A few months ago, I got an instant message from my friend Ryan in San Francisco. The conversation went something like this:
Ryan: Want to go to Japan in a few months?
Me: Sure! Are you serious?
Ryan: Sure! Are you?
Me: Sure!
And then I panicked.
A few weeks later, when I was finished panicking, I bought plane tickets and a JR pass, and with that, the whole thing started to seem inevitable and therefore strangely less terrifying. The initial terror, of course, wasn’t because I didn’t want to go to Japan—I’d been wanting to for years—but because I’d never been overseas, let alone somewhere where I wouldn’t be able to communicate and where people eat funny food and where they’d probably all think I was terribly rude. But, hey, it’s Japan! So we planned the trip and we did it.
Ryan and I pretty much stuck together for most of the trip, although there were a few places I explored on my own, largely because Ryan’s allergic to fish. (This does make it a little harder to eat in Japan, as we suspected it would, although Jason assured us that he survived even though he’s one of those strange people who can eat fish but doesn’t like to.)
Ryan discovered in Japan that he is an American ninja.