Tsukiji and First Impressions

Nov 29, 2008
Tokyo, Japan

First full day here in Tokyo and of course the first order of the day is to Tsukiji,the world largest fish market. I have been wanting to see this market ever since "Wok the Dog" became the project that it currently is. So naturally there is a lot of anticipation and a lot of expectation riding on today. After being some what disappointed in the markets that I found in Argentina, I was trying not get my hopes up, trying not to have any expectation.

We got off the subway and I smelled fish! My heart quickened and I was immediately excited by what could be waiting for me. Lets just say that I will be spending every available day shooting at Tsukiji for all the mornings that we will be here in Tokyo. It lived up to any expectation that I might have had.


After about 2 hours at the market, we wondered around for some coffee, shared a bowl of noodles for breakfast number 1 and proceeded to wait in line for a spot at a tiny sushi restaurant just outside of Tsukiji for some of the freshest sushi in the world! We waited 2.5 hours for a seat! Yes, it was amazing! As we waited in line, I had a silly thought, "What if they ran out of fish?"

We are in one of the most technologically advanced cities in the world and yet we have had nothing but tech troubles here. Our blackberries do not work since Japan is on their own cell network, I can't get money out of the ATM because Bank of America is stupid. So I am having a bit of crackberry withdrawl here. It seems rather ironic that I can get money out of the ATM in the boarder town on Laos without needing to inform BofA of my travel plans and yet here in Japan, they wish to hold my money hostage as a means to protect me. Blackberry was happily delivering me emails at the base camp of Mt Everest but not here in Tokyo. Ironies of ironies.

First impression of Tokyo is that its a lot like Taipei, Taiwan. With the only difference being that I can only understand about a third of what is going on and have virtually no ability to converse with anyone. I have wanted to see Japan ever since I was a child, how strange is it to find that it is a lot like HOME?

Well...that is the first impression at any rate. There will be more concert thoughts on Tsukiji and everything else later, after a little recovery from the jet lag and crackberry withdrawal.

Home is the edge of the world in the mind of god

Nov 12, 2008
Los Angeles, Ca

I have been having much trouble with the concept of home of late as you may know. There is desire to not just see the world, to go to some of the most outer edges. Tibet, base camp of Mt Everest case in point. The top of the world! Now its the end of the world, Patagonia.

Ironically, few days after I returned from Argentina, the Patagonia catalog arrived at the house. I have never made any purchases from them before as I am far more of a fan of NorthFace products, but somehow, somewhere, they got my name and a catalog came.

The catalog have little essays inside with some great images accompany them about Chile, conservation in Patagonia and etc. There is this one essay by Jeff Johnson, titled "Home."

"I had sailed from California to Chile, a four-month journey that led me far off the beaten path. An extended stay on Easter Island had been the turning point for me as I finally let go of the trappings back home - a slow and difficult process. But it was here, floating in a river on the every edge of Patagonia, that I realized home is not a physical reference to a specific place on earth but a boardening of the consciousness. Home is, after all, where you are."

Yes, Home, maybe just that, where you are and nothing more. Not the trappings of cable TV or running water, not the smell of coffee or the warmth of your duvet. But home is the unspoken love in my mom's hug or the embrace of a loved one.

I sometimes wonder if my desire to see the world, and the extreme ends of the world is not to somehow to have a peak inside our significance by seeing "...the Earth; the Solar System; the Universe; the Mind of God.” as Thorton Wilder described in Our Town.