Of the few Japanese cities I really wanted to visit before heading home, Kyoto was atop the list. Though it ended its tenure as Japan's capital in 1868, it remains the cultural and historical seat of the nation. Sounded like a pretty groovy town to me. Then I read a book called Dogs & Demons, by Alex Kerr.

A sort of Bible for sometimes bitter Sapporo JETs like me, it made the rounds over the last 1.8 years, passed from friend to friend, until it finally ended up in my hands. The book details the myriad ways in which Japan's bureaucracy is ravaging its country, particularly its environment. Kerr spent a chapter or two on Kyoto, painting a picture of hideously ugly modern structures and the neglect/razing of historic structures that give the city so much of its charm. Hm. Maybe not so groovy?

But, yearning for a vacation, we (Tim, Laura, Paul, and me) got cheap flights and went anyway. Luckily - predictably? Though his book makes many fine points and is generally objective, at times Kerr could not mask the anger characteristic of a gaijin who has been in Japan for too long, anger that tends to distort one's perception of reality a bit - Kerr turned out to be full of shit, at least about Kyoto. It's a beautiful, charming place. Of course, my perception may be somewhat off as well, especially with respect to the beauty of cities, because Sapporo is, without question, the ugliest city ever.

Temples and shrines are the bread and butter of Kyoto's sightseeing diet. We spent two days riding rented bicycles around, templing it up.

I've completely forgotten what this is.

Tim, Laura, and schoolgirls at Kiyomizudera.

Zen garden at Ginkakuji. Saw a much cooler one elsewhere, naturally failed to take a picture.

Look! Japanese-type stuff!

Ah, to be a royal drunkard...

There are many more pictures of Kyoto, all of them just as boring and compositionally awful. Gotta sign up for a photography class one of these days. Anyway, we quickly succumbed to temple fatigue and decided to go to the beach; we're fickle like that. We headed to the town of Shirahama. Literally "white beach", at one time the town had just that, a beautiful white sand beach. But somehow - possibly in a typhoon, or through more gradual erosion - the town's namesake vanished. The solution? Ship in sand from Australia and make a new beach. I am not making this up. It said so in the Lonely Planet, it has to be true. However the hell it got there, it really is white, and it really is lovely.

See? Lovely.

That night, a bunch of local high schoolers armed with satchels full of fireworks showed up, inspiring me to try out my camera's long exposure mode, quickly dashing my hopes of a career as a tripod.

Countless bottle rockets and roman candles later, it was time for bed. Being the incredible cheapskates that we are, we camped on the beach the first night. You get what you pay for: in this case, a backache, and very little sleep. We arose to find the beach and shallows invaded by these guys:

Jellies! Some living, some dead, some big, some small, all DEADLY. Not really. Most folks steered clear of the jelly-infested water, but those that dared to take a dip seemed unstung. Later in the day, however, Paul was stung by something, possibly a jelly, possibly a sea urchin, or possibly just a sharp, angry rock. The excruciating pain subsided after a few hours, but the culprit remains at large. Beware!

I love you, Brian! I'm going to miss you soooooo much! I'll come to Minnesota sometime and you come visit me in Indiana; let's at least try to be friends. I know it's hard sometimes, when you live so far apart, but something in my heart says "You can do it, Paul!" Let's all listen to our hearts.

I enjoyed reading about your trip to VietNam with my son Tim. Sounds like you had a great time.
What part of Minnesota are you from?
Nene