Recalling The Last Three Days

It's Monday night in Takayama, a small historic mountain town north of Nagoya in a part of Japan I've never heard of. The air is brisk and dry, the distant snow capped mountains kissed by the orange light of an autumn afternoon.
Last time I wrote, we were in Tokyo on Friday. Much has happened since then. That night we hit Shinjuku, a brightly lit, noisy part of town where young professionals go to blow off steam after an interminably long week. We sat at a counter and ate spicy noodles, of course, and talked to Toshi, our new friend and surprisingly learned phillies fan.
We proceeded to get lost in the subway, but were bailed out by a charming, scarf wearing Tokyoite named Akio, who walked us through the labyrinthine station to our platform asking no more than an opportunity to practice his English. From there, it was early to bed so we could catch a morning train to Nagoya. I'll let Davida spin that yarn.
-Ken