The hour is late. Or early. The distinction blurs in the concrete canyons of Shinjuku, doesn't it?

In Tokyo, the subways are always on time - at least until the clock hits 12am. Just as many cities are coming alive, Tokyo grinds to a halt. Miss the last train and you’ll find yourself locked out, staring at the gates as the overhead lights blink out like eyelids.

Japan doesn’t endure chaos, it embraces it. Earthquakes, typhoons, sieges, fire - this is a land that knows natural disasters like an old friend, one who keeps you sharp. And nowhere does that relationship show more than in its castles.

Forget Europe’s crumbling stone fortresses. Think Himeji: a white heron poised to take flight. Think Osaka’s hulking rebirth, all concrete and defiance. Think Hiroshima—a phoenix risen from atomic ash. These places aren’t static monuments. They’re living lessons in antifragility, carved in wood, plaster, and sheer stubbornness.

There's something about Japan that makes you want to burn every goddamn photo you've ever taken anywhere else.

It’s not just the temples, all serene wood and meticulously raked gravel, looking like they were art-directed by some Zen master with an Ansel Adams fetish. Or the neon-drenched canyons of Shinjuku, where every sign, every epileptic screen, feels deliberately placed for maximum visual impact. No, it’s the people - this entire country is a masterclass in aesthetics.