After a final night in Bangkok, where it must have been an unannounced Asian Girl-White Guy Night, and a lovely, veg meal at Bolan, where two of David Thompson’s former sous chefs from his one * Michelin in London, Naam, are cooking up a savory storm, I returned to the hotel. I thought: OK, a night’s sleep.
But little did I suspect that I would be caught up in the powerful force of The Anti-Magnetic, Interplanetary Ray and sent back to Planet Japan. It’s true: Resistance is useless!
So at 2:45 A.M., placed in a green and yellow “taxi,” whisked to the airport, and placed in what resembled an ordinary plane, I arrived at Narita.
Soon, about five hours later, via the Shinkansen, it was back to Kyoto. It’s Gion Matsuri this week–Japan’s third largest festival–and the streets were filling up with kids and families and grown-ups, some in traditional gear, others were hipsters, etc. Kyoto is a lovely place, modern and old, and I’m writing this all up on assignment from a well-known travel publication.
Then, thanks to Tanaka-san, the owner of the machiya where I’m staying, we wound up, on the floor, at Hitomi, a hard to find yakitori restaurant, off the main street, and near the river. You tell me, what could be better than grilled chicken, cold drafts, and shochu?