A space for reflection
I visited Tokyo in 2023 for the first time. What I noticed immediately was how courteous people were. Interactions were quiet, respectful, and efficient, even in crowded places. It is not something easily quantified, but it shapes the experience in a way that becomes apparent very quickly.
Tokyo is one of the largest metropolitan areas in the world, with a population of roughly 37 million people. That scale makes what follows all the more striking.
Auckland sits on a narrow isthmus, caught between two bodies of water.
To the north, the Waitematā Harbour opens to the Pacific Ocean. To the south, the Manukau Harbour connects to the Tasman Sea. This geography defines the city. It is New Zealand’s economic center and its primary gateway to the world, home to roughly a third of the country’s population.
I had been told that Auckland was a city to pass through quickly. That proved to be wrong. It simply requires a bit of patience. It is a place that reveals itself gradually, rather than all at once.
Milford Sound sits deep within Fiordland National Park on the southwest coast of the South Island.
Reaching it requires a long drive through mountain passes and dense forest. The journey alone tells you that you are going somewhere distinct.
Somewhere remote.
I arrived under a low, heavy sky. The mist never fully lifted, and in this place, that felt entirely appropriate. Clouds moved slowly across the peaks, revealing a jagged edge one moment and concealing it the next. It gave the landscape a shifting, unsettled quality that a camera can only partially capture.
Despite the name, it isn’t actually a sound.
Uluru, also known as Ayers Rock, sits in the center of Australia’s Northern Territory, far from the country’s major cities. It is roughly 1,800 miles from Sydney—a reminder of how vast Australia is, and how remote this landscape remains. The flight from Sydney is about three and a half hours nonstop.
Washington’s cherry blossoms are now in full bloom.
Each spring, the city changes almost overnight. Washington is usually defined by its permanence—heavy marble, wide avenues, a city built to project endurance. And, at times, one demonstration after another.
But for a few weeks, that permanence is softened by something entirely fragile.
Pale pinks and whites line the Tidal Basin and spread outward into the neighborhoods. The hard, stone edges of the capital are suddenly framed by millions of delicate petals. For a brief period, the city feels lighter, quieter, and more open.
It is easy to forget, living here year after year, just how beautiful Washington can be.
The routine of daily life tends to flatten that awareness. But mornings like this—standing by the water as the sun rises behind the blossoms—restore it.
The light, the trees, the reflections on the water—it all comes together in a way that feels both simple and fleeting.
In a few days, the petals will begin to fall, and the city will return to its heavier, more familiar self.
But for now, Washington is at its best.
Rotorua is different from other places in New Zealand. The difference is not subtle.
It has one of the largest and most visible Māori populations in the country. Over 40% of Rotorua’s residents are Māori—well above the national average—and the region sits within the traditional rohe of Te Arawa iwi. That presence is not confined to cultural sites or performances. It is part of everyday life.
You hear te reo Māori—the Māori language—spoken in schools and in public spaces. Marae are part of the landscape. Cultural expression is visible, but more importantly, it is continuous. It does not feel preserved for visitors. It feels lived.
Melbourne is often described as Australia’s cultural capital, and after a few days there, I began to understand why. It’s a city that doesn’t demand that you look up at skyscrapers; it asks you to look in—into narrow alleys, quiet library nooks, and hidden basement cafés.
The city has a lively energy—cafés everywhere, crowds along the river, and during the early rounds of the Australian Open, the whole place feels like a celebration of sport. I stayed at The Langham Melbourne, just a short walk from the entrance to Melbourne Park, which made getting to the matches especially easy. At one point, I asked the hotel staff whether the Australian Open was their busiest time of year. The answer was telling: Australians love sports, and Melbourne hosts major sporting events throughout the year. That enthusiasm is hard to miss—it’s part of the city’s identity. And, at least from what I saw, Australians also have a healthy appreciation for beer.
It’s one thing to read about New Zealand’s tallest mountain; it’s quite another to see it suddenly rise above the horizon with such sharp authority.
The Māori name for the mountain, Aoraki, is often translated as “cloud piercer.” According to Ngāi Tahu tradition, Aoraki was an ancestor exploring the seas with his brothers when their canoe, Te Waka o Aoraki, capsized. As they climbed onto the overturned hull, the cold south wind froze them in place, turning them into the great stone peaks of the Southern Alps. Today Aoraki remains the highest of these brothers and holds deep spiritual and cultural significance.
When I arrived in Sydney, the first thing I noticed was the harbour. Few cities sit on water as beautiful as this — ferries crossing the harbour, the white sails of the Opera House catching the light, and beaches only a short ride away.
The famous views were every bit as striking as I had imagined.
But what stayed with me most were the quieter moments: an outdoor cinema beside the harbour, a peaceful reading room filled with light, and a conversation with a man inviting Jews to put on tefillin near Bondi Beach. Behind the postcard beauty of a city, there are always deeper stories.
Before this trip, I had never heard of Queenstown.
That almost feels embarrassing to admit now.
The first time I saw it — the mountains rising sharply from Lake Wakatipu, the impossible green of the landscape, the clarity of the air — my jaw literally dropped. Not metaphorically. I stood still.
Some places impress you.
Some rearrange you.
Queenstown rearranged me.