Looking south from the pedestrian bridge, the proximity of the Sydney Aquarium to the elevated roadway underscores the increased value of the real estate by the harbour.

At the Sydney Aquarium, entry for the family was through the shark’s jaws.

Like many aquariums, there are displays behind glass, like the Eastern Water Dragon.

Less common in aquariums is the tunnel in the oceanarium.  We took a long ramp down, leading to areas below harbour level.  It’s cool and placid down there.  We waited a few moments, and a shark swam overhead.

Looking straight up, a ray flapped by.

The silhouette of a hammerhead shark are distinctive.

I was not familiar with the dugongs that are featured in the aquarium.

Back upstairs, the dugongs merit a significant educational display.

Dinner was being prepared for the dugongs.

Their diet seems clearly specified.

Looking into the tank, the tunnels below were visible.

Our group got scattered all over the aquarium.  I managed to catch up to a few at the tidepool.

Before moving on, we stopped for a snack.  We had been carrying around some oranges that we had bought earlier on the day.  The six of us mostly finished the bag.

Outside the aquarium, looking southwest, the monorail bridge crosses over the harbour.

Water taxis are at the harbour’s edge.  We wouldn’t be on the water other than the bigger ferries across the harbour.

Looking eastward from the harbour, the towers of the city centre are nearby.

Our first full day in Sydney, and we were still doing relatively well … considering the jet lag.

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The first store we encountered was Deep Seafood Cafe and Oyster Bar.  We were still early for lunch.

The lobster and shrimp might have been attractive to most people, but half of our family is allergic to them.

We walked over a few more doors to De Costi Seafood, which also had displays full of shrimp.

Getting service from behind the sneeze guards requires some service.

The blue swimmer crabs were on feature.

I’m not familiar with the eastern sea garfish nor the eastern red scorpionfish.

On the other side of the parking lot, shrimp were also on display at Musumeci Seafood.

The fishmongers were wheeling up fish on trolleys.

Claudio’s Seafood has a cheery exterior.

Inside, there was a good selection of fish, including bream.

In the back was a team preparing the fish for sale.

In the front, however, it seems that a customer can sometimes choose his or her own thickness of cuts.

As we headed for the main hall of the fish market, we saw one of the many ibises up on a post.

In contrast to all of the storefronts by the parking lot, the shops inside the the main hall run off one main aisle.  The auction floor is off to the left, but it was done for the day by long before we arrived.

After browsing all of that fish, our sons declared that they were ready for an early lunch.  The Fish Market Sushi Bar didn’t have much decor, but had the family-sized platters that we could take outside.

Still before noon, there were no customers at the picnic tables outside.  The winter in Sydney was lik e a cool spring day for us.

Eric poured the soy sauce into the cover, and the whole family shared in the meal.  The sushi was gone in minutes.

Southwest from the fish market along Bridge Road are ruins of coal loaders on Blackwattle Bay.

A little farther down the wharves, a ferry was docked.  I don’t know where it stops.

Looking north the Western Distributor comes into the city as the ANZAC Bridge.

The sushi only whetred the appetites, so we opted for local specialties from the Fish Market Cafe.

For comparison, we tried the barramundi, calamari, and dory.  Barramundi are local in Australian rivers and coastal waters, and also farmed.  Australian dory is a deep sea fish.  (For fans of Finding Nemo, the character Dory was a regal tang, not a dory).

The fish were eaten faster than the fries.

Noah declared that he was still hungry.  At Christie’s Seafood was a warmer with Chinese options.  We ordered off the menu, instead.

The fried noodles weren’t as good as being in Chinatown, but adequate for lunch.

Walking outside by the docked boats, we found fishermen untangling their nets.

As we walked east, we noticed the better view of the ANZAC bridge.

The food gave everyone energy.  Some took turns leapfrogging the posts.

As we walked back east into Pyrmont, we crossed over train tracks in a trench.

The Sydney Fish Market was a great start to touring Australia as a family:  a place that we could enjoy together.

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Air Canada suggested that we board the flight from Toronto to Vancouver, and get the e-visa just before boarding on the next leg.  At the Maple Leaf Lounge at YVR, the airline had to try the online application multiple times before achieving success.  In the meantime, we were still catching up on being a family of six again, and enjoy the complimentary food and beverages.  During the layover, our sons had time to taste all of the snacks, and sampled the variety of beer, wine and liquor (offsetting for my many years of non-consumption in airline transfers).

Vancouver to Sydney is about 15 hours on the plane.  Crossing over the international date line resulted in us completely missing Canada Day.  I did my usual strategic sleeping and watching movies.  The flight wasn’t completely full, so we rotated into two-seat sleeping positions.  From my previous trips to Australia, I expected the aircraft disinsection procedure just before landing — flight attendants on a 2-minute walk down the aisle with insecticide aerosols — and recommended that our family stay with heads under blankets until they were done.

The airport in Sydney is south of the city.  Our hotel was north of the city, across the harbour.  We bought tickets for the airport link and a 7-day orange travelpass for trains, ferries and buses.  From the airport terminal, the first train took us to Sydney Central station.

We had left Toronto on an early summer evening flight to Vancouver, connected outbound from Vancouver almost at midnight, and boarded Sydney trains just after rush hour of a southern hemisphere winter morning.  I drew attention wearing summer shorts and sandals.  Donning a jacket and socks wasn’t quite warm enough, so it would be long pants for the week in Sydney.

We would ride the CityRail Northern line frequently in the days to follow.  Sydney’s transit maps are relatively straightforward.

From Macquarie Park station, our hotel was a few blocks east.  We had chosen a surburban location to reduce the frequent stay point redemption per night and lengthen our stay.  DY and I had reserved one room, and our sons were in a second room next door.  We were early for checkin, so we walked to Macquarie Centre — the local mall — putting us in more sunlight to beat jet lag.  We had lunch in the fast food court, bought a few breakfast items in the grocery store, and picked up SIM cards for our mobile phones.  We boarded a bus in the direction we thought back to the hotel, on which the bus driver corrected us by pointing out a transfer point.  After a few hours in the hotel for a short rest and showers, we crossed Lane Cove Road to pick up the bus for an above-ground view of the journey to the Queen Victoria Building.  We walked down to Chinatown for an early dinner, returning to the hotel after the early winter sunset.

Since a July winter in Australia results in practically the fewest hours of daylight in the year, I asked our sons to try to keep to early hours.  They cooperated, and we joined rush hour commuters the next morning.  The Macquarie Park station is one stop west of the Macquarie University station (near the mall).  Our frequent trips to central Sydney would take us east and south.

The Epping to Chatswood rail line had only opened four months earlier, so this station is new.

Two escalators down (or an elevator ride) put us at the turnstiles.

The platform is down another flight of stairs, with only one track for each direction.  The funding and construction of this rail line was controversial in Australian government, as it’s largely a subway with long distances between stations in the suburban region.

The platform was never crowded, and we usually would see only a few — if any — other passengers.

The trains were never full, either.  We could have multiplied ourselves many times over, and still wouldn’t have problems getting seats together.

At Chatswood station, we would transfer to the North Shore line south to the city centre.  On that train, I was amused at a mother entertaining her child with an iPod Touch.  Electronic games replacing physical toys will change the nature of perception in our young!

We disembarked at Wynyard station, and walked south through the tunnels.

The stop outside the Queen Victoria Building is where we had ridden the bus on the previous evening.

I’ve been to Sydney on prior business trips.  Moving a family of six around on public transportation from a suburban base requires a little more planning.  With all of us recovering from jet lag, we would have to look out for each other.

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When Eric showed came through the international arrivals doors, our sons jumped over the divider in a rush to greet him.

After Eric’s long flight, he had a few words with his friends and made appointments to see them later in the week.

To celebrate, we knew our sons would enjoy a good dinner.  Our usual preferences is for Asian buffets, but since Eric hasn’t had good western food in a long time, he opted for Jerusalem Restaurant.

The selection of meats, stews and fish was broad.  Returning from a third world country, fresh salads and uncooked vegetables were a change.

Everyone made multiple trips for a little taste of variety of foods.

At home, Eric unpacked some clothes as gifts.   The cartons shipped on the slow boat from China were expected some weeks later.

While Eric had rearranged the bedroom furniture while Adam was away in China, he found the arrangement much the same as when he left.  He would eventually go on a redecorating spree.

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Since the university tour only took to midafternoon, I suggested that we do some sightseeing.  The Grand River by the Elora Mill Inn is scenic.  We drove south over the bridge from the centre of the village to oversee the mill.

We walked a little farther west on the south bank for a better look of the dam.

Looking east, there’s some traditional-looking buildings on the north side, and the Metcalfe Streeet bridge.

Viewing the gorge itself requires driving back north over the bridge, and west to Victoria Park.  There’s a long set of stairs down to the level of the water.  The stairs curve, so only part of the route is visible from the top.

Stepping down, the stairs straighten out along a rock wall.

Jennifer and Allenna exercised caution on the way down.

Southwest of this landing is a fork in the river, with the dam beyond.  This branch is Irvine River.

Jennifer and Allenna posed for a portrait with a classic Canadian background.

Looking downstream northwest, we could see the Irvine River bridge at David Street.

The stairs back up seem less dangerous, and provide a good workout.

We drove back over to the Elora Mill Inn, which gives a view of the Grand River Gorge.

Back to Toronto, we weighed the variety of restaurants available.  We decided on Peruvian food at the Boulevard Cafe, in the Annex.

Diana doesn’t get out to dinner as often as I do with my travels, so having both of us with white tablecloths is a change.

Having  Jennifer come for a visit presents us with more opportunities to enjoy the city and region where we live.

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I first met G.A. at the 1998 ISSS meeting in Atlanta, which I’ve cited to many as the single best educational experience of my life.  G.A. had encouraged me, as well as Jennifer and Gary, to become more and more involved in the systems community over the years.

We spent the evening catching up on news, and reminiscing.  In his home, the photographs and souvenirs of world travels suggested not only a man who was known internationally, but who might also have been a Southern rebel in his youth.  The next morning, we moved a few things around to take G.A.’s car to the university.

While I first met G.A. in his role as ISSS president in 1998, he had long been a professor of accounting at Tennessee Tech since 1982.  His office was in the College of Business at Johnson Hall.

We helped G.A. finish cleaning out his office.  He had sent in his last paper for publication, and said that he wouldn’t be needing any more references.  In the inner room were years of books not only on systems research, but also on accounting.

G.A. had a complete archive of systems research.  Jennifer packed up some of the old artifacts that are hard to find.

In addition to the papers, there were videotape copies from James Grier Miller — from his time at the University of Louisville — when he interviewed key systems thinkers of the time.  Gary took the tapes to coordinate with Louisville, later discovering that this collection would fill in a few of their gaps.

We cleaned out the last of the valuable content from the outer office.  The photograph of James Grier Miller on the wall is a reminder of G.A.’s strong association, described in his 1989 book on Measurement and Interpretation in Accounting: A Living Systems Approach.

The school term was coming to an end.  Outside G.A.’s office, a student stopped by to check his grades.

Extending some more southern hospitality, G.A. took us by Bobby Q’s to pick up some Tennessee barbeque.

G.A. didn’t have much of an appetite himself, but enjoyed watching us experience the local cuisine.

On the Saturday, we made a road trip up to the Highland Manor Winery, in Jamestown.  I wouldn’t have expected a vineyard in Tenneesee.  This is the oldest winery in state.

We sampled the variety of wines, including the muscadine that is unique to the region. We bought a few bottles that would be hard to fine elsewhere.

Gary, Jennifer and I were glad to spend weekend visiting with G.A.  He was happy that he could rely on us to lead the systems community after he would be gone.  In a few weeks, his extended family would gather to see him one last time.  He passed away a few months later, in July, having lived a full life.  The systems movement owes G. A. Swanson a large debt for rejuvenating  the  community

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The fork on the east side is Harajuku Street.  I remember walking down this stretch and thinking that the buildings didn’t seem very interesting.

One or two intersections up, looking to the right, is a strange building at the end of the street.

Design Festa Gallery always amuses me, with the nearly-random pipes on the front facade of the building.

Since I’ve been to the gallery before, I decided to start on the upper floors for a change.  The murals on the stairwell walls are entertaining.

We were greeted by two Japanese girls, who asked us to rate our favourite student paintings of the day.

Rating the paintings might have been easier if we could read and write Japanese.  We did our best to indicate the ones we liked.

The Design Festa Gallery is a modest space, where artists at varying levels of development can show their work.

Some more mature artists are more confident with larger works.

Beyond paintings, some artists prefer alternative materials, such as fabrics.

The Japanese and western styles of art sometimes get mixed.

On the main floor of the gallery is a cafe where visitors can grab a coffee or tea.

On the first floor, portraits filled one of the small rooms.

Through the sliding doors out onto the back porch, a sign pointed to the newer second gallery.

Between the two wings is a cafe that specializes in okonomiyaki.

Getting to the front entry of the east gallery requires squeezing past a fire escape.

The Design Festa Gallery east has a large open space on the ground floor, with a room and smaller spaces upstairs.  On this trip, there was a private showing, so we moved on.

Just south of the gallery was a lane back to formal entry.

Looking up, the lantern suggests that this is a restaurant, but it wasn’t open this early.

As I bicyclist, I notice what other people ride.  This would seem to be a serious rider, with two water bottles on the back.

Further south, Cat Street has a better paved road where in front of the clothing shops.

I don’t think that I’m sufficiently trendy to enter some of these clubs.

I was amused at the borrowed Americana with a restaurant built into an Airstream motor home.

To cross over Omotesando, we climbed up onto the overpass.

Looking east, we could see Oriental Bazaar, which is known for Japanese-made (i.e. not made-in-China) products, good for gifts.  Marianne’s suitcase was already full, so it wasn’t a major attraction for us.

As we headed back, I noticed another bicycle, this time more distinctive in style than function.

After wandering around Harajuku Street some more, we decided to have a quick lunch at Rommy before heading to the airport.

Rommy is a modest restaurant, and might be family run.

There’s barely enough room in the kitchen in the back for one cook.

From the options on the brief menu, I picked the burger and egg with spaghetti.  In the west, we wouldn’t have included the miso soup and rice, but in Japan the combination works.

As we exited the restaurant, I noticed the metal tiles on the ground by the threshold

As we walked back on the major street, we noticed two girls sitting in a see-through truck.  I didn’t realize until later that these were the musicians Vanilla Beans, in one of their promotional stunts.

Crossing back over to the west side of the street on the overpass, we got a good view of the Harajuku plaza, without many of the cosplay teenagers I’ve come to expect.

The plaza does seem to be a good location to meet up with friends,

We headed back into the Harajuku train station for a brief stop to pick up luggage at the hotel, and then on to the airport.

The Design Festa Gallery and Harjuku are a regular stop on every visit I make to Tokyo.  The energy of the young always perks me up.

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On this street was a large temple or church.  Christian?

As we continued, we found a small torii, marking the entry to a common space or park.

Sunday morning seems to have been flea market day in this neighbourhood.

On the temporary tables, there was an assortment of pots.

The park was surrounded by apartment towers.

Old posters and vintage clothing might attract young bargain hunters.

Some vendors had an odd variety of merchandise:  cameras, lighters, and knick knacks.

Perhaps boxes could be used for gift packing, instead of wrapping paper.

Home seamstresses might make something from the small swatches of fabrics.

How do we make the distinction between secondhand clothes and vintage apparel?

The dishes are reminscent of the blue plates commonly exported from China.

This selection of prints was more professional than displays at other booths.

Marianne looked at the selection of kimonos, but wasn’t impressed.

We were unsure whether this vendor specialized in pots, or had a connection with a kiln.

We emerged from the park and found ourselves on a side street beside Takeshita dori.

Sunday morning on the street was as busy with schoolgirls, as usual.

I wasn’t seriously lost in Tokyo, and every street is an adventure.  It’s true:  turn around a corner, and you’ll probably encounter another temple.

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I guess that Saturday afternoon is a good bet for families to visit the gardens.

As we entered the gardens walking north, I enjoyed the view of the brook to the side.

The park honours the Emperor Meji who passed away in 1912, and is interred in Kyoto.  The view of the long, tree-covered walk is impressive.

Sake barrels are displayed as decorations, emptied from prior festivals after having been donated by local brewers.

The Meiji period was seen as enlightened one, when the emperor enjoyed western food and took wine with it.  Wineries in Bourgogne, France, consecrated these barrels in the emperor’s honour.

At the end of that entry walk, a turn left brought us to to the torii (shrine gate).

Approaching the main shrine building is the covered fountain typical in temples.

As did other visitors, Marianne cleansed herself with the water.

A smaller torii marked the perimeter of the main temple.

Marianne took care to cross over the threshold into the main temple.

The courtyard is enclosed all the way around by buildings.

We were surprised and honoured to be just in time to watch a wedding procession

Everyone in the shrine stopped to admire the wedding group.

Marianne had forgotten to bring her camera, and was impressed by the embroidery on the back of this bright kimono.

After a brief pause for ceremony, the wedding party crossed the courtyard to another gate.

Through the gate, we saw them taking formal photos, presumably with extended family and friends.

We continued into the main temple, which had an internal courtyard.

Visitors made offerings at the altar.

On one side was a taiko drum, that might be used in a festival.

As we were about to leave, Marianne noticed the curtain tassels, commenting on their colour.

Outside the main shrine, we noticed the walls of votive tablets.

The gardens were no less grand, as we left.

I hadn’t noticed the detail of water flowing by the walk on the way in.

We had also crossed over an arched bridge on the way in.  I guess that I was too focused on getting to the shrine on the approach!

Looking down from the arched bridge, only a small trickle of water was flowing in the stream.

The gardens are a tranquil oasis right beside one of the busiest train stations in Tokyo.  We wouldn’t have known it was there!

The shrine and garden were constructed in the honour of the Emperor Meiji, who I’ve now learned ushered in modern Japan.

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The train platform is elevated, so we took the stairs down. Looking over my shoulder, there’s a gate with Japanese characters leading to the platform.

The streets aren’t rectilinear around Nippori. Walking out a little from the station and looking east, there’s a commercial area … but not textile stores.

Looking south, there were also storefronts, but the rag trade is a little farther on.

We headed south in the direction we thought correct. Apartment towers reveal the area to be mixed commercial and residential.

One of the first stores that we saw oriented towards apparel was Lemon, catering to children’s clothes.

Many stores were crowded with merchandise. This one had mannekins in a more spacious layout.

Despite the rain, the bins outside storefronts offered specials for the bargain hunters.

Perhaps the foot traffic wasn’t high in the late afternoon, so this shopkeeper had covered up his bins, and closed up for the day.

The Tomato store at Nippori seems to be well known.

A place to park umbrellas before entering a store demonstrates the Japanese attention to detail.

The variety of buttons available for purchase underscores that this neighbour is the central market for fabric and notions in Tokyo.

Looking at the wall of buttons, I wonder about the design of the cataloging system.

The nicer buttons are displayed in trays.

To encourage novices, some samples were framed and hung on the wall for display.

Marianne bought a handle for a bag that she was making, and showed it to Jennifer.

Keen shoppers could spend days wandering in and out of these stores.

This store had multiple floors of notions. Just hanging out on the ground floor was enough for Gary and me, while the ladies looked around the other levels.

I can’t think of why I would need this variety of decals or stickers.

After a few hours of shopping, Jennifer and Marianne decided to return to the hotel for a rest. Gary and I crossed over to the other side of the Nipport station. On the bridge over the track is a marker for Shimogoendenhashi.

As it typical in Tokyo, turning a corner often unexpectedly reveals a temple. Since we’ve seen a lot of them, we continued on.

The main shopping street for the neighbourhood is down the Yuyake Dandan stairs.

This isn’t a tourist neighbourhood. The Yanaka Ginza shops serve residents.

The local bakery was shielding some of its displays from the rain.

The neighbourhood fruit vendor is a contrast to the corporate-owned supermarkets in commercial districts.

In the busy Tokyo lifestyle, boxed meals could be picked up by residents on their way home.

The local fish store still had stock in the early evening.

If the shopper didn’t want prepare the fish, there’s always takeout sushi.

Continuing our walk, we exited out the another gate for the Yanaka Ginza district.

We wended our way past Nishi Nippori station, and up the hill.

The sun had set by the time we reached the entry to Nippori Park.

The park has fences for cats.

In the dark, we could barely make out the Koryo Inari Jinjin shrine.

The grounds around the Seiun-ji temple were accessible, but the temple itself was closed for the evening.

Returning down to the main street, we found the Darjeeling restaurant.

After a steady diet of Japanese food, a change to Indian cuisine was welcomed.

The Darjeeling bills itself as a tearoom, as much as a dining venue.

The rain continued even into the late evening, as Gary and I found our way back to our hotel.

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After a day of meetings at the university, we took the train out to Jiyugaoka station.

Maps were consulted to figure out directions.

Up the side street, many of the storefronts in this district were closed. I noticed the bicyclist choosing the safety of sidewalk, while pedestrians casually strolled the streets.

The sidewalks were sometimes non-existent, so we had to be on alert for oncoming cars.

Around the curve, the directions led us uphill.

We found our destination, Aen, with a modest front door.

Shiomi and Satomi had a lengthy consultation with the server about a good selection of alternative dishes. The menu is complete vegetarian, but I complicate matters by trying to avoid dairy products.

The presentation was Japanese minimalist. We had egg cake with burdock.

The yam came with a sauce on the side for dipping. Various salad-type vegetables were served in smll dishes.

The sushi presentation is typical of Japan. These content was based on vegetables, without fish.

The grilled vegetables were plated with more altitude.

The vegetable stew was a contrasting texture to deep fried and cold vegetables.

We weren’t certain as to these vegetables. The seemed to be a type of root.

Our group enjoyed beverages with the meal.

Human beings typically eat three times per day. Putting constraints on the food selection presents opportunities for greater creativity.

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The area is called Shinshiba. Looking west, the towers — it’s hard to judge whether they’re offices or apartments — are built up to the edge of the canal.

To these southwest, the pedestrian bridge is painted pink.

I followed the main road to walk south over a bridge.  On subsequent walks, I discovered a Hanamasa supermarket further down this road.  Beyond that, there’s more highrises.

Following the main road, I turned east at the pedestrian crosswalk at the traffic lights.

Ot the souteast corner of the next major intersection, the old location of the Shibaura Institute of Technology has been vacated and not yet replaced with a new tenant.

On the northeast corner, there are restaurants on higher floors of that tower.

Walking north, I again crossed the canal.  Looking eastward, the buildings are so built up so that I expect that shadows are cast on the water almost all day.

I approached Shibaura Unga Dori, and could see the Shibuaura trains station behind.  My usual route takes me west to the hotel.

Near the corner, I noticed a map of the area.  The blue is a reminder of the relative proximity to Tokyo Bay.

Approaching Tamachi station, the restaurants had lunch displays out, both for dining in and for takeout.

The Shibaura neighbourhood doesn’t seem to be a destination for tourists.  The apartments and offices in the area demonstrate mixed use planning, so there are always feet on the street both day and night.

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As with most huge airports, passengers debark from the aircraft to face a long walk to the terminal.

Speedwalks in the terminal make the walk easier.  I passed by thermal monitors on the lookout for fevers, right before the lineups at immigration and luggage carousels.

Exiting the baggage area, my first stop takes me on a turn right.  Since my mobile phone from Canada hasn’t worked in Japan, I order a local mobile phone via ANA Skyweb for pickup, a week before the scheduled flight.

At the end of the terminal, the Ana sky porter had a mobile phone with my name on a list.

Turning around to come back through the centre of the terminal, I passed by the main escalator down to the trains.

There’s another wing of the terminal farther along, but my destination was the ATMs just to the left.

In Japan, credit cards are widely accepted, but it always pays to have a little cash for lunch and incidentals.

Just by the ATMs at this arrivals level, there are escalators down to the ticket hall.

Downstairs, local residents are likely to purchase their train tickets from the banks of automated machines . For foreigners, there’s another option.

To the right of the machines is a ticket counter.  Visitors with foreign passwords are entitled to purchase the Suica + N’Ex card, at a discount.  The Suica card eases boarding trains on the variety of companies in the Tokyo area easy, by allowing entry with a card swipe instead of a ticket obtained by pouring change into an automated ticket machine.  The N’Ex card makes the ride into Tokyo on the Narita Express effectively “free” with the discount.  The fare can be paid with a credit card, and the deposit on the card is refunded on its return to the airport.

After buying the card, the gates to the train are at the other end of the hall.

The platform to board trains is another level down on an escalator.

The specific platform and boarding time was printed on the ticket, and shown by the clerk at the ticket office.

Taking the express train means that I wouldn’t be making any stops, as listed on the schedule on the platform.

The ticket also specifies the seat in the car on the train, corresponding to the markers on the file floor.

The inbound train paused for a few minutes, to allow boarding for at a leisurely pace.

By the door, there was an area to store baggage.  I’ve learned that most Japanese ship their luggage to the aiport rather than dragging them onto trains as do foreigners.

The seating on the Narita Express is like on airplanes … with a little more legroom.

After slightly less than an hour of looking out the window at pitch black darkness and then some city lights, the Narita Express arrived at Tokyo Station.

Getting from the airport train underground up to the city trains on elevated platforms means riding several elevators.

My instructions to Tamachi had directed me to the Yamamote Line on Track 5.  This is a line that runs a circular path around the city.  I wanted to go towards Shinagawa and Shibuya.

On the Yamanote line platform, the overhead signs reported the wait for the next trains.

Just to instill confidence, I also referred to the listing of next stops timed by minutes.

The Yamanote line has benches facing each other, with a wide path down the middle for standing room at rush hour.  The cars are linked with so that advertising posters down the length of the train are visible.

Arriving at Tamachi station, I took the escalators up to the ticket hall.

Arriving on a weekend evening, the station was relatively quiet.

Exiting the gates, I turned towards the east exit of the station.  This direction passes over the train tracks.

Tamachi station is open to the outdoors, with overhead cover extended down the escalators.

There’s fewer restaurants immediately on the east side of the train station.  By the compass, the sidewalk actually leads southeast.

The Tamachi campus of the Tokyo Institute of Technology was lit up that evening.

At the first intersection, I turned right onto Shibaura Unga Dori, heading southwest.

Japanese sidewalks typically have a yellow tiled section to aid the visually impaired maintain a straight path.  They’re less helpful for a visitor dragging trolley cases.

Halfway down the street, the office towers gradually came into sight.

At the corner is the Granpark tower, with a grocery store and some restaurants in the basement.

Across the street was my regular destination when staying in Tokyo, the Villa Fontaine Mita.

There’s one entry for the office tower, and another for the hotel.  The hotel has a checki-in counter on the ground floor, and then rooms up on the top levels.

Settling in the hotel is usually happens around dinner time in the Tokyo time zone,.   My body is confused from travelling from Eastern Time, 14 hours into the next day and across the international date line.  I usually pick up a few things at the grocery store, and try to sleep early to ease into the Tokyo time.

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As oldsters, Diana and I prefer the tradition of Alpine skiing.  Adam and Noah have been on snowboards in prior years.  Ryan decided to stick with skis, and followed his parents for the first few runs.

Taking the ski lift up is more straightforward for skiiers than snowboarders, who have to release the binding for one foot.  After riding the lift to the top of the hill, Adam and Noah demonstrated the procedure of reattaching snowboard bindings while seated.

Unlike prior trips sunny enough for sunglasses, this day was overcast and cold both in the morning and afternoon.  From a north facing ridge, the clouds were low on the views of Georgian Bay and Collingwood.

On the ride home, we sometimes take a dinner break in Barrie, near the half-way point.  On Christmas eve, we weren’t completely surprised when the Barrie restaurant we had chosen was closed up.  Instead of settling for second-best, we decided to continue the drive directly home, allowing for a change into fresh clothes before having dinner in Toronto.  Korean restaurants are less traditional about holidays, and Mul Rae Bang-a is open 24 hours per day.

This restaurant has grills at the table, and the servers bring plates of raw meat.  Our sons are at a carnivorous stage, whereas their parents are beyond that.  All-you-can-eat at this restaurant means more and more meat, and limited banchan.  Subsequent orders for meat don’t allow picking-and-choosing, so full spreads of chicken, pork and beef are repeated.

December 24 is one day that I plan for family activities, and go almost completely offline.  Alpine skiing requires concentration, so I don’t listen to an MP3 player and dedicate my entire attention towards not falling.

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Although Berkeley has a long history of scholarship into Asia, the Chinese and Japanese collections were  consolidated into the C. V. Starr East Asian Library as a new building only in 2008.

Since Nancy was an east asian studies major some years ago, and then a library studies graduate student, this building was a natural for a peek.

The atrium down the middle of the building provides a feeling of greater openness inside the modern structure.

A large group of high school students was taking pictures just outside the library, prompting us to do the same.  Looking south, Sather Tower (Campanile) is a prominent landmark.

We wended our way south to Sather Gate, at the entrance to the campus closest to the central business district.  We thanked Nicole, and allotted ourselves one hour for last minute shopping before returning to the other side of the bay.

I spent my hour (and would have spent more) in one of my favourite CD stores in the world — Amoeba Records — browsing through their used jazz collection.

We walked back to the car at dusk, and were caught in the Friday evening rush hour south onto the Bay Bridge.  With four of in the car, we benefited by the High Occupancy Vehicle (HOV) lanes, only after we fought our way through the merging traffic.  We checked into the hotel in San Mateo, split up for the evening, and met in the dark of Pacific Time early the next morning for the flight back east.

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I’m not sure what I expected to see in a ferry building.  With people passing through on the way to catch a ferry to the other side of the bay, I guess it’s more than a bus terminal, but less than an airport.  Coming through the front door, the hall extended both left and right.  I turned right.

A ferry rider arriving a few minutes early could stop by the artisan bakery for a selection of specialty breads.

Meat has become fashionable again.  A salumeria — cured meat delicatessen — is in keeping with the times.

The refrigerator cases with complete pieces of meat remind us about animal origins.

I was intrigued by the custom built delivery bicycle that could eliminate a lot of issues with speed in San Francisco traffic.

It’s possible to just go to a forest and pick wild mushrooms, but risk of eating a poisonous variety deters the average eater.  A culinary fungus merchant removes that risk.

I recognized the names of some mushroom varieties, with many I had never seen before.

A connoisseur might not have to go to the forest, instead growing his or her own mini-farm at home.

The rear of the ferry building is more functional and less decorative than the front.

The ferry at the dock suggested that schedules at midday don’t run so tightly that passengers have to be rapidly unloaded and loaded again.

The ferry authority might consider providing better parking for bicycles.  As as bicycle enthusiast myself, I noticed that some of these rides didn’t look like the winter beater that is required in more northern climates.

A little further along, a ferry to Marin was docked.

Our group reconvened by the front door to go to our meeting.  Here’s the view of Market Street in San Francisco that a ferry commuter sees going to work every morning.

While San Francisco is famous for its cable cars, we happened to encounter a streetcar — or tram — that runs on an internal electric motor motor rather than being dragged by a cable.

Everyday sights like markets and public transportation are features that make San Francisco one of the most popular cities in the world to visit.

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The Math Corner of the Main Quadrangle is place where you might expect to find mathematicians and math students.

The main quadrangle is a hub for the campus, designed in the early 1900s.

Geovanni, Stephen and Nancy added to the layout of Rodin’s Burghers of Calais.

This late in the afternoon, Memorial Church was closing.

Kevin took us southeast through the campus.  We wouldn’t been able to drive there directly.  Stanford is at a scale and layout for bicycling.

The Department of Electrical Engineering is in the David Packard Building.

The Cantor Arts Center has collections both outside and inside.

Outside, the “Gates of Hell” — one of Rodin’s bronzes distributed around the world — is at a superhuman scale

We wandered inside to browse the collection.  Kevin, in his Christmas hat, was more warmly dressed than Slab Man, by Duane Hanson.

Stanford has a collection of Warhol prints, significant for the mid-20th century.

Staying on schedule, our group took Kevin out for a Cuban dinner in Palo Alto.  Since I had been travelling with these colleagues for a few weeks, Stephen made an extra effort to embarrass me in front of my nephew.  Before we took Stephen to the airport for his flight back home, we disposed of the Two Buck Chuck that would have taken him over the duty free allowance for alcohol imported personally into Canada.  Kevin doesn’t seem like a big drinker, but we were sure that some students in his dorm would welcome the refreshments.

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On a weekday in December, the rides were silent, and we were practically the ones ones in the park.

The Giant Dipper is one of the oldest wooden roller coasters in the United States.

There’s irony that the famous boardwalk is now concrete rather wooden boards.

Despite the fact that we hadn’t yet walked on the sand, and the park was empty, Stephen wanted to be first in line for the foot wash station.

The Sky Ride runs along the beach side of the walk.

We wandered south on the beach, to the sound of the ocean washing up against the shore.

We decided to stroll to the north end of the beach and circle around through the park.

The Santa Cruz Casino in the early 20th century had a history of burning down, and now operates as the Casino Arcade.

At the north end of the boardwalk are real wooden boards by a cafe.  Away from the theme park, the city streets are much closer to the beach.  We started the return walk south.

In the distance, we could see the beach volleyball courts.

On a weekday morning, these volleyball players must either have been professionals, or serious athletes.

Beach Street was quiet.  I could imagine the traffic jams on a summer weekend.

To rejoin the conference for the afternoon, we had to watch the clock.  The direct route through the Santa Clara Mountains is CA 35 — Skyline Boulevard.  This route doesn’t follow the usual definition of a boulevard, which has a centre median.

CA 35 has the feel of a mountain road for the use of local residents.  The main route is relatively clear, with a few smaller roads merging and intersecting.  Actual road signs are few and far between.

The road narrowed and widened at various points.  Stephen played his usual role as chauffeur, while I puzzled as navigator.

Coming around a curve, we paused to wait for a truck turning around.  We rolled the window down as he passed by, asking about the address numbering.  The driver gave us some advice — which we later discovered would have misguided us.  The numbering must be associated with various hamlets, so the sequences on Skyline Boulevard don’t run consecutively in one direction.

Why would anyone put farms up near the ridge of a mountain?

It seems that, in addition to the Santa Cruz mountains being known for wineries, it’s a Christmas tree trail.

Continuing north on CA 35, the view opened up.  I’m not sure exactly where we were, but it’s probable that we had reached the Open Space Preserves, looking west.

We paused to take photos.  Since I’m not a camper, I can’t imagine hiking through this region.

Seeing cyclists on this road was unexpected.  With relatively low traffic, I would guess that these are riders who are used to being on their saddles for hours, and climbing steep inclines.

After wondering if we had gotten completely lost, we found the gates to the Thomas Fogarty Winery.

The pond and the well-kept grounds suggest that the site might be desirable for private events.

This property is but just one of the many vineyards for the winery.  The Portal Springs Estate vineyard grows chardonnay on a steep incline, much like it might have on the original terroir in Burgundy.

The tasting room is part of an impressive pavilion complex.  Inside, we were surprised to see some displays of medical instruments from Dr. Fogarty in his previous career.

Through an open door, we saw some sample fermentation tanks that must serve as significant visual aids in a tour.

The range of wines at this winery is broad:  Chardonnay, Cabernet Sauvignon, and the infamous Pinot Noir.

We sampled a few wines.  None of chose to spit.  I held my consumption down to just a few mouthsful, and still got the Asian blush.

As we left the winery, the haze to the southeast seems heavier than we had seen looking west.

Looking to the northeast, the proximity to Silicon Valley was striking.

From the winery, there wasn’t a route directly east back to our conference.  We continued north on Skyline Boulevard to Woodside, which took us much farther north in Silicon Valley than I would have expected.  We drove through our hunger to make it back to our afternoon meetings, ordering lunch during the afternoon coffee break.

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We had saved our lunch hunger for the Pier Market, ordering the local specialty: seafood.  In addition to a view of the open kitchen serving meals, the hostess had given us choice seats overlooking the bay.

After lunch, we walked out onto the pier for sightseeing, as do thousands of tourists every day.

The sea lions entertained us.  Most just lie on the docks and sleep.  When one wakes up and honks, a few others join in.  With a slight shift in position, one sea lion falls into the water, and then swims around to squeeze into another spot.

There’s plenty of other tourists around with cameras, so we just asked one to snap this group photo with Geovanni, Kia, Nancy, Stephen and myself.

We walked west along the embarcadero.  The weather was clear, so it was easy to spot Alcatraz.

The narrow sidewalk between the Fisherman Wharf’s restaurants and their takeout counters is always colourful.

Working at the counters means tourists are always walking by snapping photographs.

I don’t eat crab, so I presume that the stacks are freshly cooked, but not necessarily sold hot.

On a Sunday midafternoon, the marina wasn’t very busy, with just a few workers on boats straightening up.

We walked west to Ghiradelli Square.  It’s been years since I’ve been there, so I didn’t remember a fountain.

Stephen went into the Ghiradelli store on a chocolate shopping spree for Christmas gifts.

On the return walk east, we crossed over Hyde Street, with a cable car approaching the northern terminus.

Continuing east, the view south on Columbus Avenue reveals a view of the Transamerica Pyramid that I hadn’t recalled.

The Cannery wasn’t as active as I remember in the summers.  The renovated structure still portrays a richness in history.

The Boudin Bakery at the Wharf is a new building since the last time I was in San Fran.  I do remember the sourdough bread well.

There were dozens of customers in the lineups for bread.

Behind the counter, the shelves were well stocked with a wide variety of breads.

After we exited the store, we passed a large window where we could see a baker preparing rolls.  I wonder how long the crocodile loaf has been in there.

On the land side of The Embarcadero across from Pier 39, there’s a series of art galleries.  This one had a bench of monkeys outside.

Back into the car, we drove up to the top of  Telegraph Hill.  The others went inside for a look while I waited for a parking space to clear.  When I joined them, I noticed that Coit Tower gives the backside view of Christopher Columbus looking out to sea.

It was getting late in the afternoon, with a beautiful sunset looking west from Telegraph Hill.

I found our way back to Lombard Street mostly by memory.  As we approached the crooked block on Russian Hill, Stephen wended around the traffic and tourists at the entry.

Cars creep down winding road. Residents in the nearby homes can’t say that they don’t expect it.

Since this section of Lombard Street is one-way northbound, Coit Tower is clear landmark.

By the time we arrived at Japan Center, the early sunsets of December had overtaken us.  The lighted gates on the plaza are welcoming.

The Peace Pagoda has been a landmark of Japantown in San Francsico for forty years.

Nancy was impressed by the variety of Japanese delicacies available at Nippon Ya.  We were culturally uncertain to share these tastes.

She said that she wasn’t buying very much, because after soon after she would have returned home, her whole family was going on a west coast vacation.

We strolled the Japan Center restaurants, weighing dinner alternatives.  Stephen enjoyed the Christmas lights on the menu displays.

Since we had had a late lunch, we chose to have a lighter meal of noodles at Mifune.

On a slightly circuitous route towards Santa Clara, we continued west through Golden Gate Park for a stop at the Cliff House.  In the darkness, we could barely make out Seal Rocks and the Sutro Baths — certainly with insufficient light to take photos.  With Stephen at the helm, and myself in the navigator’s seat, we’re sure that Geovanni and Nancy had nodded off in the back seat after a long day started in Eastern Time and finished in Pacific Time.

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The life-sized bronze casting of the Toll Booth Collector by George Segal wasn’t the place for admission to the building.

The front entrance to the museum is on Washington Street.

DLH says that museums remind him of bad dates.  The collection seems to aim for breadth over depth, spread over multiple wings.  I liked the architecture of the building more than the pieces chosen.  Annalenna, Marianne and DLH agreed.

One impressive work was five panels, collectively title the “Voice of the City of New York Interpreted” by Joseph Stella (1920-1922).

After an hour or so, we decided to leave the museum to go for dinner.  I was amused by the urban art of a painted tank, just on the street.

We had dinner at 27 Mix before I left for the return flight home.

My friends indulged me to see a museum that I might not have otherwise seen.  I like to see the local sights when I can.

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