Scribble, scribble, scribble…

In which the author continues his long, halting journey toward becoming truly jōzu

Carl turns to me and says: “I want you to translate this exactly: Ask him, ‘How good is Alex’s Japanese?’” Oruto-san does not hesitate, uttering a single word: “Kanpeki.” I blush but render the word faithfully: “Perfect.”

The joys of touring with folding bikes in Japan

I was asked to put together and lead a two-week walking tour in Japan in October 2025. I have never walked so much in Japan.

Too many tourists? Is Japan a victim of its own success? Tread lightly, dear reader.

A memorable evening in Kyoto with my daughter Nina

A spring bicycle tour with Albrecht and Sylvia yields a moment of beauty that transcends time and place

A visit to friends ends in a horrible moment of impact. Cash, cookies, and the passage of 36 years have done little to ease a painful memory.

A young man, an older woman, forbidden love. Maybe it was bound to happen.

English lessons lead to forbidden love between two lonely, bored people.

Middlebury, Vermont, summer of 1978: the beginning of my Japanese language journey. It’s been a rough road.

Two high school boys discover that biomedical research is not to be their path.

A tiny museum on a Kyoto side street opens a window into the world of the kaleidoscope

An American potter in Japan, the warmth of the kiln on a chilly night.

Sometimes it’s the most untranslatable expression that opens a door to understanding of another culture.