On the road again

The night I got back from Japan, I woke up in the middle of the night and tried to remember where I was. Which hotel was this? Where was the light? The night table with my watch on it? For some reason, that phenomenon always hits me when I get home from a trip; it doesn't happen when I'm actually traveling.

I tell you this now because I've checked in to yet another hotel. It was only when I walked in and (a) didn't smell any cigarette smoke, not even in the hallway; (b) didn't feel the need to turn off or photograph the toilet; and (c) reflected on how spacious the room was, that I remembered that I'd traveled recently, that there had been a lot of hotels in my life in the last month.

I'd looked up some local restaurants before I left. A surprising proportion of the ones with decent ratings were... wait for it... Japanese. I figured it was just as well, since I was always hankering for Japanese food in Japan.

I had sashimi (it was a set, but I asked for them to hold the steamed rice), and green tea ice cream for dessert, too. The sashimi felt eerily normal. The green tea was disappointing. When I ordered it, the waiter was almost surprised--said it took him a while to get used to it, but now he liked it. That surprised me, because this ice cream seemed tame, westernized. Most actual green tea is ruined for me, too. Japan has joined my list of countries to which I'd travel just to get tea.

On the way back to the hotel, we drove by a Circle K and two 7-Elevens.

On the flight over, a small child was being loud and obnoxious. Her mother only encouraged it. Incidentally, this is the second disruptive-girl-on-a-plane whose antics I've endured, whose name is Sienna. Child namers beware.