I'm in Kyoto for my one-weekend lightning vacation. There's quite a lot to say, but it's all a well of emotions at the moment: memories striking every time I turn a corner, shocks of recognition that start at the base of the spine. I'd write it up now, but I'm still in the middle of it, and you'd get nothing but a muddle.

For a taste of what I mean, though I almost panicked today when I thought that my favorite tea shop--the one with the magnificent carp pond--had been closed down. Just wandering away from Gion the thoughts spiralled: one of my fondest memories has vanished; this means that--how very Heian of me--all such pleasures are ephemeral; and then finally a horrible feeling that I am just about to turn thirty. As I started wandering towards Kodaiji I was practically fitting myself up for my inevitable coffin or wondering what it would take to get them to put my imminent ashes in the local cemetary when my ears picked up and I realized I'd left Gion park too early: I'd been looking on the wrong street.

Thus, a sweltering morning thick with the morning's rains was spent croched on a bench, staring at the slow meanderings of fish that must have been half my own size. Over a cup of tea I watched a spider slowly spin his morning web, unaware that the more energetic of the carp were waiting for him to get just that bit closer to the water. Believe it or not, this is the sort of thing that brings me the most joy.

Since I walk like a demon, I've covered more of Kyoto than is probably healthy, and there's much more to tell, but it's time to go out into the town. In the meantime, there's only one thing weighing heavy on my mind. It's very difficult to travel alone. When I wandered into Nonomiya and remembered how it features in the Tale of Genji, I wanted to whisper about it to someone next to me. When the sun was setting over the bridge in Arashiyama, I wanted to jabber on about the poetry which features just such moments. And this morning in that coffee shop, I would have given just about anything to be holding my girlfriend's hand.

Sappy, but true. The trouble with joy is that when you get full of it, it's almost painful not to share.