I kept stopping the car every five minutes to take shots like this.

Back near the start of this journey, I spent a day in the Hermitage, the former Winter Palace of the Romanov Tsars, now a treasure house dedicated to the packrat tendencies of those imperial rulers. Two trends were pretty clear: the desire to build as imposing a dwelling place as possible and the need to fill it with art and ornamentation of the very finest quality. After all, those who rule have to awe those who lack the resources to live in similar splendour.

Yesterday, I spent a few hours in the palace of a latter-day emperor: media mogul William Randolph Hearst. His castle at San Simeon is similarly awe-inspiring, perched on a hill overlooking the California coast and strewn with treasures and artworks of the very finest quality. And yet, it was hard not to notice that all of those artworks and treasures were either antiques at least several centuries old or copies in antique style. Whatever their failings, the Romanovs followed the tradition among the powerful and rich of acting as patrons to the artists of their day. I don’t know if Hearst did the same, but there was little that was new about the Castle at San Simeon, apart from the earthquake-proof reinforced concrete structure.

All very different from my experience at the Los Angeles County Art Museum a couple of days before. Whatever your feelings about modern art trends, there’s something admirable about the desire to try new things and see what works, and LACMA is a fine showcase for some fascinating modern pieces.

However, there’s art and then there’s nature, and not much has captivated me on this trip as much as the vistas on the Pacific Coast Highway between San Simeon and Carmel. The drive would have been much shorter had it not been for the constant desire to get out and admire the view every few minutes.

That’s why there’s a photo of the view from the road above rather than of Hearst’s Castle at San Simeon. Well, that and the fact that they have to give written permission before you can publish photos and I forgot to ask.

LA arranged this sunset just for me. Plus a rainbow on the other side of the sky. Nice.

Americans get a bad rap sometimes, with the stereotype of them being loud, obnoxious and culturally insensitive. Sure, I’ve met some Americans who fit that bill, but I’ve also met plenty of Irish who do too, and a fair scattering among other nationalities. In terms of ratios, I suspect that not too much changes wherever you go: there are always assholes. The vast majority of Americans that I’ve known have been some of the warmest, friendliest people it’s been my pleasure to encounter.

Los Angeles provides a case in point. This is the first time on my tour since I left London that I’ve been in the company of a friend, and she and her family couldn’t have been more welcoming to a weary, time zone-addled traveller. Getting to see Los Angeles laid out in front of me at sunset from the rear of their house was a pretty special experience too.

Los Angeles itself is a city I’ve never been to before, though I’ve bracketed it with visits to San Diego and San Francisco. There’s an odd feeling of familiarity about it that comes from place names that show up regularly on television and film: Mulholland Drive, Venice Beach, Rodeo Drive and, of course, Sunset Boulevard. I haven’t visited them all and I probably won’t before I leave, but I have ventured across the city by car and lived to tell the tale. So at least some of my navigational abilities remain intact.

Next up, a trip along the coast, northwards towards San Francisco by way of the Pacific Coast Highway. It’s all rather unplanned from here on in, save a few stops along the way to see friends, but after the scheduled mania of the trip so far, it’s nice to just take it as it comes.

I’m not the world’s biggest sushi fan, but I couldn’t leave Tokyo without trying some. It was probably the best sushi I’ve ever had though, again, that’s not saying a huge amount. Great ambience though.

There’s around eleven hours left to me before the land and sea odyssey that has brought me from London to Tokyo comes to an end and I take to the air, crossing the Pacific from Narita Airport to LAX. From one continent to another, an eleven-hour flight that crosses purposes with the sixteen-hour time difference between where I take off and where I land. For Phileas Fogg, unaware of what he was doing, it was all about earning an extra day to win his wager. For me, I suspect it will feel an awful lot like theft: an entire night foreshortened and left orphaned, forcing me to deal with Friday afternoon all over again.

Then again, one Friday afternoon in Tokyo, the next (or the same one again) in California. Not so bad, really.

Japan has been quite incredible, and I did no more than cut a path across its heart, from the temple-strewn Kyoto and Nara to the hypermodern Tokyo, where touches of old Japan are preserved but mostly kept away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. There’s a lot more to the country than that, from chilly Hokkaido in the north, with the last remnants of the indigenous Ainu people and some fine skiing country, to the subtropical islands of the south, where you really can get away from it all. In one week, I saw some cities and glimpsed the countryside, and what it has done is give me a taste for more. I will be back some day.

For now though, a last few hours to swing around some museums and shops, to see a few things I didn’t want to miss before I went. Neon glamour and fascinating side streets; time to put them in the past for now.

No, I don’t know what that is either.

I had thought that the sprawling megalopolis of Tokyo would defeat my tendency to walk everywhere rather than be sensible and use public transport. I reckoned without the power of a sunny day and a liberal sprinkling of useful streetside maps. Though it did take me a while to get used to the fact that the maps aren’t oriented north=up but rather according to the direction the reader is facing. Makes a surprising amount of sense, really.

I did take the JR Yamanote line in the morning, down to Shinbashi Station, but having strolled around the Hama-Rikyū gardens, it only made sense to check out the Tsukiji Fish Market (sadly closed) on foot, then to wander through Ginza, up to the Imperial Palace Gardens. Okay, so the walk from there through Roppongi to the famous Shibuya crossing was maybe a little excessive, but heading north from there, through Yoyogi Park and past the beautiful Meiji Shrine was actually quite relaxing. And once there, it was only a brief stroll to Shinjuku and the free observatory on the 45th floor of the Metropolitan Government offices. Sadly, despite the blue skies, the distant Mt Fuji was lost in the haze.

You’d think, after all that, I’d be crazy to try and walk back to the hotel. And you’d be right – I hopped on a JR train to Ueno, getting back just before sunset. Seriously – this is why it might be better for me to travel solo every so often. As much as I enjoy perambulating around a new city, I’d feel guilty dragging someone else all that way.

Tokyo marks the eastward terminus of this journey by land and sea – in a couple of days, I take to the skies for a flight to LA, landing several hours before I arrive. I don’t know how many times one has to cross the International Date Line before it ceases to be fun, but I suspect it’s quite a few in my case.

One more full day here and most of the next. Having done my strolling, perhaps some museums and the like are in order? First though, another stroll, this time out to see the neon of Akihabara by night.

The land of the Rising Sun indeed.

How do you arrange a perfect morning? There are plenty of recipes, but this one worked well for me.

First, head to bed early, due to a rolling sea that tires you out and kills your appetite. This allows you to wake up at 3.30am, unable to sleep. As a result, you go out on deck and lie on a bench, looking up at the stars, enjoying the balmy and breezy night more or less on your own.

After that, you can return to bed and snooze for a while, only to reemerge at about 5.30am, just as the eastern sky is starting to lighten. Then spend about an hour just sitting there, watching as the sun comes up over the land of the Rising Sun, listening to the soundtrack to Halo, redolent of an encounter with things ancient, technologically advanced and wondrous.

After breakfast, you can watch Japan’s rugged and lush coastline pass by as the ferry pulls into Sakaiminato harbour, one side of which is industrial, the other the aforementioned lushness. You can listen to Ludovico Einaudi’s soaring Divenire too. Tears? Nah, just the wind in my eyes.

At this stage, customs will hold no fear for you, even if they are a bit put out at your lack of accommodation planning.

A very fine way to start a birthday, I tell you.

P.S. I wrote the above while going through customs in Sakaiminato. Right now, several hours and three train journeys (the last on the “Nozomi” Super Express Shinkansen, which officially travels at Ludicrous Speed), I’m in Kyoto’s shopping district, having gone wandering from my ryokan and finally found a usable wifi network. Still, all the above still holds. And Japan is delightful thus far.

Another food post? Why not…

Right at this moment, I’m having dinner at the lovely Moloko & Med (Milk & Honey) in Vladivostok. Nothing as fancy as my St. Petersburg repast – just meatballs and fried potatoes, but beautifully prepared and very tasty. It seems somehow appropriate to mark my last full day in Russia in a way that mirrors one of my first, thousands of miles away from here.

It’s been a long, strange trip. A couple of 3-4 day train trips, interspersed with smaller journeys and memorable moments. Wandering around Gorky Park at sunset, being footsore on Nevsky Prospekt, diving into the chilly waters of Lake Baikal and catching two sunrises in one morning in Terelj National Park in Mongolia. Here in Vladivostok, I’ve mostly been enjoying the experience of just being here, but the half-built form of the Golden Horn bridge that dominates the city has provided some memorable views and moments of its own.

Tomorrow, all being well, I’ll hop on a ferry to Korea, then Japan. (If all isn’t well, I’ll have 24 hours to come up with an alternative exit before my visa runs out.) A very different experience to what has come before, I suspect, but one I’m really looking forward to. One thing that this trip has brought home to me is that a bit of open-mindedness and adventure can take you a long way. (That and the advantages that fate brought to make this trip possible, but it all works together in the end.)

That’s enough for now. Dessert is on the way, then I have a hill to climb and a sunset to watch. Should be a fine way to wrap up this leg of the adventure.

…at last we meet.

After more than ten thousand kilometres by rail and sea (I’ll figure out exactly how many some day) I hit Vladivostok before dawn this morning. And promptly went for an espresso to wake me up. I need a shower and a change of clothes. Possibly a change of skin too. We’ll see.

The San Francisco of the East is building its own Golden Gate to connect the east and west halves of the city. There are few things more delicate-looking than half-completed bridges, and this one was doubly so this morning, wreathed in mist and silhouetted against the eastern sky. When it’s finished, it will be magnificent, soaring over the city’s main street. For now, it’s a massive building site, but still magnificent in its own way.

I’d hate to be the person who has to climb to work each day in one of those high cranes though…

I’m about to drop off the edge of the Internet for a while again, on a three day trip from Ulan Ude to Vladivostok. Before I go though, I leave you with a mystery.

A long time ago, when I was in Moscow, I spotted a granny on the Metro, carrying her groceries in a familiar-looking bag. Closer inspection revealed that it was indeed a Dunnes Stores “Bag for Life”. Weird, I thought, and kept on about my business.

Except that I’ve seen them a few times since then, all across Russia. The one in my possession, pictured above, came from a Russian tour guide, who said that her company had handed them out to its staff.

So just why are Dunnes Stores bags so popular behind the former Iron Curtain? Do they have prized aesthetic or structural qualities? Do their owners dream of coming to Ireland and shopping under the hallowed green banner one day? Or did Dunnes just make far too many of the things and flog them off to foreign markets to recoup some cash?

Answers on a postcard please. (Don’t send them anywhere, just write them on a postcard.)

I could have posted a photo of eagles or vultures. Of yaks or Mongolian ponies. Of Turtle Rock or the sun rising over the hills of Terejl National Park. But no, this was my first encounter with Mongolia, so you get it too.

It amused the hell out of me, both for the Star Trek reference and the fact that, having had a snack box at work for the past 12 years, it does look like they’re the local franchise of Ireland’s famous King Crisps. Sadly, that’s about the only way they resemble them, as they have an appearance and texture not dissimilar to polystyrene packaging pellets.

Right now I’m in a cafe in Ulaanbaatar, having spent last night in a ger camp and yesterday trying all sorts of Mongolian activities, from archery to anklebones, with a little horseriding thrown in too. I’m off to museums this afternoon, then heading out in search of Mongolian beer.

And yes, photos of all of those other things will appear on Flickr before too long. I’m not whimsical all the time…