I had three chances to get Tokyo right. Four if you count the hours between my return from Ishigaki and my flight home, wandering Haneda. But let’s say three. Each one felt different—not just because of timing, but because of why I was there.

Sitting here in Ishigaki, I can’t help but chuckle when I think back on Osaka. The two couldn’t feel more different, especially after the quiet simplicity of Taketomi, a small island just off Ishigaki where I had spent a night.

When I arrived at our hotel in Hakone, I exhaled. Not just because we had made it—but because getting there had already been a lot. The rain had been relentless.

I’m sitting here, staring out at the sea on a small Okinawan island—closer to Taiwan than mainland Japan. It feels like a place that exists slightly outside of everything else. And I’m thinking about how I thought this part of the trip would be the easiest to write about.