and bid our lovely friends Holly and Tomo farewell, but not before an obligatory selfie.

Ok, welcome back. Sitting comfortably? More comfortably than Julie was in business class? I doubt that.

We arrived at Tokyo Station at around noon and decided we’d walk 30 minutes to our hotel rather than jump on another tube. Immediately, we fell foul to the infamous citidels that these Tokyo stations embody. Google Maps tells me that we were in there 12.15 to 12:33pm (err, bit creepy mate?). Admittedly some of that time was taken up by a very helpful chap who just seemed to be wandering around the station – perhaps he had been trying to find his way out for days? He didn’t look malnourished, but you never can tell. We eventually found our way out and squinted at the bright morning sun like every lead actor in every Alcatraz escapee movie does.

Turns out that the route from Tokyo Station to Hamacho Hotel was the business district. This meant lots of men in suits (cliche alert) and barely any neon lights (not a cliche alert.). We slalomed our way through everyone and arrived at the hotel. It looked lovely from the outside; plants and trees seemingly growing out of the brickwork and windows. Thankfully, it was just as nice inside.

It was far too early to check in, but we asked if they could look after our bags until then (has any hotel ever said no to that? Yet I still treat it as the pinnacle of good srevice). We were rather thirsty so we sat down and I had first of 38,391 (approx.) Coca-Colas in Japan, and we also had some delicious ice cream. I seem to remember thinking it was the greatest ice cream that had ever passed my lips but given that I’ve already forgotten the flavour it was probably top 20 at best. We paid the insanely polite waitress, and headed out to find a Japanese garden (or as they’re called in Japan, ‘gardens’.) (Disclaimer, I wrote that joke last night and thought it was hilarious but I now realise that the Japanese would actually call it a 庭園, but you lot are far too uncultured for that.

We crossed over our nearest bridge and made our way to Kiyosumi park. Now, Japanese seasons roughly match ours, but not a lot of leaves had turned to autumn colours yet. There was a lot of green about, which is fine, I suppose, but like, where’s the orange guys? I suppose it’s Global Warmings fault is it? Oh, it is? Ok sorry. We had a wander around this lovely park, marvelling at the tiny dogs that everyone in Tokyo has. Then we came to a fence; one that separated Kiyosumi Park, and Kiyosumi Garden. That’s the shit we’re after! We hurried to the entrance to find a price tag and empty pockets. Nae bother, we’ll find ourselves an ATM.

Let’s rewind again. This will probably happen a lot because I can’t be arsed to edit the blog and obviously I haven’t storyboarded it because I’m not mental. We did vast research for Japan (“We?” says Julie, eyes wider than a canyon) and one little nugget of advice was that the egg sandwiches from the 7-Elevens taste like heaven. So, with this in mind, I bought myself one for a late lunch. Do you know what? Whoever it was who shared this eggy wisdom was BANG on the money. It’s literally just an egg sandwich with the crusts cut off, but I could eat them for days.

Anyway, we drew out a wad of Japan’s finest ¥ and set off back for the garden. I would describe it to you, but there’s really no point when we took photos, so gawp at those instead. There was a particularly life-changing moment where a tiny turtle seemingly reached out to us, but as it no doubt only knew Japanese, we couldn’t converse, so I tried to feed it a leaf. It did not appreciate the gesture and I did not appreciate its disrespect.

By now, check-in was open so we wandered back to the hotel and to our room. A lovely room it was, complete with complimentary pyjamas. This of course legitimised Julie’s plan to lay down “for a minute” and consequently go to sleep for a good 4 or so hours. “BUT I’M ON HOLIDAY!”, I roared, inwardly (little nod to I, Partridge there).

I decided I’d take a solo walk around the area now that night had fallen. My first thought was how incredible safe everywhere felt, even as I wandered down quiet back alleys. Everywhere was so clean as well, and lit so atmospherically like a movie set. Strangely, these little back streets were exactly how I’d imagined them.

I returned to Julie around 7pm, shook her awake (gently! Stop sensationalising everything), and I suggested we make our way over to Akihabara, about an hour away on foot. For those that don’t know, Akihabara is considered the hub of modern popular culture; gaming, anime, electronics that sort of thing. Upon arriving in the area, we found ourselves outside a ‘pachinko’ parlour, which is essentially the Japanese version of a fruit machine (but way more complex and more of a gaming element). We walked up to the automatic double doors and KAPOW! Lights! Music! Cigarette smoke! Clanging of machines! It was an absolute assault on all the senses.

We also went in a number of multi-floor arcades, with hundreds of grabber machines, the ones you get in the UK at bowling alleys and such-like. Golly, you would win just about anything. Yes, they had the usual plush toys, but there were machines for winning packs of noodles, figurines in huge boxes, cans of food. There were middle-aged men in expensive suits, alone, trying to win little scantily-clad manga figurines with their hard earned piles of 10 yen. I tried to win Julie some Frozen stuff (obviously I mean the film but given the variety of machine, there was a probably a Birdseye fish finger machine on floor 9 or something). I did not do well, at all. That was until we reach a machine full of the tiniest, weightless little animals toys. In a never done before feat (I assume), I managed to grab two of the little mites in one grab. We won a fox and a dog. Look how happy/tired I am!

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We then realised it was about 11pm, so we went to a restaurant nearby, ordering from the table iPad. Not wanting to be overly adventurous on day one, I settled for “rice with a raw egg”. And, fair play to the Japanese, that’s exactly what they gave me.

A spot of Googling transpired that I needed to crack the egg myself (I mean, what is the chef getting paid for, eh?) directly onto the rice, and the heat from the rice would cook the egg. SOUNDS LEGIT. Someone we met later in the holiday told us that he too was unaware of this etitiquette, so instead of Googled it (which ironically is the worst breaking of any etiquette) he cracked the egg directly into his mouth. Alas, I ate the meal, and obviously survived unless you follow the vicious rumours that I use a ghostwriter.

The rest of the evening is a bit of a blur so the jetlag was finally taking hold. Did we get a tube home or did we walk? Anyone? Hello?! (Why yes Harold Bloom, that IS an incredible open ending that “rivals The Diary of Anne Frank”)

“So Adam”, I hear you bellow, “tell us what happened on your holiday. I can’t wait to see what tremendous prose you throw our way!”. Well, thanks for asking. Lots happened. “Tell us, tell us!”. Alright, alright. For those that don’t know, I went to Japan in November for just over 2 weeks with my partner Julie, and we had the most incredible time. The memory is ever-fading but I’m going to try and piece everything together and write a day-by-day blog of our travels. I’ll try not to waffle but I’m making no promises. Let’s go all in. Knee-deep.

“Not so fast, handsome. Tell us about the flight and stuff!”. Well, reader, I’m surprised you want to hear about that bit? But ok, here we go..

Our story begins awaking a stone’s throw from Heathrow airport (I mean, that stone would have to be thrown by.. *googles shot put world record*.. Randy Barnes or someone, amiright?!). From hotel to plane was a painless affair and not one worth writing about. Leg one of the flight was from Heathrow to Helsinki, a 3hr stint. Now, yeah, Japan was going be exciting, probably, whatevs, but, is there anything more exciting than playing with your touchscreen on a longhaul flight? No. Well, yes. But really; no. Imagine our disappointment to discover that there were software issues and we only had a handful of films to pick from that all buffered every 5 seconds, no games, no flight camera. I mean – FUCK. What? My god. They marched on Washington in ’63, and for what?

We soon got over this travesty as we touched down in rainy Helsinki. The transfer was only 2.5 hours so no time to explore. The airport seemed pretty decent, with the particular terminal geared towards Japanese tourists passing through. It almost felt like a bit of a staging area for Japan. Getting us ready, you know? Acclimatising us. There was one place that was very much Finnish though..

From here is where the experience from myself and Julie differed drastically. See, let’s rewind a moment. We got our return flights early in the year for £500 each. Pretty cheap, eh? They don’t call her Julie Marie Thrift for nothing. Fast-forward to the beginning of November, and Julie receives an email offering her a business class upgrade, the 10hr stint of the flight, for £310. She showed me the email, and we both laughed – imagine! It’d be pretty awesome would it not? “Ah well” I said/thought as I went off out, happy in my decision in not even giving it more than five seconds’ thought. About an hour later, I received a message from Julie; “so.. I’ve upgraded”.

WOW. The nerve. I could not believe what I was hearing. She would be swanning off with the elite whilst I was left eating lentils off the floor, or something.

£310 is a lot of money. What else would you pay £31 an hour for? I mean – that’s pretty much what I pay for my piano lessons. But listen here, I can play a bit of a Charles Mingus song – what did you learn in first class, Julie? How to recline your chair all the way? Big wow. Sadly the software issues persisted, so whilst Julie could usurp this disappointment with champagne, fluffy pillows, and pyjamas, I was left to trying to sleep at a 90 degree angle. Obviously I succeeded with no fuss, and slept far better than Julie, but that’s by-the-by.

Eventually, we landed in Tokyo, having experienced day-time for what felt like 14 days. I prayed for darkness. Take hold of the sky, Satan!

We had arrived. Narita airport, terminal 2. We picked up our cases and our last-minute-decision pocket WiFi, and went about trying to find our train to Tokyo city. Immediately I was practically orgasming at the arrival boards, purely because they were using beautiful squiggly lettering instead of our grotesque western lettering. Seriously, I can’t even look at my laptop screen as I write this blog. Disgusting.

One of the very first things we did after getting flights was getting JR passes. This gives access to the famed shinkansen trains (a.k.a. the bullet train) and a number of other trains. It came good immediately on our express train to Tokyo city.

..and HERE is where blog number one ends. Seems natural. Don’t want to go too hard on blog number 1 do I? I hope you enjoyed my ridiculous syntax. I’ll be following this blog up with a day by day account of our time in Japan, but I can’t tell you how often I’ll be posting said blogs. Soon, I hope. Take care.