We traveled to Kyoto today. I was a little sad to leave the apartment, strange as that sounds. I'd settled in a bit and was starting to develop a routine. Plus, I didn't feel ready to leave Tokyo yet. The more you do, the more you uncover for exploring.

On the day we walked around Shinjuku we reserved seats on a Hikari class Shinkansen train for Kyoto that departed at the civilized hour of 12:09. This morning, Andrew was absolutely giddy about riding the shinkansen—I'd never seen him like this! I've always wanted to ride the shinkansen, too, and it was one of the first priorities of the trip. I rode the TGV in France when I went there as an exchange student in high school. That was pretty awesome, but I remember thinking at the time that the bullet train in Japan was better. I don't think I knew then that the TGV is faster. Japan must do a better job of advertising its trains. Anyway, a group of us explored the cars and asked to see the driver's seat, and we were allowed to. In 1988, you could ask to see the cockpit of a 747 or the TGV and the happy engineer or captain would happily swing open the door to a group of wide-eyed kids.

Repacking took time. It turns out we bought a bunch of stuff this last week, including a stack of books. Argh. The bags are swollen and very heavy and we're considering shipping some of it home. But we got everything in, and we cleaned up our part of the mess except for sweeping because we couldn't find a broom. Then we dropped the key in the mailbox and started rolling down the street to Shibuya station, a 15-minute walk through what had started to feel like our neighborhood. At the station, we flashed our JR Rail Passes at the attendant and caught the Yamanote line to Tokyo station, a 20- to 30-minute ride that put us at Tokyo station a half hour before departing time. Into the vast Tokyo station itself, we hauled the heavy load across long coursways of darting travelers. Walking in Tokyo train stations is like being inside a pinball machine. We bought some eki-ben (some Chinese food, actually), and some chocolate raisin cookies from Tokyo Banana. Then up to the platform where we had many minutes to spare and stood watching trains come and go. It was good to have the extra time to relax. Figuring out how to navigate to the shinkansen lines, show our tickets, and find the right platform just takes so much extra effort the first time. It's a tiring distance to navigate and you can't hear each other above the din.

We had reserved seats in a green car and boarded and settled. My bag wouldn't fit anywhere it was supposed to so it ended up living behind the last row of seats, perched on the doubled-up foot rests there. When 12:09 came, the train left without fanfare. No "All aboard!", no last-minute announcements of the ritual you hear in U.S. train stations. It just left.

The ride was a little over 3 hours between Tokyo and Kyoto on the Hikari line. The train stops briefly (and by brief I mean near subway-stop brief again without fanfare) at a few cities a long the way—e.g.,Yokohama, Shizuoka, Nagoya. After Yokohama, the train lets loose and flies such that you can't look at the foreground without risking motion sickness. We ate our eki-ben and ordered coffees from the woman who walked by with the refreshment cart. Otherwise we watched Japan go by the windows, the various industrial and rural vistas that are important contrasts to cities we were visiting. The route followed the coastline mostly, and we often had views of the ocean. Later, mountains appeared to the east. Near Nagoya, Sanyo has built some kind of huge solar array in a distinctly Japanese shape, like the arc of a torii or a hair ornament or sword.

The seats were widely spaced and comfortable, the view always interesting. We ate good food. I got a little motion sick from the swaying of the train.

You can't ride a train like that and not ponder the lost opportunity in America to have such an efficient and pleasant means of transportation between cities. A bullet train would be a great option for travel between San Francisco and Seattle, for example, or for between LA and San Francisco. Airports are huge hassles and the time in the air might be short but the time on the ground before and after actually stretches travel time out quite a bit.

Next thing we knew, we were in Kyoto. The station itself is a spectacle and one of the first things I saw of Japan when I first visited in 1998. At that time, it was a year old and a striking, magnificent icon of the first world. It was such a stark contrast to any construction in Korea that I was just stunned by the magnitude of difference between the two countries.

As we emerged from the shinkansen section of the station, lo and behold, there was a Cafe du Monde! We stopped for beignets. The dude working the cash register was the first character I've met in this country. I tried to order cokes with the beignets, but he wouldn't let me. He said the set was a better deal and I should order that. So, which would I like, cohee or koucha? He chatted playfully with a me a little bit about the weather (in Japanese), departing from the service staff script.

Rather than suffer the luggage again in the Kyoto subway, we grabbed a cab to the ryokan. I had the address and map printed out in the bound stack of trip information I make for every major trip. It may seem a bit outmoded to do this when Internet and cell phones supposedly provide access to information everywhere all the time, but, of course, I've found that to be untrue and especially so when traveling. It's not always easy to locate and reach known Internet cafes; even if you have a device that can access the Internet, there's no guarantee it'll work where you happen to be.

When we arrived at Hiiragiya Bekkan, check-in went down just like the guide books say it will. The staff greeted us at the door, knew who we were, and quickly put out slippers and took our luggage. Andrew and I did the classic foreign barbarian thing and bumped heads as we struggled to take off our lace-up shoes. All present chuckled. The staff, seeing his height, pulled out some huge slippers from somewhere and set them in his path, saying, "You have such big feet. These might be better for you." Then our hostess, an older woman in kimono whisked us away into our room, which was a tatami expanse even I hadn't anticipated. A long low Chinese table sat in the center of the room. Legless chairs boosted the sitting pillows; beside them, antique arm rests. She invited us to sit and promptly brought a sweet and matcha. Luckily, we know all about this, so we ate the sweet and drank quickly. Then she gave us a tour of the room, the heat and how to work the remote for it and for the lights, the sink and toilet rooms, and the hallway that circled the tatami. Finally, she brokered dinner and shower time and then left. We looked around at this gorgeous and huge space. It was a corner room, so the glass of the outer wall covered two whole walls and our view of the garden was that grand. On one part of that outer hallway was a table and chairs for enjoying the view. In the tatami room was a tokonoma with a fresh arrangement of flowers and a scroll. The phone had been covered with a furoshiki. One corner had an antique vanity. Inside the linen closet were the fluffliest, cleanest futons. I couldn't wait for Andrew to see those and to learn what was missing in the Shibuya apartment! All toiletries were provided, even toothpaste. And the toilet: robotic and warm.

We had an hour before dinner so we left there for Teramachi-dori. It was 5:00pm and shops were winding down. We walked north toward the palace and I pointed out shops I knew to Andrew and told him stories of last year's trip. We walked by the paper store, the pewter artist's store, and Ippodo. When we reached the corner of the palace we turned back. The streets were silent, hardly a sound compared to Tokyo. But the bikes were constant and always just behind you, bell warning or not.

When we returned to the ryokan, the hostess was on our heels with bancha and a pickled plum. We quickly changed into our yukata—they'd brought a long one for Andrew—and we sat down. Then our kaiseki dinner began to arrive in waves of soups and grilled or steamed fish and vegetables. It was such fun to have this cuisine again and to share it with Andrew, to make it real somehow, a thing we own together instead of a thing I just tell him about. Sashimi and roe and the expensive little dishes. Soup so thick you can barely suck it from the bowl.

As soon as dinner finished, the hostess said our bath was ready. She escorted us out of the room and down a long hall to the end of the building where there were several private bathrooms. A man running the baths showed us into our own bath suite and shut the door. We took off the yukata and stored them in baskets in the outer room where there was a sink and a mirror and all the fixings for finishing, and then we stepped into the tiled and steamy room where there were wooden stools and buckets leaned up against the wall. It was Andrew's first time in a bath like this! I showed him how you put the stool down and fill the bucket and dig in on the washing. Shower nozzles were attached at head-height on the wall so that nozzles could be used too.

I LOVE asian baths, the rooms tiled all around and how everything is for getting wet and getting clean. And I LOVED that we had a private bath to ourselves rather than a split bath where women go one way and men go the other. When we were done scrubbing and rinsing, we sunk into the big tub. This one had jets and that was fun too. When we got too hot, we quit that and returned to the outer room for the yukata and the lotions and towels and things. You never feel so clean.

Back at our room, the table was pushed to one side and the clouds of futon filled the middle. Clouds of mattress and more clouds of duvet and blankets. Thick husk-filled pillows encased in crisp linen. They had moved a floor lamp to the head of the bed and put a flashlight there too. Everything was ready.

The feeling of relaxation was profound. I realized that I hadn't been able to relax completely in the Shibuya apartment. But here, things were clean and easy. We went to bed.