Detour

Excuse me while I whip this out:

How you know you live in Japan:

“Chunky” and “smooth” are not choices for peanut butter, but options for red bean paste.

You carry an extra bag on all of your trips, because you’re going ot have four boxes of omiyage for your coworkers and neighbors.

Every ramen restaurant has the potential to be the next GREAT ramen restaurant. And even if it isn’t the next GREAT one, it will by no means be anything less than good.

You are fully aware that if you can’t open a package with ease, it is due to user error.

You eat convenience store food on a regular basis, insist it’s relatively healthy, and can rank the major chains in order of the appetizingness of their menus.

How you know you live in RURAL Japan:

You appreciate the Gaijin barrier between you and the other commuters on the local train during rush-hour.

Riding your bicycle fifteen kilometers one way for an onsen and lunch trip? Challenge accepted.

You go to the next town (at least) to purchase alcohol, which you then hide at the bottom of the grocery bag or in your backpack for the trip home. You would never consider buying cigarettes, condoms, tampons, or any other personal and/or potentially hazardous product while you are on your home island, on the very probable chance that someone will see you, recognize you, look in your bag, and tell their mom, dad, sister, brother, neighbors, and dog about your purchases.

The word “gutter” no longer brings to mind gentle sloping divots in the concrete that end in a grate where the dog’s tennis ball is occasionally and unfortunately wedged. It now conjors up images of giant trenches, deep and wide enough to house a French platoon in WW1 and pouring out rice-paddy drainage at every corner.

You are invited to parties, events, clubs, and private family dinners – and *gasp* they expect you to show up. 

More travel journal later.