My last Far East trip

First comes the anticipation, that initial jet of warm water, that miraculous searching, finding the sweet spot, then heaven on earth as it cleans and caresses.

- ROY HALL

As if by magic, warm, soothing wafts of air gently and sensuously dry my tush. I had forgotten just how wonderful Japanese toilets can be.

It was 5am in Tokyo. I was on my way to Hong Kong, but my ticket demanded a change of planes. Haneda Airport was empty, save for a woman driving a golf cart. She offered me a ride to the other side of the airport where some restaurants were. As we drove off, the cart started playing "Around her neck, she wore a yellow ribbon," filling the cavernous hall with echoes of John Wayne astride his horse, galloping through Monument Valley.

Looming in the distance was a sign: "24-hour Sushi."

First, my nether region was expertly washed and dried-now sushi? The fish was so fresh, it was glistening. This was some airport! The flight from New York had started well except that after I had settled in, I removed my shoes to discover I was still wearing my sheepskin slippers. Apparently, when the taxi arrived, I grabbed my bag and left home, leaving my sneakers in the hall. A reminder why it is time to retire.

I discussed politics with the taxi driver who took me to my hotel from the Hong Kong airport. At first he was reluctant to say anything.

Draconian laws had just passed making criticizing the government dangerous. I told him I had been in Hong Kong during the umbrella movement, which occupied a commercial district for almost 80 days. The demonstrators used umbrellas to deflect the police's pepper spray. "At that time, people were very angry," I said.