After a full day of family and raw fish, we decided it was time to leave Tokyo. Our chosen destination, Kyoto, where Robbi has had satisfying adventures in the past. To get there: the bullet train, of course.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Before we boarded the bullet train, we had to wait for the dutiful army of attendants to clean the already spotless interior. The Japanese take their trains very seriously.

While we were waiting on the platform, Robbi considered throwing her gum, which had lost its flavor, on the tracks, as any self-respecting American might do in a similar situation back home. But looking down at the spotless tracks, not a spot of debris in sight, she felt a sense of guilt—a moral obligation to preserve the pristine. All of Japan is like this, and I found myself wondering if the place is clean because of strict penalties for littering, or if the place is clean because the place is clean. I wonder if people just can’t stand the thought of ruining something so spotless? This theory plays into my long-time dream to require all residents to leave New York for a month, so that it might be cleaned. Perhaps if it was thoroughly scrubbed, I postulate, the various residents and visitors would be inspired to throw their various cans, bits of paper, and cigarette buts into trash cans instead of on the street. Do you feel me?

Before we boarded the train, I bought a bento box from a snack stand. The Japanese fascination with order and cleanliness has an analog in beautiful presentation of food. As the train rolled through the Japanese countryside, I beheld my lunch, thinking it a shame that I had to mar its perfection with my appetite.

My appetite won out, of course.

Alden was impressed with my breaded pork cutlet. Kato was more interested in the scenery.

Robbi, for her part, was reveling in the beverages of Japan. To her delight, she found a bottle of Pocari Sweat, the Japanese version of Gatorade.

After downing her Sweat, she moved on to a Coke. The stylish metal bottle/can added much to the flavor.

For a while, there was mayhem. The bullet train is very exciting.

Baby Calla got in on the fun.

But even on the bullet train, the ride from Tokyo to Kyoto takes a few hours. Eventually Kato slept while I fought fatigue with a can of Black Boss.

Alden and Monkey found the spacious seating to their liking.

Eventually, we arrived in Kyoto, where there were escalators (and many Japanese people)

We got outside and it was raining. We took a cab through late afternoon traffic, across the river a beautiful, historic quarter of the city.

Rather than staying in a hotel, we rented a four-room house. It was an old place on a crooked street. We arrived to find four sets of slippers waiting for us on the threshold. We took off our shoes, put on our slippers, and were ushered by a kindly man named Nobu to one of the rooms, where we sat around a low table to review the terms of our rental and sign a contract.

We found the terms agreeable. While Kato settled in in for a nap…

…the rest of us took a tour with Nobu-San. He showed us the kitchen.

And the bedrooms. Because the Nene House is a traditional Japanese home, there were no western-style beds. Instead, we found piles of futons and comforters.

A little arranging, and we had a comfortable nest.

We were tired, but resisted the temptation to fall into the sheets. We were in Kyoto, after all, and decided to do some adventuring before calling it a night.

We strolled the streets and found a shop selling round little doughy balls on a stick dipped in caramelized goo.

Let’s break it down.

Gooey balls on sticks:

Vat of caramelized goo:

The exciting conclusion:

These treats are among Robbi’s favorite, and so we bought some. Robbi will have to chime in with the proper name (she is currently asleep, and cannot be consulted).

Being an intrepid eater, I decided to have a try. Did I like it? With due respect to the culinary offerings of my hosts, let’s just say, I decided not to have another try.

We wandered through the streets until we found a noodle shop and decided it was time to eat. When we arrived at the restaurant, the hostess led us to a private tatami room in the back. I’m still not sure whether she did this because we were appealing American tourists she wanted to impress or because we were accompained by three loud and squirming children. Regardless, I had occasion to feel tall and powerful.

The doorways in Japan are simply no match for my towering bulk.

We settled in around another low table.

And ordered noodles. I had a steaming bowl of udon with tempura and raw egg.

And that was that. We were fed and tired and in proximity of a bed. The kids turned in first.

But we were not far behind. I think we fell asleep by 8:00, still bewildered by the time change, but sufficiently exhausted to overlook the fact that, according to our internal clocks, it was 7:00am.

Thus ended our second full day in Japan. And so ends this day in Chestertown.