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Almost all travellers agree that the best part of travelling is the people you meet. On my travels, I have had the good fortune to meet a few special people on my way:

Eric, from the Democratic Republic of Congo
One night, I was walking home after work at 1am when I heard footsteps behind me. Then a voice - 'hey man, how's it going?'...What?! English?! Here, in my home town?! I didn't know foreigners existed this far out of the centre of the city (except me, coz I'm special). He seems friendly though, so we stand and chat for a while, both equally amazed at finding another foreigner so close to home. His name is Eric, he is 28 years old (which doesn't faze me a bit, I'm yet to find someone my age in all my travels so far) and comes from the Democratic Republic of Congo. He started off in the Democratic Republic of Congo, where he went to school. He speaks three languages from growing up there - French, Swahili and another African language used in the Congo region. I know nothing about the Congo except that it has a scary jungle, but to my disappoint Eric tells me he did not grow up in the jungle with 30 foot anacondas, he grew up in the city and has never even been to the jungle. Dagnabbit.

He spent a year here in Japan in his youth, loved it but never really planned on coming back in the near future. He went to university in Canada so that he could learn English (his classes were a mix of French and English), and then decided to come back to Japan to do his masters degree here. His Japanese was fairly good from his previous visit, but nowhere near enough to study International Relations at a post-graduate level, so he spent a year here in language school. It paid off; he gained his masters degree despite the language difficulties, and his Japanese is the best I have heard of any foreigner. I tallied it up; he speaks English fluently (most of our conversation was in English), he speaks Japanese fluently (much more fluently than I), and speaks French, Swahili and his Congo language at native level. Five languages?! I'm jealous.

He is a very laid back person, and a very relaxing person to be around. He speaks slowly, and a contended grin is his default expression. His laid-backness doesn't fit too well with Tokyo culture though; he works with all Japanese people, who's tireless work ethic and disregard for sleep and rest he simply cannot match. He loves to sleep; every night he goes to bed at about 8.30pm, in order to get up at 7am. On the weekends, he catches up with friends, and sometimes goes to the beach, while his co-workers are probably still in the office working overtime. He has no desire to emulate them though; he's happy with his life the way it is, and the smile on his face is good proof of that.

Elder Holmes, a missionary from Utah
I run into Elder Holmes at the local Matsuri. As the only foreigners in a sea of thousands of Japanese, we naturally stop to chat. Dressed in a long-sleeve shirt and tie, I can imagine he would be not so comfortable in the hot summer sun, but he seems to cope with it very well. He is from the Church of Jesus Christ and Latter Day Saints (aka the Mormons). Not only that, he is a bona fide missionary, on a posting here for two years to spread the word of god. I am very interested in the idea of a Christian missionary in Japan, which seems to have a much more ambiguous religious outlook. For most Japanese, religion is a matter of a vague belief in spirituality, grounded in the idea that each different part of nature has its own spirit. There are the wind spirits, the tree spirits, sky spirits, as well as the spirits of those who have died. Some people have shrines in their house, and nearly everyone attends festivals (matsuri) at set times of the year to go to the local shrine and pray to spirits/gods for good luck. To most Japanese people, this type of religion is all they need - not a strict coda of beliefs, but just a generally concept of the divine and otherworldly. How then, would Japanese people react to Elder Holmes' efforts?

He tells me it is indeed difficult to work in such a different culture, and he meets a wide variety of reactions. Most people are happy to listen, but shy away from direct questions about religious belief, which sometimes frustrates and confuses his efforts. He encounters the same problems every foreigners meets when speaking to a polite Japanese person - it is almost impossible to tell whether the listener agrees with what you are saying, or disagrees. The language is another difficulty; When St Frances Xavier arrived in Japan hundreds of years ago, he declared that the Japanese language was an invention of the devil designed to prevent the spread of Christianity. Elder Holmes doesn't quite go that far, but he does find it difficult at times, although he has developed a large Japanese vocabulary of religion-related words I have never even heard before. He does end up talking to me about god (hey, he is a missionary after all), and I can attest to the passion with which he preaches when he tells me his own personal stories of how he found god; if he is succesful in converting people in Japan, I would say it is his eyes, not his words, that convinces them.

Vanessa's aunt, the pianist
One day while I am at Vanessa's house playing with Vanessa, her two aunts come and visit. They tell me that one of her aunts is a pianist. I am impressed. Then they tell me that she is a famous pianist, and plays solo at Suntory Hall in Tokyo in front of two thousand people. I am very impressed. Then they tell me that she owns a piano played by Chopin. Wow...

She plays a song for me on the piano (just a regular one, not played by anyone famous), Fur Elise. I don't know a lot about pianos, the playing of pianos or how piano songs are meant to sound, but it is still amazing. I've heard the song played many times, but she added a whole new dimension to it. The song flowed like a river from one note to the next, with some notes heavy and powerful and others light and carefree. It was a beautiful thing to listen to, I can completely understand why people would pay a lot of money to go and hear her play. When she finishes I am stuck with the problem of trying to convey that she really is truly and absolutely spectacular, in a culture where you are expected to compliment even the most basic level of talent. 'You...the...amazing! It's...beautiful!' I garble. I think she gets the idea anyway.

Amy from Washington D.C.
Amy has probably been my most closest friend here in Tokyo. She is a Sophomore at The George Washington University (aka 'GW'). Yes, it was founded by THE George Washington. She lives a few blocks from the White House. Yes, THE White House. Everytime words like 'George Washington' and 'White House' come up, I am completely star struck and feel like I am on the set of an American TV show. Even more so when on Friday over pasta and salad at her house, she and Pat (another American friend, who lives in Japan) have an argument about politics, with both sides mentioning the Bill Of Rights, The Constitution and various amendments. I sit quietly in my chair happily soaking up the American-ness of it all.

Amy has been my buddy for most of my nights out in Tokyo, as she lives practically in the middle of Roppongi. She was born and partly raised here in Tokyo, and as a result knows far more Japanese than I do, but she is also over the gimmickyness of foreigners speaking Japanese so all our conversations are in English. We eat sushi at the park, and watch scrubs together. We go out to the nightclubs, and set new standards for ridiculous dancing. Amy (I know your reading this you blog stalker you), out of all the people to share my adventures with, I'm glad I found you!

I realize I haven't been blogging much lately. Between working, applying for my Chinese Visa (which requires a mountain of paperwork at the moment due to the olympics) and sitting on trains, my blogging time got progressively smaller and smaller until it disappeared entirely. Now I have a bit more time on my hands, so I'm in the process of gathering together all the happenings of the last month or so into one tasty blog series...Bon Appetite!

On the weekend, my town has its summer 'Matsuri', a three day long festival held in the local park. Naturally, I decide to go along, and am rewarded for my adventurousness - it is a travellers paradise, with Japanese culture leaping out at you at every turn. Kimono-clad women dance with paper fans and lanterns, men march through the streets with giant shrines on their backs and the beat of the giant Taiko drums fills the air. And that's just the parade; off to the side, there is a whole maze of street food offering everything from ridiculously cheap beer and syrup-covered ice to traditional Japanese food like Okonomiyaki (Japanese pancakes), Yakitori (Charcoal-grilled chicken skewers) and Takoyaki (Grilled octopus).

I spend a whole day here, soaking up the Japaneseness of it all. When the sun sets and darkness falls, and I am so full of food I can barely move, I head off to meet my host family at the park. There are thousands of people here already, organized into little groups sitting on tarps around food and drink. The Matsuri nights are a chance for old friends to exchange gossip, to reminisce about the last time they sat in this park together, and to exclaim how quickly the year goes. There are at least 10 people on our host families tarp, and a mountain of food in the centre, of which I cannot possibly eat a single mouthful of. Suddenly the lights are extinguished, and we are left in pitch darkness. Then...BOOM! The fireworks have begun! Even though we are a small town, the display is spectacular, and lasts an hour long. A very important part of Japanese culture, fireworks are one of the most symbolic summer activities, and as well as being a family event it is also considered one of the most romantic occasions of the year. Boyfriend and girlfriend couples dot the landscape everywhere you look, dressed in traditional summer kimonos and holding hands. The scene lit by the fireworks is one of tender togetherness. The young lovers stand and sigh; the families and old friends gossip and laugh; the whole neighbourhood sits together in the local park, enjoying the night together.

Although there is still much more to see in Kyoto (with over 2000 temples and 1200 years of history, there is always more to see in Kyoto), I insist on a day trip to Nara, Japan's first capital. Unlike Kyoto, which is still a functioning metropolis, Nara is entirely historical. The centre of the city is one giant park, dotted here and there with world-heritage sights and a lot of deer. It is sleepy compared to Kyoto, an entire world apart from frantic Kyoto. Its time as the capital in the 7th century coincided with the rise of buddhism in Japan, and as a result it is home to some of Japan's greatest Buddhist treasures. The greatest of these is Todaiji, the giant (and I mean giant) temple in the centre of the city. In order to get there you walk through about 500m of gates, one of which contains two gigantic fearsome looking guardians said to be two of the worlds greatest wooden carvings. They are designed to keep evil out of the temple, standing two stories high and with wooden robes flowing over their muscle bound bodies - if I was evil, I would stay away.

Between the many gates are yet more deer standing around, waiting for foolish tourists to buy deer food from the many stands lining the path. The deer know where the food stands are, and they know that when money is exchanged the tourist now has deer food in their hands. The moment the tourist finishes the transaction, they are surrounded by deer which bluntly demand the food that they have just born. Some people try and resist, try to hold the food above their heads and feed them one by one, but it is no use. In the end the deer always win, and most people just toss the food at them and run the other way, glad to escape with their life.

Having walked through the final gate, you suddenly have Todaiji in front of you. As the worlds largest wooden building, its size is hard to capture in words or even pictures. It is big, very very big. Built 1300 years ago, it used to be even bigger but was burnt to the ground several times, each time rebuilt to slightly different specifications. One thing has not changed though - in the centre of the temple sits the worlds largest indoor buddha statue. He is also very big, big enough that he needs the worlds largest wooden building just to keep him out of the rain. Gigantic guardians, gigantic temple, gigantic buddha.

A short walk above Todaiji is another temple, overlooking the city of Nara, where weary travellers like us can look out over the city where Japan began. The last sunset of our journey is complete, and the after one last night in our luxury hotel in Kyoto we say goodbye to the ancient city and are on the shinkansen back home.

With a suitcase full of souvenirs for friends and family in Australia, and a backpack full of famous Kyoto-region foods for my host family, we step off the train in Tokyo station. Here we say goodbye, for the remaining few months of my journey anyway, and just as soon as my dad was here he is gone again. I can honestly say it has been the most interesting week yet in all my travels of Japan, and I am glad my father was there to experience it with me. Some of the experiences were new to me, and some were familiar, but they were all better with the right company. Having spent most of my life being led in one way or another by my parents, it was very strange to suddenly be leading my dad around, but I had a lot of fun doing it, and I hope he had fun too.

The pace of life settles down once more, and the next train I catch leads not to towering skyscrapers or ancient temples, but to the back room of a pub, where I wash dishes for the night.

Our bullet train speeds into Kyoto station. Quite possibly the handiest form of transport in the entire world, bullet trains (aka shinkansen) rush around the countryside of Japan at up to 300km/hr, making travel between any two major cities a breeze.

For the first two nights we are staying in a high-class Ryokan, a traditional Japanese style of accommodation running since the days before hotels. Upon arriving, there is a lot of bowing from the kimono-clad hosts. The diminutive women steal our heavy suitcases and insist on hauling them into our room, while we adventure out into the local neighbourhood. When we return that night, we are shown to our room. Tatami mats, sliding doors and bamboo shades. The only piece of furniture in the room is a low-lying table, which you use while sitting on the mat. Here we are served green tea (with traditional lollies!) and asked what time we would like to use the bath. We book it for 9pm, and the woman leaves with a thousand apologies.

The baths are traditional Japanese style, a room made entirely out of wood, where you sit on little seats while showering and then jump into a steaming hot body of water. It is indeed very relaxing, and very atmospheric with all the wooden walls and whatnot. After bath-time we go back to our room, which has undergone a sudden transformation in our absence. The table is gone, and in its place there are two futons, with little paper cranes on the pillows. I manage to move my dads out of the way before he collapses on it.

We booked breakfast for 8am. As westerners, we figure that means that someone will come to our room at 8am with breakfast. But that is not how it works in traditional Japanese culture. Breakfast at 8am means that at 8am you will be putting the food into your mouth. As a result, I am still asleep when the two kimono-clad breakfast pixies come into our room, and they decide it would be best to leave momentarily while I put some pants on. When everyone is fully dressed, the futons are collapsed back into the cupboard and the table resumes its position in the centre of the room. And the breakfast plates start coming...and keep coming...and coming...In the end we have about 20 plates on the table, a veritable banquet of traditional Japanese foods. I am still three-quarters asleep, I wake myself up gradually to the taste of rice and tofu.

Our bamboo shades have also been opened, and we can see all the wonders of the world outside. Our Ryokan is located in Kyoto's Higashiyama district, chock filled with temples, shrines and quaint alleyways. We can see examples of all three while we eat breakfast. If not for the lonely planet sitting on the table, I could easily believe we were in ancient Japan. Every day is a little bit different in the Ryokan - the breakfast is different, the kimonos they wear are different, and even the cranes on our pillows are made differently.

During the day, we leave the Ryokan (with lots of bowing, smiling and 'we'll be waiting for your return' from the hosts) to explore the city. There is plenty within walking distance - the famous Ninenzaka and Sannenzaka, and Shinbashi street, said to be some of the most beautiful alleys and streets in all Asia, are all part of our local neighbourhood. So too are the platforms of Kiyomizu temple, jutting out over a hill looking over all Kyoto from the forest. Here, we also take a side tour into one of Kyoto's strangest attractions - a tunnel inside a buddha statue, where you grope around in pitch blackness while a rope leads you around. Being without the sense of sight for about 5 minutes is a strange feeling indeed, and coming back into the sunshine is, as the pamphlet promises, an enlightening experience.

While walking the lane ways near the temple, we spot our first Geisha. There are only 1000 Geisha and Geisha apprentices in all of Japan, so when a Geisha walks down the street, everyone looks. More so when they are three of them. Always graceful, they were about a hundred layers of clothing, and in the blazing heat of the middle of the day I can't imagine they would stay out for very long. The only one who has more reason to complain is the monk chanting on the street, who wears one hundred and one layers of clothing and stands in full sunlight for hours on end. Only in Kyoto!

We are also within easy walking distance of the central city, where temples give way to shops, shops, and more shops. Even here though, Kyoto keeps a distinct charm. Little canals make their way through the city, and there is a peaceful river nearby, with a bridge built specifically for people to stand and sigh on as they look out over the mountains in the distance.

On any given day, hundreds of people sit on the riverbanks as the sun sets, and in the night they gather under the bridges to watch the buskers play. Here we treat ourselves to a very expensive meal on the outdoor deck of a restaurant on Pontocho, while looking out over the river. All of Kyoto seems to move at a very different tempo to Tokyo - it is slower, more relaxed, more cultural, and more human. The roads are made for ambling rather than rushing, the buses are leisurely compared to Tokyo's speedy trains, and people seem to exist as individuals rather than a human sea.

We are back on the bridge before too long, ready to experience another integral part of Japanese culture - Matsuri! Matsuri translates as 'festival' or 'celebration', and in the lead up to one of Japan's greatest, the Gion Matsuri (which we will not be there to see, dagnabbit), a shrine is to be carried through the city streets to be washed in the waters of the river we have recently been admiring, in a tradition dating back more than a thousand years. Muscle-bound men in headbands and simple cotton robes walk the streets clapping and chanting. The chanting is not just for appearances sake - it is to spur on those who are carrying the shrine on their shoulders, which by the look on their faces is very very heavy. Other men carry flaming logs over their shoulder, and whenever they turn to look around flaming embers fly all over the place. As well as the muscle-bound men, a very creative cast of characters from Shinto priests to kimono-clad Geisha walk the streets, and follow the shrine all the way to the temple. Given its historical significance, the actual running of the parade is rather casual, there are no boundaries or security, and ordinary people (or camera carrying tourists like myself) can mingle with the sweaty shrine-carriers, geisha and priests to their hearts content.

For the last two nights we transfer from our traditional Ryokan to the height of modernity, a very upper class western-style hotel located literally inside Kyoto's station building. It is interesting to compare the two forms of luxury - a room on the upper floor of this towering shiny building costs about the same as a night in the tatami and wood Ryokan. We still have tiny women insisting on carrying our gigantic suitcases, but there are no cranes on our pillows, and the furniture no longer transforms when we step out of the room. Instead of eating breakfast on the floor in our room, we catch an elevator 20 floors down and gorge on a buffet downstairs. The convenience can't be beat, however; after breakfast we walk out the door into the middle of the station building, and from there we have our choice of buses, trains or bullet trains to take us wherever we would like to go.

We quickly check off most of the remaining tourist sites, like the golden pavilion and the thousand and one kannon statues, and find the time to see a few museums and craft shops too. We also spend a fair few hours with map in hand wandering the back-streets, getting a taste of the 'real Kyoto' as we try to figure out where we are and where we are trying to get to. The meals are, as always, another highlight, and by the time we are finished here my dad has tried just about every Japanese cuisine there is.

One night, while both lost and hungry, we end up chancing it on a Sukiyaki restaurant who's menu is far too complicated for me to make any sense of. Upon arriving, my backpacker instincts perk up - something is wrong. The staff seem confused, a little bit unsure of what to do. It's too quiet, the people are too polite and too well dressed. If I was on my own, I would have almost certainly ran back out the way I came, but we are hungry and this place does appear to serve food. We are shown to a private room, and having heated up the sukiyaki pot, a kimono lady cooks and serves it to us piece by piece, chatting politely all the while. I figure out why my backpacker alarms are sounding - this place is far too high class for me to afford on my own, and it doesn't seem like they've ever had a foreigner here before. Luckily my dad is paying for it, my ability to speak Japanese smooths over the apprehension of the hosts, and eventually I just sit back and enjoy the experience of high-class Japanese food. When we leave, I notice the sign which tells me that this shop has been serving up Sukiyaki to the wealthy for over one hundred and fifty years. Ah, Kyoto...