Reflections on a journey through Tokyo, Hakone, Osaka, Kyoto, and Hiroshima — where ancient grace meets modern precision.

After a 38-hour journey home, the jet lag has finally lifted enough for me to make sense of our two-week adventure through Tokyo, Hakone, Osaka, Kyoto, and Hiroshima. What lingers most are the contrasts — between noise and calm, ancient and modern, the intensely busy and the perfectly polite.

Japan’s cities hum with energy: crowded, colorful, sometimes chaotic. Yet amid all that motion, one sound was curiously absent — car horns. In two weeks, I heard maybe five. And no one jaywalks. The quiet civility of Japanese drivers and pedestrians mirrors a deeper courtesy that runs through the culture.

On our tour, we were thrilled by a samurai demonstration, entranced by a geisha performance, learned the rituals of the Japanese tea ceremony, and even got our hands dirty making fresh sushi. Experiences like these are what make travel truly memorable.

Shrines and temples seem to appear at every corner, though that may partly reflect our tour itinerary. Shinto and Buddhist traditions coexist gracefully, overlapping in a way that suggests spiritual harmony rather than competition.

Traveling by high-speed train was effortless, though the trains felt slightly slower and less dramatic than those we rode in Germany two years ago. What they lacked in speed, they made up for in punctuality and comfort.

Service workers in Japan deserve their global reputation for warmth and attentiveness. They anticipate needs almost before you’re aware of them. Tipping, I learned, is rarely expected and sometimes politely refused — a reminder that good service is viewed as duty, not transaction.

Department stores are vast, immaculate, and fully staffed, evoking the long-lost glory of Chicago’s Marshall Fields. Each features an astonishing basement food hall, filled with beautifully packaged meals to go. It made us wonder if many Japanese families ever cook dinner at home.

Eating gluten-free proved challenging in a land where miso and soy sauce find their way into nearly every dish. Thanks to our wonderful tour guide, I was able to enjoy modified versions of local favorites — including a specially made gluten-free okonomiyaki in Osaka, crispy and delicious in a city that takes food seriously.

The visit to Hiroshima’s Peace Museum and Dome was deeply affecting. Standing at ground zero of the first atomic bombing, we learned why Hiroshima is fully habitable today — and were struck by the absence of bitterness among the Japanese people we met. Their grace left us humbled.

A good tour company and a great guide can turn a complex trip into pure discovery. I won’t name ours publicly, but you can reach me at lesrraffblogger@myyahoo.com if you’d like details.

Japan left me with more impressions than I can neatly summarize — but perhaps the clearest is this: in a country where trains run on time, horns stay silent, and courtesies are instinctive, it’s hard not to feel both a little awe and just a little envy.

You can always reach me at lesrraffblogger@myyahoo.com. I love hearing from you.

An End and A Beginning

Diane Keaton’s death hit me harder than I expected. Not because I followed her career closely. I couldn’t even name many of her movies. I had to be reminded that she played Michael Corleone’s wife in The Godfather. But I’ll never need reminding that she was Annie Hall.

What made Annie Hall so special to me wasn’t just that it was a glorious, funny movie with Woody Allen at his creative (and spider-killing) best. It wasn’t the men’s ties or floppy hats that Annie made famous. It was the time in my life when I first saw it.

In the spring of 1977, I was a medical student at the University of Illinois in Chicago. Though I lived on campus, I spent most of my free time with friends in Rogers Park. We’d hang out, hear some music, go to the movies.

One night, a movie-loving friend called to say he wanted to see the new Woody Allen flick, Annie Hall. I picked him up in my beat-up Mercury Comet, and we headed to suburbia for the 8:00 show.

I loved the movie, without realizing it would be a kind of ending. Annie Hall was the last film I’d see before a new part of my life began.

Annie Hall was the last movie I saw without Barb. We’ve been sharing coming attractions, armrests, and Raisinets ever since that spring of 1977. She may not be much of a Woody Allen fan (who is these days), and we don’t always agree on what deserves two thumbs up, but she’s a damn good movie partner.

So, Miss Keaton, I’m sure Annie Hall will be streaming again soon. Maybe I’ll talk Barb into watching it with me — or maybe I’ll call one of those old friends instead. We can kill a spider or two. No big deal.

Or as Diane Keaton’s Annie would say, “la dee dah, la dee dah.”