The year in cities

There are few things that get under my skin quite like a big city. Give me buildings piled against buildings, streets disappearing into questionable neighborhoods, broken neon, exhaust fumes, food I can’t identify and several million people apparently late for something.

I like to walk along the streets, falling into the rhythm of a place and feel its energy while immersed by the creative chaos of mankind. There is something special about watching the magnificent, badly organized experiment called human civilization unfold around me.

Old cities are even better. Places where generations have lived, fought, eaten, prayed, got drunk, fallen in love and made terrible decisions on exactly the same street corner.

This year, I saw a few cities.

Tokyo, Marrakesh, Ulaanbaatar, Novosibirsk, Seoul, Amsterdam, Beijing, Inverness, Irkutsk, Kyoto, Moscow, Oban, Perm, Incheon, Omsk, Zhangjiakou, Riga, Ballachulish, Qingdao, Krasnoyarsk, Ulan-Ude, Stirling, Helsinki, Balabinsk, Edinburgh, Portree, Sainshand, Essaouira, Shimonoseki, Immouzer, Hiroshima, Arvika, Luss, Zhangjiakou, Mallaig, Yekaterinburg, Pitlochry, Glenfinnan, Kirov, Takayama, Busan, Glasgow, Agadir, Stockholm, Fort William and quite a few places that have probably blurred together somewhere between railway stations, hotel rooms and badly translated menus.

Djemaa el Fna, Marrakesh.

During the past 8 months, I’ve visited around 50 cities in 10 countries across 9 time zones.

Memorable episodes includes getting thoroughly lost in the labyrinthine alleys of Marrakesh. Singing Marilyn Manson songs in a Tokyo karaoke bar (because apparently international diplomacy sometimes requires The Beautiful People). Searching Moscow for an allegedly existing Depeche Mode bar that seemed determined not to be found. Listening to a Chinese band perform Rammstein covers in Qingdao (which raises several questions, none of which need answering).

In Seoul I found my old favorite ice cream parlor Cold Stone Creamery. Visited Lenin in Moscow and Mao in Beijing. Had excellent pancakes beside a canal in Amsterdam. And, high above Tokyo, that special bar from Lost in Translation on the 52nd floor. Some places you visit because they’re important. Others because Bill Murray once sat there looking existentially exhausted.

I rode horses across the endless grasslands of Mongolia, shared meals with a large Russian man aboard the Trans-Siberian Railway, drove across the Isle of Skye and, near the North Korean border, received the generally useful travel advice that I should stay away from the minefields. Fair enough.

Busy crossing in Shibuya, Tokyo.

Travel has a wonderful way of recalibrating what constitutes a normal day. One morning you’re eating breakfast in a hotel. A few weeks later you’re somewhere in Mongolia wondering what happened to roads. And somehow, against all reasonable expectations, you keep wanting more.

So wherever you are when the clock runs out on 2008, have a drink, look around and appreciate the strange place you’ve ended up. Relax, there’s another year coming. Happy New Year.