Breathing fog out of my mouth, we stride the streets embraced by the darkness of the winter tail-end dawn. I feel my body shivering not because of the cold weather, but of my overflowing enthusiasm knowing only the thick walls separate me before I finally lay eyes on the Taj Mahal. It has been a long journey for me to get here – both literally and figuratively.

Ever since we hopped inside an airport cab at Kolkata and seen with my own eyes the wild street activities of our first destination in India, my mind was set in gleeful anticipation of seeing this famous landmark, which the late great Rabindranath Tagore refers to as “a teardrop on the cheek of time”.

Agra, where the Taj is located is penciled on the first leaf of our 25-day journey across India and our third stop after Kolkata and Varanasi – two cities that has gifted me with loads of wonderful experience and a wealth of knowledge, aside from slowly familiarizing me with the local life in India. Despite the sensory overload brought upon by a myriad of religious activities we witnessed at the Ghats along the holy Ganges River at Varanasi, I am still betting on Taj Mahal to top that experience.

A 12-hour sleeper train journey later, we arrived at Agra the previous day under mask of the afternoon dust and the normal chaos of train stations dotting the length of India’s inner belly. Figuratively, my journey to Taj Mahal began when I first read a book about famous landmarks in my school's library way back in grade school. Since then, I became consumed by the idea that I should visit it someday.

As the sun slowly rises from the horizon and sunlight began to sweep our surroundings, we're introduced to a flood of humanity all waiting in line at the gates. Slowly, as the queue starts to move I feel my heart beating faster. In a matter of seconds later, I catch my first glimpse of the grand structure and in one synchronized motion I pump my fist and drop my jaw in sheer awe.

Long gone are the camel trains that transported the glistening marbles used to construct the Taj Mahal. It is now replaced by mechanical trains that run surprisingly efficient. The men and women in bright sari clothing have remained along with the long lasting aura of love still enveloping the magical journey through time of Taj Mahal. Playing the integral part behind the story of this 17th century mausoleum was Emperor Shah Jahan, of the Mughal Dynasty. Disconsolate at the death of his favorite wife; Mumtaz Mahal after giving birth to their 14th child in 1631, the Shah envisioned the monument he ordered built in the same year, to be his posthumous gift and never-ending symbol of love for his departed wife.

It took more than 20 years before the Taj Mahal rose with unmatched splendor the world had ever seen on the banks of the Yamuna River in 1654. Artists, marble sculptures and cutters from all over India were summoned along with more than 20,000 workers and toiled for the whole duration to decorate the interiors of the Taj Mahal with impressive carvings and calligraphy that matches its combination of Indian, Mughal, Islamic and Persian architecture to perfection.

As the crowd made its way to the Taj, I and my friend Aileen stood behind dozens of visitors parallel to the reflecting pool giving us a full view of the Taj with the four towering minarets impeccably framing the main tomb. We took our sweet time slowly pacing our steps towards the grand building housing the tombs of Shah Jahan and Mumtaz Mahal.

Like dining on an expensive slab of steak, I was chewing the experience little by little. Taking photographs from afar and gazing to appreciate every detail of the Taj’s exterior. As I crept closer, the main marble dome and the ornamental spires spreading from the limits of the base walls appear more spectacular – instantly I feel my architecture-junky-self experiencing optical orgasm. Despite the hordes of us tourists crawling all over the massive compound, the sheer size of the Taj Mahal dwarfs my existence and I imagined myself being just one of the thousands of workers who labored to build this extraordinary landmark.

Inside, visitors can only see the replica tombs of Shah Jahan and Mumtaz Mahal in a plain interior consisting of marble walls and nary of unnecessary aesthetics, as their actual sarcophagi are housed in the basement where it is locked from view of anyone.

The bare interiors appear anti-climactic in stark contrast from the visceral feast adorning the exterior, where one can appreciate the several decorative elements believed to be the finest representation of Mughal architecture. Scanning the exterior walls, one can see a variety of abstract forms of vegetation motifs, calligraphy of Persian poems and other intricately designed marble tiles.

As the cool wind descends from the Yamuna River and gleams of sunlight illuminates the Taj Mahal, an otherworldly photographic reflection is created making the scene look more surreal than what I am already feeling at that instant. I mouth the word “wow” for the last time as I sit still slowly trailing all my thoughts behind. Realizing the high of the moment, I rejoice at the thought that we are still at the first part of our journey to India and what better way to spend the passing of time while I stare at the Taj Mahal. Not soon after, I feel a smile dominating my face as I revel at the eternal splendor and the love shared by Shah Jahan and Mumtaz Mahal both in life and in death.

The lyrics to an Audioslave song hums in my head “I walk the streets of Japan till I get lost. Cause it doesn't remind me of anything”, as I find myself on a slow stride along the random streets of Tokyo. Fresh visuals regales me everywhere I direct my gaze, regardless of the countless films I watched beforehand set on this bustling city of 13 million souls. Exploring a new city always presents the best feeling in the world – the sensation of not knowing what situates around the bend, only learning about it as I turn and walk closer, gifts me with an ultimate high always reminding me why I love to travel.

A total contrast of the streets of India and other third-world cities like Manila, but equally magnanimous when it comes to sheer street activities, my every observation is quickly followed with another interesting scene. "This is the real Tokyo" I told myself - still finding it hard to believe how luck inserted Japan to my calendar year just before 2015 was about to end. Not even with my multiple viewings of “Lost in Translation” and reading Haruki Murakami’s novels would prepare me for such visual blitz.

Arriving from a sleeper bus from Nagoya into a heavy downpour in Tokyo the first light of a Sunday morning, had me not looking beyond an 8 hour slumber. My first agenda other than running away from the rain taking shelter under numerous sheds of high rise buildings, is to locate Oak Cabin Hostel. Doing so ushered me towards my first encounter with the vaunted complexity of Tokyo’s mass transit system.

Highly efficient but at the same time challenging to most travelers. My first attempt had me taking the wrong train and ending up on another part of the city. Asking for directions, a commuter showed me the station I was supposed to take, on his mobile phone showing an app written in Japanese. I didn’t understand anything he said except one vital information; "download this" while pointing to an app called Tokyo Rail Map on his iPhone.

I booked a $22.00 capsule bed at this place a week prior at Agoda.com mainly because it is located strategically beside a river that would afford me a view of the narrow harbor – which I imagined would be spectacular come sunrise or sunset time. Under a blanket of dark skies and drenched from miniscule raindrops I quickly located my hostel after I finally took the right train – alighting at Kayabacho station, I walked for 10 minutes guided by Google Map.

On my way I passed by a place housing Pachinko machines which evokes a long forgotten childhood memory about a similar toy I had when I was 8 years old. These though, comes in technologically advanced machines used popularly in Japan as a form of recreational video game, but has since became a commonly used gambling device. Inside I saw a diverse group of patrons ranging from students to professionals whiling their time away in deep concentration, making me wonder if they are just playing these video games for leisure or engaged in a bit of wagering. Probing further, I realized it was all fun and games and came into a conclusion that this is one of those wholesome Pachinko game dens popular in Japan – I figured the gambling versions are probably tucked away hidden from sight.

Situated at the Chuo-ku (‘Central Ward’) part of downtown Tokyo, the five-story Oak Cabin Hostel is also a five minute walking distance from the famous Tsukiji fish market. The first floor houses the male dorms while the reception and the living room and kitchen is located at the second floor. I picked the mixed-dorm at the third floor where my capsule bed became my home in Tokyo for the next four nights.

Still reeling from a long night of bus travel and feeling a bit under the weather, I wouldn’t let a chance of meeting an old friend get shelved just because I am starting to feel my age. Summoning my old self of accomplishing a lot in a day each time I travel, we decided to meet at Meiji Shrine.

My friend Ada is also a travel writer and is now based in Yokohama along with her US Navy husband Eric Wilkinson. It has been a few years since I last saw her and what better way to catch up than in the city of Tokyo.

Taking the train with help of my Tokyo Rail Map app, I arrived at Shinjuku station 30 minutes earlier than our agreed time. Instantly, I was overwhelmed by the sheer number of people – a balance mix of foreign travelers and locals. I saw a few Japanese ladies dressed in colorful cosplay costumes, hipsters, professionals, students, backpackers and groups of tourists representing many nationalities.

Suddenly, it dawned on me. I am really in the city of Tokyo. The same city my then single mother explored for a couple of weeks in the late 1960s and appears like a distant world on her black and white photographs. The same metropolis I always wanted to see before any cities in the world not located in India. 

Already in the company of Ada and Eric, we took a short stroll towards Meiji Shrine – a Shinto monument dedicated to the consecrated spirits of Emperor Meiji and his Empress Shōken. Completed in 1920 and tucked inside a 70 hectare garden in the middle of Tokyo, it is encapsulated by an evergreen forest consisting of more than 120,000 trees comprising 365 variety of species.

Inside, we witnessed a Shinto wedding march featuring a beautiful bride appearing radiantly in her white traditional kimono dress highlighted by a ‘tsuno-kakushi’ (white hat) while closely followed by her maidens. While we lost sight of the wedding entourage as the couple approaches the priest at the altar, I was glad to have observed such happening inside Meiji Shrine. 

Feeling lonely as my travel companions at Nagoya all flew back to Manila the previous night – except for Lilliane, who took a bullet train to her sister’s city the same night. I observed the childlike sweetness being exhibited in front of me between the Ada and her husband Eric. I think about my then girlfriend who always dreamed of coming to Japan. Right there and then I promised myself (which appears irrelevant now) to make plans as soon as I get back to Manila to travel back to Tokyo with her in tow.  

After walking a few more streets and corners and having late lunch together, I started feeling delving deeper into sick bay. I bid goodbye to Ada and Eric and opted to spend the remains of the day tucked under the sheet of my small capsule bed. That night, I slept soundly for more than 8 hours, recuperating my body just in time for the next few days filled with continuous wanderings in the streets of Tokyo. 

Next Part: Japanese Food-trippin, Museum hopping, Shibuya Crossing, Selfie with Hachiko and more Tokyo Walks and trainspotting.