The Further You Go, the Closer You get.
Two colleagues from NORDISK set off for East Asia in the same autumn. Unaware of each other's journeys, both collect their own precious impressions — of Japan, Hong Kong and the art of being on the road.
Pictures and words by Marcus Kraus, Creative Director
and Katharina Wegner, Art Director
The Further You Go, the Closer You get.
Two colleagues from NORDISK set off for East Asia in the same autumn. Unaware of each other’s journeys, both collect their own precious impressions — of Japan, Hong Kong and the art of being on the road.
Pictures and words by Marcus Kraus, Creative Director
and Katharina Wegner, Art Director
The Further You Go, the Closer You get.
Two colleagues from NORDISK set off for East Asia in the same autumn. Unaware of each other’s journeys, both collect their own precious impressions — of Japan, Hong Kong and the art of being on the road.
Pictures and words by Marcus Kraus, Creative Director
and Katharina Wegner, Art Director
From Tokyo into Japan
The toilet seat is cosily warm. Cars look as if toddlers had drawn them. Entering the country is rather complicated. At the temple, women wear kimono. Sumida after 7 pm feels like High Noon at high noon. The good things to eat reveal themselves when you look at what the yakuza are having.
Matcha pudding for breakfast is a strangely special start. It rains. More, then less. Comme des Garçons, Ginza luxury, Issey Miyake pleats on the day ticket. Paul Smith. Tall buildings, exquisitely labelled. Shibuya. Blade Runner neon, rain, LEDs, voices, music — the off-sound of millions. Supreme. B2nd. Shibuya Crossing Overview. Walking in zigzags. Dinner in Arabic. Twelve stops to Asakusa.
Starbucks saves the morning coffee. Asakusa side streets, balconies of cooking pots and coffee cups. In the lotus park, giant leaves groove along. The legacies of an old shrine in Nezu. Silence. Kimono girl makes proud parents. Harajuku-Omotesando luxury dressed in luxury. Herzog for Prada. Ninja-dancing schoolchildren. Loudspeakers loud from the left, above and below. Invitation to Squid Game. Harajuku mini-shopping cluster. Ding dong! Sushi rolls. Loud from upper left, above and below. Jazz piano. Rainbow Bridge lit up at night. From below — too late.
Breakfast in the art warehouse. Before that, one could have had a coffee for 4,000 yen. The time to Tokyo Station grows shorter and shorter. Still managed the bento box. At 300 km/h through an endless sea of houses. Short green breaks, rice fields, a little bamboo, then volcanic foothills. Arrival in Kyoto. A traditional house, tatami floor. Unfamiliar posture. Kyoto at night. Different. Historic. Finer-grained. Bus instead of suburban train. Noodles, plain and moving. The paths begin to ache. Evening in the tatami house.
From Tokyo into Japan
The toilet seat is cosily warm. Cars look as if toddlers had drawn them. Entering the country is rather complicated. At the temple, women wear kimono. Sumida after 7 pm feels like High Noon at high noon. The good things to eat reveal themselves when you look at what the yakuza are having.
Matcha pudding for breakfast is a strangely special start. It rains. More, then less. Comme des Garçons, Ginza luxury, Issey Miyake pleats on the day ticket. Paul Smith. Tall buildings, exquisitely labelled. Shibuya. Blade Runner neon, rain, LEDs, voices, music — the off-sound of millions. Supreme. B2nd. Shibuya Crossing Overview. Walking in zigzags. Dinner in Arabic. Twelve stops to Asakusa.
Starbucks saves the morning coffee. Asakusa side streets, balconies of cooking pots and coffee cups. In the lotus park, giant leaves groove along. The legacies of an old shrine in Nezu. Silence. Kimono girl makes proud parents. Harajuku-Omotesando luxury dressed in luxury. Herzog for Prada. Ninja-dancing schoolchildren. Loudspeakers loud from the left, above and below. Invitation to Squid Game. Harajuku mini-shopping cluster. Ding dong! Sushi rolls. Loud from upper left, above and below. Jazz piano. Rainbow Bridge lit up at night. From below — too late.
Breakfast in the art warehouse. Before that, one could have had a coffee for 4,000 yen. The time to Tokyo Station grows shorter and shorter. Still managed the bento box. At 300 km/h through an endless sea of houses. Short green breaks, rice fields, a little bamboo, then volcanic foothills. Arrival in Kyoto. A traditional house, tatami floor. Unfamiliar posture. Kyoto at night. Different. Historic. Finer-grained. Bus instead of suburban train. Noodles, plain and moving. The paths begin to ache. Evening in the tatami house.
From Tokyo into Japan
The toilet seat is cosily warm. Cars look as if toddlers had drawn them. Entering the country is rather complicated. At the temple, women wear kimono. Sumida after 7 pm feels like High Noon at high noon. The good things to eat reveal themselves when you look at what the yakuza are having.
Matcha pudding for breakfast is a strangely special start. It rains. More, then less. Comme des Garçons, Ginza luxury, Issey Miyake pleats on the day ticket. Paul Smith. Tall buildings, exquisitely labelled. Shibuya. Blade Runner neon, rain, LEDs, voices, music — the off-sound of millions. Supreme. B2nd. Shibuya Crossing Overview. Walking in zigzags. Dinner in Arabic. Twelve stops to Asakusa.
Starbucks saves the morning coffee. Asakusa side streets, balconies of cooking pots and coffee cups. In the lotus park, giant leaves groove along. The legacies of an old shrine in Nezu. Silence. Kimono girl makes proud parents. Harajuku-Omotesando luxury dressed in luxury. Herzog for Prada. Ninja-dancing schoolchildren. Loudspeakers loud from the left, above and below. Invitation to Squid Game. Harajuku mini-shopping cluster. Ding dong! Sushi rolls. Loud from upper left, above and below. Jazz piano. Rainbow Bridge lit up at night. From below — too late.
Breakfast in the art warehouse. Before that, one could have had a coffee for 4,000 yen. The time to Tokyo Station grows shorter and shorter. Still managed the bento box. At 300 km/h through an endless sea of houses. Short green breaks, rice fields, a little bamboo, then volcanic foothills. Arrival in Kyoto. A traditional house, tatami floor. Unfamiliar posture. Kyoto at night. Different. Historic. Finer-grained. Bus instead of suburban train. Noodles, plain and moving. The paths begin to ache. Evening in the tatami house.
Pure and simple. Morning coffee and duck breast sandwich. The Imperial Palace has long sides. Gravel. Japanese court architecture, unseen. Gardens, paths, ancient trees, a calligrapher in the temple of the music goddess. Carp in algae green. 'Yugen' — a matcha ceremony in remote design purity. Impossible to grasp. A food route stretching for kilometres. Taxi, white-gloved. Rain, again Blade Runner backlight. Penetrating wetness. BBQ in exposed concrete. Chance yakiniku, several rounds of reordering.
Pure and simple. Morning coffee and duck breast sandwich. The Imperial Palace has long sides. Gravel. Japanese court architecture, unseen. Gardens, paths, ancient trees, a calligrapher in the temple of the music goddess. Carp in algae green. ‘Yugen’ — a matcha ceremony in remote design purity. Impossible to grasp. A food route stretching for kilometres. Taxi, white-gloved. Rain, again Blade Runner backlight. Penetrating wetness. BBQ in exposed concrete. Chance yakiniku, several rounds of reordering.
Pure and simple. Morning coffee and duck breast sandwich. The Imperial Palace has long sides. Gravel. Japanese court architecture, unseen. Gardens, paths, ancient trees, a calligrapher in the temple of the music goddess. Carp in algae green. ‘Yugen’ — a matcha ceremony in remote design purity. Impossible to grasp. A food route stretching for kilometres. Taxi, white-gloved. Rain, again Blade Runner backlight. Penetrating wetness. BBQ in exposed concrete. Chance yakiniku, several rounds of reordering.
Hygge. Danish mid-century in a historic setting. Toast three fingers thick with tonka bean jam. Bus. 'Stardust'. Tea. Orange-transparent-glowing. Eager bustle. Denmark again: old wood, craft. Tea from Lyon — well travelled. Downhill. Cat Alfred, crochet-headrest taxi. White-gloved again. 'Gion' in the dark. The geisha district wants to be felt with the eyes, zigzag walk. Craving Domino's.
Sardines in a tin, city bus 205. Uphill to the Golden Pavilion. Overtourism. Still, cracks found with an unobstructed view. Washed downhill past the moss, green towards the west, striving upwards, Gothic made of bamboo. Beneath it, overtourism. Kimonos in the train carriage. Tired. Kyoto Station, the radio tower. A futuristic dream image from 1969. Daimaru's overflowing food belly. Corner restaurant with funny birds. Udon once more, dressed in smoke.
Hygge. Danish mid-century in a historic setting. Toast three fingers thick with tonka bean jam. Bus. ‘Stardust’. Tea. Orange-transparent-glowing. Eager bustle. Denmark again: old wood, craft. Tea from Lyon — well travelled. Downhill. Cat Alfred, crochet-headrest taxi. White-gloved again. ‘Gion’ in the dark. The geisha district wants to be felt with the eyes, zigzag walk. Craving Domino’s.
Sardines in a tin, city bus 205. Uphill to the Golden Pavilion. Overtourism. Still, cracks found with an unobstructed view. Washed downhill past the moss, green towards the west, striving upwards, Gothic made of bamboo. Beneath it, overtourism. Kimonos in the train carriage. Tired. Kyoto Station, the radio tower. A futuristic dream image from 1969. Daimaru’s overflowing food belly. Corner restaurant with funny birds. Udon once more, dressed in smoke.
Hygge. Danish mid-century in a historic setting. Toast three fingers thick with tonka bean jam. Bus. ‘Stardust’. Tea. Orange-transparent-glowing. Eager bustle. Denmark again: old wood, craft. Tea from Lyon — well travelled. Downhill. Cat Alfred, crochet-headrest taxi. White-gloved again. ‘Gion’ in the dark. The geisha district wants to be felt with the eyes, zigzag walk. Craving Domino’s.
Sardines in a tin, city bus 205. Uphill to the Golden Pavilion. Overtourism. Still, cracks found with an unobstructed view. Washed downhill past the moss, green towards the west, striving upwards, Gothic made of bamboo. Beneath it, overtourism. Kimonos in the train carriage. Tired. Kyoto Station, the radio tower. A futuristic dream image from 1969. Daimaru’s overflowing food belly. Corner restaurant with funny birds. Udon once more, dressed in smoke.
Happy Birthday. Again: hygge loves mid-century x Japanese traditionalism. Bus to the temple with curated craft-design stuff. 'D&Department'. Metro straight north. 'Wife and Husband'. Much smaller than expected. No reservation, no coffee. Coffee from the wooden shack around the corner. Doughnut from the German baker down the street. Up the street, to the banks of the Kamo. The sun hides. The wind turns cold. Self-staging Insta-Japanese women with picnic basket, table and chair. Shijo strolling. Starred dining in nine chapters. Kaiseki initiation. Taxi back to pack the suitcase.
Happy Birthday. Again: hygge loves mid-century x Japanese traditionalism. Bus to the temple with curated craft-design stuff. ‘D&Department’. Metro straight north. ‘Wife and Husband’. Much smaller than expected. No reservation, no coffee. Coffee from the wooden shack around the corner. Doughnut from the German baker down the street. Up the street, to the banks of the Kamo. The sun hides. The wind turns cold. Self-staging Insta-Japanese women with picnic basket, table and chair. Shijo strolling. Starred dining in nine chapters. Kaiseki initiation. Taxi back to pack the suitcase.
Happy Birthday. Again: hygge loves mid-century x Japanese traditionalism. Bus to the temple with curated craft-design stuff. ‘D&Department’. Metro straight north. ‘Wife and Husband’. Much smaller than expected. No reservation, no coffee. Coffee from the wooden shack around the corner. Doughnut from the German baker down the street. Up the street, to the banks of the Kamo. The sun hides. The wind turns cold. Self-staging Insta-Japanese women with picnic basket, table and chair. Shijo strolling. Starred dining in nine chapters. Kaiseki initiation. Taxi back to pack the suitcase.
Kyoto Station. Monster. Architectural delirium. Technology worship. Human confusion. Bento box beauty, hammering stomp towards Okayama. Eaten-away landscape. Houses in small parts, alternating with the smallness of houses. Change to the local train for Uno. The noise left behind. Quiet ride. More green.
Everything man-made. Uno. Sea, harbour, islands, cranes, rust. Decay. A poorer world. It smells of work and survival. In the middle of it all, the minka. Saved from ruin within ruin: tradition. Paper sliding walls, tatami. Sunset at the pier. The extras become silhouettes. Yukata on. Lights off.
Kyoto Station. Monster. Architectural delirium. Technology worship. Human confusion. Bento box beauty, hammering stomp towards Okayama. Eaten-away landscape. Houses in small parts, alternating with the smallness of houses. Change to the local train for Uno. The noise left behind. Quiet ride. More green.
Everything man-made. Uno. Sea, harbour, islands, cranes, rust. Decay. A poorer world. It smells of work and survival. In the middle of it all, the minka. Saved from ruin within ruin: tradition. Paper sliding walls, tatami. Sunset at the pier. The extras become silhouettes. Yukata on. Lights off.
Kyoto Station. Monster. Architectural delirium. Technology worship. Human confusion. Bento box beauty, hammering stomp towards Okayama. Eaten-away landscape. Houses in small parts, alternating with the smallness of houses. Change to the local train for Uno. The noise left behind. Quiet ride. More green.
Everything man-made. Uno. Sea, harbour, islands, cranes, rust. Decay. A poorer world. It smells of work and survival. In the middle of it all, the minka. Saved from ruin within ruin: tradition. Paper sliding walls, tatami. Sunset at the pier. The extras become silhouettes. Yukata on. Lights off.
Early bird. The ferry to Naoshima leaves very early. Humming glide through the Japanese sea. Past islands and beaches, an easy bus ride. Small buses for small people and small islands. Stop at Benesse Art Site, Kusama pumpkin. Yellow. Black-dotted, instagrammable. Then, up above, the art. Moving vistas. Famous sights. On foot over the hills to Chichu. A museum for five works of art. Monet's water lilies alone, ... the revelation. Almost physical. Turrell sky-blue, De Maria perfectly round, everything sacred. Sublime. Lunch before a living landscape panorama. On foot again. Arch by the sea. Naturally instagrammable. Stele to the sky, also instagrammable. Nap with sea view. Bus. Ferry. Gliding. Island light.
Early bird. The ferry to Naoshima leaves very early. Humming glide through the Japanese sea. Past islands and beaches, an easy bus ride. Small buses for small people and small islands. Stop at Benesse Art Site, Kusama pumpkin. Yellow. Black-dotted, instagrammable. Then, up above, the art. Moving vistas. Famous sights. On foot over the hills to Chichu. A museum for five works of art. Monet’s water lilies alone, … the revelation. Almost physical. Turrell sky-blue, De Maria perfectly round, everything sacred. Sublime. Lunch before a living landscape panorama. On foot again. Arch by the sea. Naturally instagrammable. Stele to the sky, also instagrammable. Nap with sea view. Bus. Ferry. Gliding. Island light.
Early bird. The ferry to Naoshima leaves very early. Humming glide through the Japanese sea. Past islands and beaches, an easy bus ride. Small buses for small people and small islands. Stop at Benesse Art Site, Kusama pumpkin. Yellow. Black-dotted, instagrammable. Then, up above, the art. Moving vistas. Famous sights. On foot over the hills to Chichu. A museum for five works of art. Monet’s water lilies alone, … the revelation. Almost physical. Turrell sky-blue, De Maria perfectly round, everything sacred. Sublime. Lunch before a living landscape panorama. On foot again. Arch by the sea. Naturally instagrammable. Stele to the sky, also instagrammable. Nap with sea view. Bus. Ferry. Gliding. Island light.
It rains. It rains in buckets. The landlord chauffeurs us to Uno station. Rain accompanies us through misted-up train windows, past rice fields, to Okayama. Nozomi 22 races like a projectile through the subdued land. Mount Fuji, wrapped in grey, for one brief moment. Great excitement. The luggage on the wrong side. Un-Japanese anger about nothing. Magnificent conductor, completely relaxed, sorts it out. Rain in Tokyo. Rain in Shibuya. Pokemon Center. A loud, garish cliche. Soup kitchen in the basement. Counter frame, rain-wet in the hotel. Damp Tetris for four in ten square metres. Sleep sorted.
Omotesando again. Nezu Museum with poetically illustrated treasures from the Tales of Ise. Manga, 500 years old, yet splendidly modern. Everyday objects born of the highest craftsmanship. The garden. A magic place of green colour in the middle of a city without pause. Harajuku again. The small-scale architecture gives no clue that this is Tokyo. People squeezed in between. Capybara-love cafes, piglet-love cafes. People asleep with open mouths. Squeezed further into the trains. On foot. Ryogoku. Sumo land. Giant hall for giant fighters. Izakaya, ordering until hunger is satisfied — boys, after all.
By now, experts in suitcase Tetris. Sumida walk. Hokusai Museum in a dull metal dress. Shinjuku. Enchanting exhibition by Yunaki Samiro: colourful, childlike, reduced. Shibuya again. Parco. Full again, loud again, tight again, somehow good again. Early route to the airport. Long ride through the suburbs to Haneda. Check-in in no time. Family burger before take-off. Japan Airlines with legroom, miso soup for breakfast. Endless sea of lights over Tokyo, reaching far beyond China. Humankind spreads like an ulcer. Breakfast in Doha. The skyline from high above as a farewell. Landing in Hamburg. O-jikan o itadaki, arigatou gozaimashita.
It rains. It rains in buckets. The landlord chauffeurs us to Uno station. Rain accompanies us through misted-up train windows, past rice fields, to Okayama. Nozomi 22 races like a projectile through the subdued land. Mount Fuji, wrapped in grey, for one brief moment. Great excitement. The luggage on the wrong side. Un-Japanese anger about nothing. Magnificent conductor, completely relaxed, sorts it out. Rain in Tokyo. Rain in Shibuya. Pokemon Center. A loud, garish cliche. Soup kitchen in the basement. Counter frame, rain-wet in the hotel. Damp Tetris for four in ten square metres. Sleep sorted.
Omotesando again. Nezu Museum with poetically illustrated treasures from the Tales of Ise. Manga, 500 years old, yet splendidly modern. Everyday objects born of the highest craftsmanship. The garden. A magic place of green colour in the middle of a city without pause. Harajuku again. The small-scale architecture gives no clue that this is Tokyo. People squeezed in between. Capybara-love cafes, piglet-love cafes. People asleep with open mouths. Squeezed further into the trains. On foot. Ryogoku. Sumo land. Giant hall for giant fighters. Izakaya, ordering until hunger is satisfied — boys, after all.
By now, experts in suitcase Tetris. Sumida walk. Hokusai Museum in a dull metal dress. Shinjuku. Enchanting exhibition by Yunaki Samiro: colourful, childlike, reduced. Shibuya again. Parco. Full again, loud again, tight again, somehow good again. Early route to the airport. Long ride through the suburbs to Haneda. Check-in in no time. Family burger before take-off. Japan Airlines with legroom, miso soup for breakfast. Endless sea of lights over Tokyo, reaching far beyond China. Humankind spreads like an ulcer. Breakfast in Doha. The skyline from high above as a farewell. Landing in Hamburg. O-jikan o itadaki, arigatou gozaimashita.
It rains. It rains in buckets. The landlord chauffeurs us to Uno station. Rain accompanies us through misted-up train windows, past rice fields, to Okayama. Nozomi 22 races like a projectile through the subdued land. Mount Fuji, wrapped in grey, for one brief moment. Great excitement. The luggage on the wrong side. Un-Japanese anger about nothing. Magnificent conductor, completely relaxed, sorts it out. Rain in Tokyo. Rain in Shibuya. Pokemon Center. A loud, garish cliche. Soup kitchen in the basement. Counter frame, rain-wet in the hotel. Damp Tetris for four in ten square metres. Sleep sorted.
Omotesando again. Nezu Museum with poetically illustrated treasures from the Tales of Ise. Manga, 500 years old, yet splendidly modern. Everyday objects born of the highest craftsmanship. The garden. A magic place of green colour in the middle of a city without pause. Harajuku again. The small-scale architecture gives no clue that this is Tokyo. People squeezed in between. Capybara-love cafes, piglet-love cafes. People asleep with open mouths. Squeezed further into the trains. On foot. Ryogoku. Sumo land. Giant hall for giant fighters. Izakaya, ordering until hunger is satisfied — boys, after all.
By now, experts in suitcase Tetris. Sumida walk. Hokusai Museum in a dull metal dress. Shinjuku. Enchanting exhibition by Yunaki Samiro: colourful, childlike, reduced. Shibuya again. Parco. Full again, loud again, tight again, somehow good again. Early route to the airport. Long ride through the suburbs to Haneda. Check-in in no time. Family burger before take-off. Japan Airlines with legroom, miso soup for breakfast. Endless sea of lights over Tokyo, reaching far beyond China. Humankind spreads like an ulcer. Breakfast in Doha. The skyline from high above as a farewell. Landing in Hamburg. O-jikan o itadaki, arigatou gozaimashita.
Travelling Japan at the Same Time.
Then On to
Hong Kong.
Travelling Japan at the Same Time.
Then On to
Hong Kong.
Travelling Japan at the Same Time.
Then On to
Hong Kong.
November light in Japan. Not warm, not cold, somewhere in between. Jacket on, jacket off. Hiking at Mount Fuji. Red gates, lined up endlessly, yet never entirely alone. Steps on gravel. Muted voices. Maple red, ginkgo yellow, tourists' jackets in functional colours. Somehow everything falls into order. Even the waiting. Even getting lost.
November light in Japan. Not warm, not cold, somewhere in between. Jacket on, jacket off. Hiking at Mount Fuji. Red gates, lined up endlessly, yet never entirely alone. Steps on gravel. Muted voices. Maple red, ginkgo yellow, tourists’ jackets in functional colours. Somehow everything falls into order. Even the waiting. Even getting lost.
November light in Japan. Not warm, not cold, somewhere in between. Jacket on, jacket off. Hiking at Mount Fuji. Red gates, lined up endlessly, yet never entirely alone. Steps on gravel. Muted voices. Maple red, ginkgo yellow, tourists’ jackets in functional colours. Somehow everything falls into order. Even the waiting. Even getting lost.
Then onwards. Japan remains behind, neatly folded into the suitcase. Flight to Hong Kong. Arrival in haze. The city does not lie in the light, but in a film. Dim, humid, built high. November without autumn. High-rises half disappear into the clouds, ferries cut through grey-green water. Victoria Harbour, not glittering, more subdued. Beautiful all the same. Perhaps because of it. Escalators through Mid-Levels. Street markets, traces of neon, air conditioners dripping from facades. Between bamboo baskets and the edges of towers, a speed of its own begins to grow.
Then onwards. Japan remains behind, neatly folded into the suitcase. Flight to Hong Kong. Arrival in haze. The city does not lie in the light, but in a film. Dim, humid, built high. November without autumn. High-rises half disappear into the clouds, ferries cut through grey-green water. Victoria Harbour, not glittering, more subdued. Beautiful all the same. Perhaps because of it. Escalators through Mid-Levels. Street markets, traces of neon, air conditioners dripping from facades. Between bamboo baskets and the edges of towers, a speed of its own begins to grow.
Then onwards. Japan remains behind, neatly folded into the suitcase. Flight to Hong Kong. Arrival in haze. The city does not lie in the light, but in a film. Dim, humid, built high. November without autumn. High-rises half disappear into the clouds, ferries cut through grey-green water. Victoria Harbour, not glittering, more subdued. Beautiful all the same. Perhaps because of it. Escalators through Mid-Levels. Street markets, traces of neon, air conditioners dripping from facades. Between bamboo baskets and the edges of towers, a speed of its own begins to grow.
Hong Kong is tighter, rougher, less politely arranged. Japan still in the mind, Hong Kong already in the shoes. Wet pavements. Misted windows. Double-decker trams, slow and wonderfully stubborn. On the Peak, only half a view, clouds as a curtain. Below, the city; above, the fog; and somewhere between them, that feeling of having arrived and already being on the move again. Japan was precision. Hong Kong is friction. Both remain. In the suitcase, in the camera, somewhere between jet lag and November grey.
Hong Kong is tighter, rougher, less politely arranged. Japan still in the mind, Hong Kong already in the shoes. Wet pavements. Misted windows. Double-decker trams, slow and wonderfully stubborn. On the Peak, only half a view, clouds as a curtain. Below, the city; above, the fog; and somewhere between them, that feeling of having arrived and already being on the move again. Japan was precision. Hong Kong is friction. Both remain. In the suitcase, in the camera, somewhere between jet lag and November grey.
Hong Kong is tighter, rougher, less politely arranged. Japan still in the mind, Hong Kong already in the shoes. Wet pavements. Misted windows. Double-decker trams, slow and wonderfully stubborn. On the Peak, only half a view, clouds as a curtain. Below, the city; above, the fog; and somewhere between them, that feeling of having arrived and already being on the move again. Japan was precision. Hong Kong is friction. Both remain. In the suitcase, in the camera, somewhere between jet lag and November grey.
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