Tokyo

I still have to pinch myself when I think about Japan. It felt as if forty years of dreams had suddenly projected themselves in front of me. I travel often, but arriving in Tokyo was different—like coming home. It was an instant recognition, a quiet certainty: you know when you know.

My time was short—just four days, one of them for work—so every step mattered. I never rely on travel guides or lists; curiosity is my compass. I prefer to walk, to wander, to let a city reveal itself without filters. From Toranomon’s modern towers to the flow of Shibuya Crossing, I walked with the city rather than through it, learning its rhythm in each stride.

I don’t think in technical settings when I photograph. I’ve never been a gear obsessive. Since I picked up my first Olympus in 2000, my work has always been about light, symmetry, and instinct. Cameras change—Canon, Fuji, medium format, even the iPhone—but they’re only extensions of my eye. If I don’t see, no machine will.

Food shaped much of my journey. In Kitazawa, jet-lagged and hungry, I found joy in a steaming bowl of ramen on a quiet side street. That bowl was more than nourishment—it was belonging. The next morning began with tamago, a simple Japanese omelette, before I followed the Meguro River, imagining the cherry blossoms that would soon frame its waters. In the afternoon I slipped into galleries, bookshops, and quiet neighbourhoods where Tokyo breathes at a slower pace.

One day ended at the Tsukiji Fish Market with the taste of buttery tuna belly at sunrise. Another closed with an omikuji fortune drawn at Sensō-ji, beads for my family tucked into my pocket. My final night was an Omakase—a two-hour meditation in flavour and craft that words can’t capture. Each gesture of the chef, each slice of fish, was precision turned into art.

Between these meals and miles, I returned always to walking. Through Yoyogi Park at sunset, through the narrow streets of Nishiazabu, Matcha in hand, watching the light shift on tiled roofs. With each step, the city unfolded differently—disciplined yet alive, precise yet deeply human.

Some say Tokyo’s precision kills creativity. I felt the opposite. In its attention to detail lies a deeper appreciation—for craft, for people, for beauty in the smallest things.

Thank you, Tokyo—for showing me what it means when a dream becomes real.