Monsoon inspiration

On food: gyoza craving

Lately, every morning I wake up with the strange feeling of not knowing whether coming back in this country was my finest idea. Then I look out and see the familiar cityscape of Tokyo, the most beautiful ugly city I have had the chance of visiting. 

I hear the buzz, but somehow, when you’re inside, everything feels quiet. The buzz never quite dies, but never quite bothers you either. In the summer, like it is now, the smooth chant of crickets puts you to sleep. 

Outside, it is hot, humid, packed. If you look down to your shoes, you might bump into an old lady, her back crooked by years of hard work, a kid with a straw school hat, or a salary man, hurrying to catch his train. Sometimes, when you turn a corner, you may end up where nobody else had the idea of being today, under the shades of trees, in a small park, near a temple. One step back, and you’re back in the jam.

The Japanese are both irritating and fascinating. They’ll stare on the metro, and rarely speak English, but they have this way of living that is far from understandable for the Western eye. Here I am, then, once again, back into the ordinary everyday life of thousands, living my extraordinary adventure.