Morning light on the Kamo. The air is sharper now, that final, crisp edge of winter before the full shift. It's the kind of morning where the routine feels intentional, a slow brew, the scratch of the stylus on the first side. This issue is about looking back, not with nostalgia, but to remember the moment the trajectory changed.
01 / THE PULSE - The Sunday Ritual (2015)
This isn’t my best photograph. Far from it. In 2015, I barely understood how my bulky Canon DSLR worked, buying it only for a trip that hadn't yet defined me.
This was Tokyo, a hazy Sunday morning, just hours after I landed for my very first visit to Japan. I was walking near the Sumida River, close to the SkyTree, when I stumbled upon a baseball game. Men and Women in their 40s and 50s, meticulously geared up, just playing.
To photograph them felt intimate, invasive. I was timid, so I shot from the periphery, pressing the lens against the cold grillage. It was in that quiet moment, immense city, deep calm, that everything clicked. The "douceur de vivre."
It was the direct opposite of the frantic pulse of Paris. I knew, standing on that dust path, that I couldn't just visit. I had to live here.
02 / THE BREW - NITO Coffee&Craft Beer CHIKKO, Osaka
Sometimes the best finds are the result of a detour. While heading to the Chikko area for a favorite hat boutique near the aquarium, I spent an hour at NITO, a roastery and craft beer taproom housed in a beautifully renovated former laundry shop.
The ground floor is all sharp tiles and roasting gear, but the second floor shifts the mood entirely. It feels like a traveler’s hideout, spacious, quiet, and furnished with vintage trunks serving as tables.
While the roast profile is approachable rather than experimental, the pairing of a warm banana bread topped with a cold scoop of ice cream makes it a nice sanctuary. It’s the kind of "slow" spot that feels far removed from the usual tourist rush of the port.
03 / THE SPIN - YeYe - 10
Before Kyoto became my home, it was a soundscape. I spent months listening to YeYe while preparing for my move, her discography acting as a quiet bridge between my life in France and the streets I now walk.
Based right here in Kyoto, YeYe (Natsuko Shu) captures a specific kind of "organic melancholy." Her album 10 celebrates a decade of independent craft, it's pop, folk, but it’s textured with the DIY spirit of an artist who isn't afraid of space. It is the perfect companion for a slow morning with a V60 Coffee.
If you’re looking for a starting point, "Yurayura" remains a masterpiece of rhythmic restraint.
04 / THE SIGNAL - Never Too Small , Quarterly Magazine
I’ve been a long-time follower of their YouTube channel, but there is something fundamentally different about holding their "Mook" (Magazine-Book) in your hands.
I recently pulled the trigger on a full subscription and even hunted down the back issues to complete the set. Published four times a year, the Never Too Small magazine is a masterclass in layout and architectural curation.
You don't need to be an architect to appreciate the intentionality behind these compact spaces; it’s about the philosophy of living better with less.
There’s a specific joy in finding a fresh, beautifully designed issue in the mailbox, taking it to a local cafe, and slowing down to study the floor plans. It’s "small-scale" inspiration in a high-end format.
05 / THE THOUGHT - The Fragility of the "New"
There is a strange rhythm to Japanese commerce. You often see signs proudly proclaiming "Since 2023," a stark contrast to the centenarian tea shops around the corner. While Japan respects legacy, the lifespan of a local café is often fleeting, a constant "va-et-vient" driven by shifting trends and rising rents.
The recent closing of Sarasa hit close to home. While their Sento location is the famous one, my heart was in their Sanjo Shotengai spot for the pizzas, and the downtown branch for their Yuzu Karaage, my "cantine" during my student days. It’s a reminder that our favorite third places are fragile.
A new owner has stepped in, but whether the identity remains is a gamble. In a city that feels eternal, these closures remind us to appreciate the textures of our daily routines while they still exist.
These stories are better when they’re shared. If you’ve ever had a "click" moment in a new city or a favorite local haunt that disappeared too soon, I’d love to hear about it in the comments.
Stay grounded, and see you next week.
-Nicolas
