Where Tokyo Begins

When you arrive in Japan—especially Tokyo—there’s this immediate, overwhelming question: Where do I even start?

It’s dense. It’s beautiful. It’s layered in a way that makes you realize pretty quickly that no amount of planning will ever feel like enough.

Knowing that, I tried to be intentional. I pre-planned a few anchors for the trip: hit at least three cities, take a high-speed train, wander a few markets, check off some of the “must-see” spots. The usual stuff. But when it was all said and done, the only real feeling I had was wishing I could stay longer.

My first trip was two weeks. Honestly, I wish it had been a month. Or ninety days.

Because at first, you do want to get the touristy things out of the way—the big sights, the temples, the landmarks. Mount Fuji, of course. And then there’s the food. Always the food.

But Japan reveals itself slowly. For such a relatively small country, it feels vast. Every city has its own rhythm. Every neighborhood feels like a different world. And the more time you spend there, the more you realize how much you’re still missing.

From immersive digital spaces like teamLab, to dense downtown streets glowing at night, to quiet, traditional areas that feel untouched by time—it’s all there. And then, somehow, the food still manages to be the highlight.

Street photography, especially, is incredible in Japan. If you like heading out with a small camera and simply observing—architecture, signage, people, texture, light—it’s hard to beat. At first, I thought the rain might get in the way. Too wet. Too messy. But then I realized it was perfect. The reflections. The color. The way everything comes alive.

Tokyo alone could take a lifetime. One of the largest cities in the world, made up of countless distinct pockets, each with its own personality. You can wander endlessly and never feel like you’ve seen the same thing twice.

If you have any real freedom in your schedule, trust me—whatever time you plan won’t be enough. You’ll already be thinking about the next trip before the first one ends.

And that’s probably a good place to leave this one.

More to come.

Tokyo, Japan

Words and photograph by Tony Frantz

First Light in Bar Harbor

Getting to Maine—and more specifically Bar Harbor—takes commitment.

It’s a haul for most people, whether you’re driving from the East Coast, coming in from the Midwest, or flying nearby and finishing the trip by car.

But if you time it right, the journey becomes part of the reward.

My suggestion: arrive early. Really early.

There’s something about pulling through those small towns and winding roads as the morning light first arrives. The sun lifts slowly, reflecting off narrow waterways and quiet inlets, revealing the landscape piece by piece. By the time you reach Bar Harbor, the place has already introduced itself—subtly, patiently.

It’s hard to explain. You kind of have to experience it yourself.

Once you arrive, find a place to eat. There’s no shortage of options, even early in the morning. Lobster omelets. Lobster rolls. Or one of the best things I’ve ever eaten—a lobster cake, which I suppose is technically a lobster crab cake, but whatever you call it, it was incredible.

The light here is unreal.

This image is from early morning, shot by drone, capturing that first glow as it spreads across the harbor. Boats resting. Water barely moving. A calm that feels almost borrowed from somewhere else. It reminds me of Norway—at least the version of Norway I imagine. That soft, northern light that people travel across the world to see.

Bar Harbor rewards early risers.

Get up before the town fully wakes. Walk everywhere—it’s one of the most walkable places I’ve ever been. Watch the harbor come to life. The boats, the birds, the people easing into the day. It’s all there, quietly waiting.

Give yourself at least two or three days. More if you can.

And if you go—send me a postcard.

Something tells me you’ll want to come back every year.

Bar Harbor, Maine

Words and photograph by Tony Frantz

Miami in Layers

Flying into Miami hits you immediately.

You land, grab an Uber or a taxi, and within minutes you’re surrounded by heat, color, density, and motion. It’s one of those cities where the transition from airport to street already feels like part of the experience.

For this trip, I split my time.

Half in Brickell—Miami’s downtown core—where everything rises vertically. Tall buildings. Big business. Luxury. Restaurants, shops, energy. It’s fast, polished, and undeniably modern. Hot weather, good food, and a sense that things are always happening just out of view.

Highly recommended.

But equally important: get to the beach.

For me, the key was absorption. Spend time walking Brickell. Sit somewhere. Watch how the city moves. Check out a few spots. And yes—this is touristy, but worth it—hop on one of those buses that loop through the city. It’s an easy way to see how Miami is stitched together. Little Havana. South Beach. Neighborhoods that feel completely different from one another.

That’s really the decision you make in Miami:

Downtown or beach.

Hotels in the city or hotels by the water.

Both are great. You just have to choose how you want to split your time.

One of the most exciting things about Miami—beyond the obvious—is that it’s still evolving. Still building. Still renovating. Still becoming. It feels like a city actively deciding what it wants to be next, and that energy is everywhere.

And when you do get to the beach, it’s hard to only do beach time.

The Art Deco architecture is so present, so alive, that it pulls you off the sand and back into the city. You want to walk. You want to explore. You want to see museums, galleries, details you didn’t expect.

But don’t skip South Beach.

The light. The water. The people. The scale of it all. It’s a global hotspot for a reason. Day shoots. Night scenes. Neon, shadows, movement. There’s no shortage of moments—or images—waiting to be made.

I’ll leave this one here for now.

More to come. I brought back plenty.

Miami, Florida

Words and photographs by Tony Frantz

Porto, Like a Postcard

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Portugal.

Porto, specifically.

From the moment you arrive, it feels like you’ve stepped into a postcard—or maybe out of one. It’s hard to tell which. Either way, the feeling sticks.

You arrive, make your way down toward the water, and suddenly everything opens up. Boats moving slowly along the river. A bridge connecting the two sides of the city. Cable cars climbing the hills. Restaurants stacked into the hillside. People everywhere. Life happening in layers.

It really does feel magical. Dreamy, even.

What’s most striking is how the city is built into itself. Porto doesn’t sit beside the water—it leans into it. Buildings rise organically from the river’s edge, worn and beautiful, full of history and texture. Travelers from all over the world come for this exact reason: the architecture, the layout, the light, the scene.

And of course—the food and the drinks are world class.

The photographs almost take themselves. Every direction offers another frame. In some places, it reminded me of Spain, and we did make our way to Lisbon as well, but Porto has its own gravity. Slower. More intimate.

It’s also incredibly walkable. For not much money, you can stay in a small, charming hotel near the water and spend your days wandering—through history, music, museums, and art. One afternoon led to a world-famous bookstore, where I found one of my favorite books, The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway. That felt like one of those small, perfect travel moments you don’t plan for.

Sunsets here are something special. Soft, golden, reflective. The kind that makes you slow down, take a few photos, and then quietly plan the next day.

The place we stayed had sister hotels throughout Europe—and even its own winery. Drinking wine from the place you’re staying adds a subtle kind of magic. An extra layer you don’t forget.

So once again, my advice is simple:

Get there. Walk everywhere. Soak it in.

Porto rewards presence.

Porto, Portugal

Words and photograph by Tony Frantz