All posts filed under: Wanderlusting

Cateriam: A Cat Cafe in Tokyo

Shimokitazawa is popular for its independent music scene and trendy boutiques. Delicious restaurants line the streets serving almost anything you want from actual poutine and handmade udon noodles to spaghetti and okara donuts. Most importantly, Shimokita is where you’ll find Cateriam—an adorable cafe where you can sip green tea lattes like a queen while letting your freaky cat lady flag fly. About a block or two from the train station, there’s a doorway with a Cateriam sign right next to a 7-Eleven. You climb up a flight of stairs and enter through another set of doors. A friendly proprietor will use an English menu to explain the rules. You basically prepay for the amount of time you plan on staying, and if you’d like, you have the option to add on food or drinks. You’ll take off your shoes then place your things in a cubby hole. Once you wash your hands, you’re free to commence with the all-you-can-snuggle fest. I will admit that my animal rescue side was a little anxious before I arrived—I’ve heard one …

A Wildness Within

There is a wild place. Untouched by life, yet very much alive, this place sits at the base of a mountain on the edge of a vast grassland. Experience tells me to look toward the sun. Its brightness, coupled with the flatness of the land, ensures an unobstructed view for miles on end. No hills to climb. Nothing to fear. There is plenty of time to seek shelter when storms approach. My body tells me I am meant for warmth. But in this wild place where sunlight abruptly stops, shadows whisper, “What if?” I respond by pointing my gaze toward the West, away from the warmth of the rising sun, to find my individual story. My restlessness drives me to madness, and in this wild place, I will either find greatness or fall. “No artist is pleased. [There is] no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a queer divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others.” —Martha Graham Source: Image by David DeHetre (cc)

On Running Away

Once I ran away because I could. That’s the best part about being an adult, you know. A credit card and a full tank of gas will take you anywhere. Distance is easy. Apply foot to pedal. Don’t stop. The hard part is forgetting who you are and letting yourself go. Those winding, cliffside roads meant slowing down before turns and speeding up after. The weight of my body shifting to the side and down low as I took corners tight and fast. Brake. Turn. Gas. If a piece of machinery can have a soul, then I felt it in my little old lady of a car at each turn. No cellular reception meant no GPS, and no GPS meant being completely, brilliantly, fantastically lost. I reached a seaside town. Population 800 or so. Checked into the cutest bed and breakfast (are B&Bs ever not cute?) nestled beside a used bookstore. I bought a book. An actual book with pages to turn instead of screens to swipe. And on the edge of a cliff overlooking …