In Ubud, I saw a performance of traditional Balinese dances. This one, called the Baris, had us all in fits.

On my first day in Phnom Penh, I walked from my guesthouse down to the east bank of the Mekong River, which runs right by a busy thoroughfare and a bustling, open-air market. Glancing down over the concrete embankment, I saw this group of children – boys and girls – swimming in the river.

Kuta Beach, just north of the airport on Bali’s tourist-choked south coast, may have once been an exotic Indonesian paradise, but these days it’s mainly a westernized ghetto of bare-bones guesthouses, gaudy souvenir shops, nightclubs filled with college-aged surfers and backpackers, and swarms of predatory street vendors. But it’s still possible to find a moment of magic on the beach at sunset, if you’re patient and lucky.

Himeji Castle, about an hour south of where I live.

In front of a small hotel in Sabae.

In Kyoto. Big room. Big thoughts.

The last time I was in Fukui, just gathering some stuff from my old apartment, I walked by the remains of the old castle and moat that sit just across the street from my building. A camera crew was filming a commercial spot for something or other, and these guys were paddling aimlessly around in the moat for it, while the producer shouted stuff at them in Japanese from the bank. It was funny, but it also looked pretty cool.

I walked under this bridge – it’s actually a raised street running parallel to the river – this morning on the way to the Vietnamese Consulate in Osaka. From up above, at street level, you can’t even tell there’s a river down there.

These two monks often hang out at a corner near my school in Takatsuki. I say “hang out” because it’s hard to call what they do begging. Even though it’s begging.