I'm sitting in a cafe overlooking Kyoto. The river is like a strip of somewhere else in this otherwise extended concrete slab. That halts abruptly at the mountains. Almost a mountain stream, the speed of water is of a refreshing alpine pace to that of the downstream Osakan Dotonbori. By then a sluggish, dirty, almost black beast with a slick, oily surface. Sitting in such high places is not conducive to the relaxation expected of green tea in a cafe. Somehow the eagle's perch put me on guard-I'm too exposed.