On Saturday Eric and I took a Grab back to Manila’s airport for our Air Asia flight to Caticlan, Boracay’s neighboring island. Security was lax and the lines were long and slow. I had expected a turboprop plane but no, it was a modern A320 jet with supermodel hostesses.

45 minutes later we touched down on Caticlan Island. Our hotel’s shuttle van took us to a waiting room for a welcome drink, followed by a private speedboat ride across the Philippine Sea to Boracay Island. Baggage handlers did all the heavy lifting.

Boracay’s main drag is littered with construction debris and crawling with motorized tricycle taxis. Our van could barely squeeze through all the traffic and pedestrians. I’ll post some video later.

And once again, everyone on the hotel’s staff was amazingly polite. While waiting to check in I was trying to tear the tag off my suitcase and within seconds a bellhop swooped in with scissors to save the day.

Our room was very nice. The Henann Palm Beach Resort just opened in January after President Duterte had closed down the entire island for ecological cleanup. Our room was clean and had all the amenities, plus direct access to the pool.

We found a table at the upper “Skybar” and were treated like royalty. I’ve never been called “Sir” more often in my life. We settled in with a few piña colodas and enjoyed an amazing sunset. Oddly these drinks were made with coconut powder, not coconut milk or creme. But they were great and went down smooth.

The view was shared by throngs of Korean, Chinese and Japanese tourists. Oh sure, there were a few other old white guys there. And most of them had a young Filipina girl on their arm. One 60ish Australian must have weighed 280 pounds and his petite, blinged-out girlfriend looked about 20. Apparently that’s a thing here, and the Filipinos are okay with it as long as the Westerners don’t “have a temper.”

Sorry for the lack of updates here, but this is the vacation part of my vacation and the days sort of blurred together. The hotel is very nice. Our room had direct access to the pool and the sunsets are amazing with all the Paraw Sails parading across in the Philippine Sea like a postcard.

Eric and I spent half our time in the Skybar being teased relentlessly by the tag team of Pinky & Vanessa. There Eric became an Honorary Millenial for his addiction to Mobile Legends, and I earned the title Kuya Lane. Kuya means “the big brother” here, measured by age — not weight. 😉

More later. We have to catch our boat and flight back to Manila.

I landed in Manila two nights ago and was waved through customs without so much as eye contact. My brother was waiting outside. I hadn’t seen him or his adorable Filipina wife Maylin in seven or eight years. A taxi with a grindy transmission took us to Eric’s expatriate enclave in Mandaluyong City.

On Friday we went to the adjacent mall so I could shop for jewelry to take home. We had an early dinner at Chili’s, where Eric enjoys rock star status. Fortunately for me, he hates seafood too.

Exactly ten petite Filipinas swarmed around us at the pearl counter at Kultura, smiling and giggling. I’m sure I could fit a couple of them in my suitcase. But none of them knew what the phrase “loose pearl” means. Maylin later explained that even though English is taught in the schools, much of the slang and nuance gets lost in translation.

That evening I set up my camera on a ledge outside my guest room window on the 54th floor, and shot an hour’s worth of the sunset in time lapse. I have no idea how it turned out. I also recorded the street sounds as well, for background.

Manila is a pretty gritty place. A bit like a modern version of Havana. The people are warm and nice, but no one could direct me to the world famous Manila Folder factory tour.

Off to Boracay in an hour for five days of pinã coladas and chillaxing. Eric let me know that there are two rounds of security theater at the Manila airport, even for domestic flights.

Go, go Godzilla. (Yeah) — Blue Oyster Cult

Thursday morning I set up my camera by 7 AM to shoot time lapse of commuters from my third-floor window in the station’s north rotunda. I let it run until my card filled up. I don’t know how it turned out. It was rainy out and I never saw the crowds I was expecting on a workday. The station itself was very crowded, however. And a lot of Japanese were coughing. Lukasz had explained that the masks are commonly used for allergies, but I have my doubts.

I returned to Starbucks and the same little barista girl actually recognized me. “Good morning, would you like the same as yesterday?” I was floored. “Yes please, plus an American waffle.” I was fortunate to show her that I could be booger-free for at least one morning.

I mailed my postcards and packed up. I had planned to go for a walk but felt like a bit more sleep was in order before checking out at noon.

I’m now on the Narita Express making the one-hour run to the airport. The train is very comfortable. My flight to Manila is at 5:30 PM on Delta. There are travel advisories in effect for the Philippines now so Trump probably said something stupid about Duterte or some shit. Will tread lightly there.

In fact, Delta’s check-in agent advised me that when I depart Manila to Tokyo next week, I’m to expect “triple security.” So something’s up between the two island nations. She issued my return flight documents as a precaution.

I’ve still got over ¥31,000 in my pocket but there’s time for a nice meal at Narita. I also need a couple more SD cards for my camera and drone. Eric says they might be cheaper in Manila. So if I don’t spend all my Yen here I’ll just exchange it for Pesos.

So yeah, I got ripped off pretty good by Travelex converting Yen to Pesos. But at least now I have $210 worth in case I need to bribe someone when I land in Manila. The trip so far is well under budget, unlike Cuba.

With time to spare, I found a nice little diner in the international terminal and had their fried pork cutlet with cabbage and rice surrounded by a gaggle of Hong Kong stewardesses. The Kirin was good as always and I’ve grown fond of Japanese architecture. So simple and elegant — even at the airport. They do try to please, always.

In a gift shop I scored a nice Godzilla t-shirt in my size. And it was ¥11,000 less to boot.

Now I’m waiting to board my long flight to Manila. I panicked a bit after security because all the signs said “Immigration” and no gates were visible. The correct word is “Emigration” when you leave a country. It turns out all the departure gates are downstairs. But still, the signage sucks here for gaijin.

Sayonara, Japan!

I met up with Lukasz from EyeXplore.com outside an enormous department store above Shinjuku Station.

While waiting for 19:30 to roll around, I wandered into the store but was repelled by thick clouds of perfume. So I found an inconspicuous spot and took some photos of commuters while a group of protestors blocked the main entrance over some election.

There I spotted my first homeless man, leaning against the station’s glass doors. He was the spitting image of the mentor in the old Karate Kid movie. And right on cue, no more than a minute after I took his picture, he slowly opened his dirty pants, pulled out his penis and and peed on the station floor. Not a cop in sight, and no way was I getting involved. Strangely, several commuters noticed the act without breaking stride.

After a brief intro, I learned Lukasz is a Pol who grew up in Chicago. So I told him all about my neighbor Bob, who also taught photography.

We headed off to a nearby bridge where the private instruction started with some fundamentals about how aperture size and shutter speed determine a shot’s exposure, especially in low light. I relearned how to read a histogram and make adjustments based on a few test shots.

Within a few minutes we were capturing incredible shots of traffic light trails set against the Neon Canyon. The bridge was pretty bouncy and there was a lot of foot traffic right behind me, which I’m very uncomfortable with. But this was more important.

Together we figured out how to use the intervalometer and soon produced 10 second time lapse clips at one frame per second. Some of the individual frames are amazing standalone shots, so I’m convinced time lapse is an ideal workflow for scenes like this where there is a lot of semi-predictable movement.

There is a very long and narrow alleyway nearby. Dozens of small restaurants line the alley, and each was packed to the gills with locals. Lukasz suggested I use my iPhone in time lapse mode to plow through the alley. So I swooped in and out of open windows, got closeups of people’s food and generally made a nuisance of myself. But no one seemed to mind, since this was the crazy party side of Tokyo. Unfortunately this shot came out too fast to be usable.

Next we hopped the subway to Harajuku, home of the world’s busiest pedestrian crossing. While taking off my backpack on the train, the flap was unzipped and all my equipment tumbled onto the floor. So embarrassing. I was apparently far too distracted by everything to perform even the most basic tasks, like protecting my camera. But it’s as if the Japanese thought of this. The subway cars’ floors are rubberized, so there was no damage beyond my pride.

There is an observation deck outside Harajuku Station where we set up my tripod and shot another five or six minutes of time lapse from above. By now I was getting pretty confident.

I’ll post my best photos later after I’ve had time to offload them — maybe at my brother’s place in Manila. I left a 5-star review for EyeXplore on TripAdvisor, and we agreed to keep in touch. This was $219 well spent. I would never have thought to do all this without Lukasz’s direction and patience.

I took the Marinouchi Line from the Metro station and emerged in fabled Shinjuku 30 minutes later. There is so much neon there it even makes the day brighter. My photo tour was not until 7:30 so I had time to kill and shop.

My first stop was the Godzilla Store. I struggled to find anything of value there so I settled for a couple of holographic postcards to send to Steven and Shannon.

I ducked into a few shops here and there but they were far too crowded, especially wearing a backpack. Shinjuku is known for its nightlife and there were large packs of masked teenagers everywhere, gawking and giggling at the giant YouTube videos illuminating entire buildings.

Japan is not dollar-friendly. Everything so far (except mass transit) is prohibitively expensive. So I figure if I find something I like I can probably order it from home for less. This was true for Italian Murano glass and Irish Waterford crystal years ago. I want to find some t-shirts here but I’m not going to pay $40 per.

So I kept moving toward the Godzilla Head that looms over TOHO Cinemas and the Hotel Gracery. The street there is famously saturated with neon, like a pedestrian-only canyon of light and music. Even the Krispy Kreme doughnut shop there is Japanized, featuring all sorts of Pokémon and anime (I presume) characters. My blood sugar was low so I needed a fix.

I savored a beautifully crafted cappuccino on the 8th floor observation deck and awaited my fate. The Yank at the next table was telling his Japanese colleague all about the Chicago Cubs. But I know he didn’t understand a word because the poor guy did what everyone does in that situation: Nod profusely. So polite.

Every hour on the hour, the life-sized 1950s Godzilla terrorizes 2010s Tokyo with lights and sound.

Dusk approaches, and Shinjuku comes alive.

It’s easy to find a train station. You just follow the tracks. So I did. And they led me through the most amazing scenes in less than a mile.

Nestled under Ginza’s tracks are rows and rows of quaint little shops and rather crusty restaurants. Each seemed to have a specialty — and a smell to match. One was flowers, for example. And one was octopus. So imagine the conversation in some Tokyo bank around 11:30: “I know a good octopus bar nearby. Mmmm, octopus. The one near that stinky flower shop? Let’s go!”

There was a common theme among the odors. A combination of teriyaki, cigarettes and sewer gas permeated the air until I reached the ultramodern International Forum. To compare this with the smell of Paris, just swap dog poop for the teriyaki.

Here, across from a line of retro food trucks, I naturally gravitated to a place called Shake Shack. I ordered a burger with a craft ale and sat outside to people watch. Then to my amazement, the manager came out to offer me a blanket. It didn’t feel that chilly to me but I was just amazed at the customer service.

When I left, I got a hundred yards away before I realized I’d left my backpack in the opposite seat. After all, Olivia wasn’t there to literally watch my back. So I ran back in a panic and was relieved to find it still there. The woman at the next table smiled and shrugged as if to say, “You thought someone would steal your backpack? Here? In Japan? That would be unthinkable, yes?”

On the way back I saw what Japanese businessmen do on their lunch breaks. Stand around tapping their phones. Probably shopping for black suits.

Off to Shinjuku next. After another mineral bath and a nap, of course.

I started Wednesday morning by ferreting out a Starbucks in the depths of Tokyo Station. The cute Japanese girl who took my order for a grande spoke perfect English, but I noticed she was giving me a funny look. And sure enough, I touched my nose to find one of those little rubbery morning booger balls. How it escaped my right nostril is a mystery.

It’s so embarrassing to be a gaijin, sometimes.

The coffee was thin, more the consistency of tea. But it got my heart started. My next mission was to hit Bic Camera in nearby Ginza to buy an intervalometer for my Canon. Inexplicably, the only thing this new DSLR doesn’t have is a time lapse function. It requires a remote controller.

The store was massive, covering an entire city block at least eight floors deep. But yes, they sell more than just cameras. The Canon desk was unmanned so a couple of Nikon guys tried to figure out what I was asking for. It took twenty minutes for me to act out “time lapse” in pantomime. Finally the Canon guy showed up and after five more minutes of kabuki theater he turned to me and exhausted his English vocabulary: “No stock.” I must have imagined him punctuating this with the universal gesture for harakiri.

But then he led me to a rack of freshly harvested intervalometers. No, the one he handed me wasn’t Canon and had no English instructions, but he seemed confident it would work. And later that night, it did. The price? ¥6,510. But at least now I can claim to have supported Japan’s fledgling camera industry.

Next I walked to the Imperial Gardens. My goal was to get familiar with my Canon in a low-pressure environment, so I wouldn’t look like an idiot for my photography workshop later on.

The gardens are like Tokyo’s Central Park. The Imperial Palace is off-limits, so what you see is a bunch of stone walls that are the ruins of an ancient castle (Edo). It’s not quite cherry blossom time but I did photograph a couple of early bloomers. The ponds were nice too. But my best shots were of the modern, bustling skyline playing backdrop to these peaceful grounds.

I’ve come to appreciate how curated this culture is. Ever polite and shy, the Japanese clearly exude national pride. Even the subways are spotless and shiny. More than once I saw someone stop and pick up garbage. And it is considered rude to walk and eat, drink or smoke at the same time here. No one chews gum. No one spits on the sidewalk. No one raises their voice. No one wears profane clothing.

The few people I saw doing these things were Westerners. And it made me realize what pigs Americans are by comparison. Take downtown Portland, for example. Chain-smoking vegans riddled with tattoos, piercings and meth, milling about a city covered in filth and graffiti. Not to mention crawling with thousands of homeless-by-choice stoop poopers. None of that here.

UThe contrast made me ashamed. Especially in light of the fact we twice nuked these people, and have somehow utterly failed to outpace them as a civil society after all that dust settled. The difference goes well beyond military spending and playing Team America: World Police. When our so-called President talks about making America great again, he’s really talking about finding ways to subjugate humble people like this so that we can be the smartest kids in the sandbox. Every time I travel outside the US I’m reminded of how ignorant and arrogant we’ve become under Republican control. In terms of infrastructure, education, healthcare, the environment — and now politics, we have become a third world country. You know, one of those shithole countries under the thumb of a wannabe dictator, where people don’t even want to procreate anymore because things are only getting worse at home.

Sigh… time for lunch.

Forget the in-room massage. You haven’t lived until you’ve been serviced at 3 AM by honorable Japanese bidet. Meet the Toto Washlet personal hygiene system.

Always aiming to please, Toto even lifts the heated seated seat for you on final approach.

But of course my favorite feature is the Oscillator. It’s A-OK.

I feel like a new man. A bit like Bill Murray in Lost in Translation.

Yep, it’s my first trip to Japan, or to Asia for that matter. I just landed after a 10-1/2 hour flight from Portland.

I’m starting this post from car 7, seat 3D aboard the Narita Express. I should be pulling into Tokyo Station any minute, where my hotel room awaits. Yes, it’s the historic Tokyo Station Hotel. How’s that for convenience?

The train left the airport exactly on time but it made three unexpected stops due to “obstructions.” So much for Japanese efficiency.

Damn, there are a lot of Japanese cars here.

The sun here looks just as you’d expect. An ominous nuclear fireball shrouded in haze. The Rising Sun will be setting shortly, followed by the screams of people trying to outrun Godzilla. Fortunately Tokyo is protected by power lines placed everywhere at neck level.

I’m not that hungry. Delta fed us pretty well and all the booze was free too.

My first impression of Japanese people: Why is everyone wearing masks and should I be concerned?

Tokyo Station is at least five stories underground. I got reprimanded (by another Westerner) for standing on the right side of an escalator. So I chided him back for being a conformist.

This hotel is incredible! I’m being treated like royalty here. Everyone is so polite. But not in that fake way, like in Utah. The hotel seems like it’s a mile long, straddled above one of the world’s busiest train stations. My room’s ceiling is 15 feet, and the windows overlook the main entrance hall with its dome towering above. So I’m watching masked commuters in suits swarm the station at rush hour. Olivia and I will definitely stay here when she comes next time.

After spending ten minutes trying to find various switches, my next move was to pop a couple Kirins and enjoy a hot mineral bath and some extremely silly Japanese TV. Hey, it was a long flight and I have an action-packed day tomorrow.

Oh — almost forgot. I had scoped out a currency exchange this (yesterday) morning in Portland International. The official rate was ¥112 for $1. But Travelex at PDX was only offering ¥94 plus a $9 bullshit “service fee.” Worse than Ticketmaster, right? At Travelex at NRT I got a respectable ¥103 and change. So for $500 USD I got ¥51,690. And with ¥4,000 I bought my round trip N’EX tickets on the aforementioned Narita Express. The rest will be for food and shoppage.

The key here is to remember that there’s about a 100:1 ratio, so it’s easy to just drop two zeroes to decide the value of something.