The sound of raindrops on the streets is the soundtrack here in Kyoto. Rain comes and goes. Open the umbrella. Close the umbrella. Forget the umbrella. Get soaked.

The last time I was in Japan was February 2025. I spent just 5 days between Tokyo and Osaka with a good friend of mine. Basically I didn't even touch the surface of this country.

I remember feeling out of place. Even the fact that there are no trashcans around and that you have to take care of your trash felt weird to me. But now, it hits differently. I can now see it as a sign of civic manner: you create the trash, you take care of it. Now, I feel more at ease.

The last weeks spent in Taiwan and South Korea have built up my understanding of a culture that seems to be widely shared in this part of the hemisphere. If I think about what I've heard about their history, Japan (and China) had a big influence, for better or worse. There is a red thread running through these countries. And I’m not just talking about religions.

We pass by a place that, if I didn’t know where I was, could exist in Barcelona, New York, London or everywhere else.

My mind drifts to an article from Eduardo Ortiz. He writes about sameness, the homogenization of cities. How things try to be different but in the end feel the same. Something I witnessed in a lot of places I’ve been during the last couple of years: cities develop, people gain in quality of life, but a part of what made the place itself disappears, giving way to the same chains, same brands and same aesthetics. Part is a consequence of globalization and part is a consequence of what I like to refer to as the instagramization of the world: a phenomenon where experiences and places are built to fit the expectations shaped and amplified by social media.

I pause my train of thoughts. That's a rabbit hole for another day. We're at our destination anyway.

In front of us, a door covered by posters and photos. No signs. I’m not sure we’re in the right spot. Music fills the stairwell but is not coming from this door. Seems like we’ve stepped onto a dead floor.

I pull the door anyway.

Suddenly, I feel like we've stepped into someone's messy photo archive rather than a bar. Everything but Instagram trendy. Piles and piles of photo books and postcards. Everything is from the owner, a famous Kyoto-based street photographer. His presence is everywhere in the room. It’s one of the rare places that are just a reflection of the people who create them and not of the social media expectations.

We find a little space. We order sake. The night is long in Kyoto.

I'm glad there are still places like this.

Till the next missive,

— M