It's a beautiful, sunny summer day here. The four of us just returned from a long Sunday morning walk to Interz for our weekly fix. Interz is a groovy little independent coffee shop where they roast your coffee while you wait. The owners, a husband and wife, greeted us and the dogs enthusiastically, and offered us the outside table while we waited (and drank fantastic iced coffee . . . mmm). The dogs, hot from the walk, lay in the shade and watched the street as people drove or walked by, staring at them. As we were settling up for the coffee, the owners chatted with us and pet the dogs, until Aki wandered away to lie down on the sidewalk. Another visitor to the shop also came outside to meet the dogs, giving Moki lots of pets and a big hug. Moki was in heaven, all swept-back ears and outstretched head, blissed-out look on his fuzzy black face.

We left for home with an invitation to bring the dogs back for a visit on our next coffee run, a bag of freshly roasted Kenya AA, and a pair of tired, happy Akita dogs. Life is good.

If there's one thing Matthew and I love, it's a good road trip. Road tripping in Japan is no exception. Driving on the opposite side of the road did not take as much adjustment as I anticipated, although much like I did last year, Matthew might beg to differ.

Prior to leaving, we sought advice on the best way to get from Kitakami to Narita Airport, located northeast of Tokyo. We were advised that taking expressways all the way would be best -- and would require that we go through Tokyo. The navigation system in the Cube ("Navi") agreed. So, being a mapless people with no further intelligence, we headed down the beautiful Tohoku Expressway toward Tokyo.

Navigating the Tokyo expressway system had sort of a latter-day "Cannonball Run" feel to it, between Navi's pinging and spoken directions, Matthew's translation of said directions, and proffering of snacks. The expressways themselves were narrow, fast-moving, mostly high-walled roads that were surprisingly easy to drive. Well, easy to drive as long as I focused on staying in my lane, and not on the tankers and tour buses passing me (properly) on the right. Or on the bridges. Especially the ones rising up into high, steep, banked curves. Then I felt like I needed to barf. Or have a beer. Or have a beer after I barfed. Overall, though, driving through Tokyo was easier than driving through, say, Nashville. We got onto the Higashi-Kanto Expressway and to Narita Airport without incident.

At the airport, we met up with our friends and tremendously generous hosts, the Ikezawas, and we settled in to wait. And wait we did. Puller appeared about an hour and twenty minutes after the flight landed, followed by Animal Quarantine Service (AQS) staff pushing carts carrying two...giant...crates. Giant crates meant one thing: FUZZY DOGS!

The AQS people were very efficient and helpful, and we were able to get through the paperwork and out of the airport in relatively short order. For Aki and Moki, this meant freedom from their shipping crates (which we will probably never be able to get them to enter again) and the opportunity to walk around the parking lot before returning to the Ikezawas' house for a relaxing evening and good night's sleep before the next day's trip. It also meant their first trip in the Cube, through the narrowest streets I had driven to date, after dark. It was like navigating streets in Georgetown, but even narrower, and on a different side of the road from the one I drove on for the previous eighteen years.

After a lovely visit with the Ikezawas, including the dogs' first walk in Japan, we piled into the Cube and headed north. We chose an alternate route home, up the coast of Ibaraki Prefecture (surfers -- woo!) to the Joban Expressway, and back to the Tohoku Expressway. Because the Joban Expressway runs sort of east-west across Honshu, we were crossing mountain ranges, rather than running alongside them as we did on the Tohoku Expressway. I believe "Joban" means "tunnel, bridge, tunnel, bridge, tunnel, bridge road" in Japanese, but I could be wrong.

Once we were back on the Tohoku Expressway, the familiarity of the road made us giddy. We knew where we were, and we were on our way home with the rest of our family -- sun shining down on us, descending into the valley overlooking the town of Ichinoseki as we crossed into Iwate Prefecture, and Talking Heads singing "Once in a Lifetime" on the CD player.

Here are Moki and Aki at home, taking a well-deserved rest in the washitsu (Japanese-style room) after a long, long journey.

Thanks to a thunderstorm, Washington was a perfectly acceptable 73 degrees on Friday, well below the 85 degree no-fly threshold. Puller and the dogs arrived yesterday afternoon with only minor incident. We and the dogs stayed in Chiba last night and arrived back in Kitakami early this evening. Photos and longer post about our journey tomorrow!

Assuming the weather cooperates, our fuzzy dogs will join us in Japan tomorrow. Yay! I have been studiously avoiding any reports of Washington weather because I don't want to know how likely it is that they and Puller, who's accompanying them over, will get grounded. United won't fly them if it's above 85 degrees at the point of origin. *fingers crossed*

So, we've rented a car (a Nissan Cube -- it's so cuboid!) for the occasion. We plan to hit the Tohoku Expressway bright and early tomorrow morning, en route to Narita via Tokyo. I took a practice (well, sort of) drive this afternoon and had the pleasure of listening to the "Max Wavescape" program on FM-Iwate. It totally sounded like one of the fake radio stations from the "Grand Theft Auto" games, with the hyperactive interviews, hip-hop/dance tunes, and the whole "YOU'RE listening to FM-Iwate. Here's the new song, 'Peace of Mind', by Sakura." Except in Japanese.

My ride home from shopping takes me toward the mountains east of Kitakami. The mountains form a backdrop for the cement plant near us, which sets up this view:



Even on a day during which the sky has turned as stormy as this one, this sight makes me inexplicably happy. It may have something to do with the fact that few things say "I live in Japan" like neon signs in kanji. That's our house on the right, the utilitarian gray-and-white one that sort of looks like it's made of Legos.

In "Let's Sharing!"'s introductory post, I mentioned that there had been riding of bikes while wearing cute shoes and carrying cute handbags. By popular request, here's photographic evidence:



Yes, Mona, it's the MoojooKen bag. Word of caution: heels as bike footwear can lead to catching on your pedals, which in turn can lead to falling over in parking lots. Or so I'm told.

Out and about in Kitakami, we use our textbook Japanese every day. Through the generosity of our neighbors, friends, and co-workers, we are learning the nuances of Tohoku-hogen, or the dialect of the six prefectures of northeastern Honshu. A few weeks ago, over a Chinese dinner with some friends, we spent a goodly amount of time discussing the word "dabe." "Dabe" is frequently used in Tohoku in place of another phrase, "deshou ka," to mean "might be." So, instead of "Nan deshou ka", people here might say "Nan dabe" to mean "What might this be?" They were tickled that a neighbor had taught Matthew "dabe," so we spent the evening making each other laugh by busting it out at every opportunity. Matthew and I continue to entertain ourselves by using it whenever possible.

So it was to my surprise, and another person's amusement, that it came out quite naturally in conversation. We were standing in a group where someone was passing out sheets of paper printed in Japanese. She was handed one, I was not; perhaps it was intended that we share. I looked over at her sheet and asked:

"Nan dabe."

She giggled in surprise, and explained that it was lyrics to the song that was about to be sung. I later overheard her telling her husband about my question. I think we're going to fit in just fine.

Q: What do Arlington, San Francisco, and Kitakami have in common?
A: They all have lovely bridges. Also, I've gotten lost there.

Whatever changes living abroad will bring, being able to orient myself geographically is unlikely to be one of them. Doesn't matter whether I have a map, doesn't matter whether there are recognizable landmarks. As anyone who's ever depended on me for directions knows, I can't find my way out of a paper bag. I blame my brother, who apparently got all the navigation genes.

With this knowledge, I optimistically set out on my bike for a nice long workout ride. I crossed the Waga River via the New Kunenbashi Bridge to check out more of the other side of Kitakami. I rode up hills, past pachinko parlors, gardening stores, and rice paddy upon rice paddy, whizzing by green mountains and Buddhist shrines. As the sun began its descent behind the peaks to the west, I turned for home. Because I was returning via a bridge that Matthew and I had crossed in reverse earlier in the week, I felt comfortable that I knew my way home. After passing a recognizable landmark, I decided that I would turn earlier and explore a new, but parallel, route home.

Oh, if only.

Pleased with my expeditionary streak, I pedaled past more rice paddies, small houses, and convenience stores until I came to...the shinkansen tracks.

Huh? I shouldn't reach the tracks before I reach home. Actually, I shouldn't reach them at all. Confused, I turned in the direction that I thought would lead home, which turned out to be a small farm road between rice paddies. However, the elevation of the road allowed me to see the Hotel City Plaza Kitakami and the neon kanji of the cement plant beyond the shinkansen tracks. Ah! Home was that way. I just needed to get to the other side of the tracks.

I rode back out to the main road, turned right under the tracks, and down a major road with almost no shoulder. It was late enough in the afternoon that rush hour was well underway, and even though Japanese drivers are respectful of cyclists, I was still pretty uncomfortable riding on this road. At the earliest possible time, I turned, hoping to find a less busy road home.

Instead, I was soon surrounded by rice paddies, which were bordered by what appeared to be a high embankment. Yes! If this were the embankment of the Waga River, I could simply follow the road home. Because it was not the embankment of the Waga River, I could simply follow the road between the two vast expanses of rice paddies and greet the chatty neighborhood rice farmers with a fast bow and a reasonably controlled "konnichiwa." Until it ended, at which point I would have to go back to the busy road and back under the tracks.

Up to this point, I had managed to keep my innate skepticism in check by reasoning that I knew where the sun was, which at that point in the day marked west. Also, I had managed to orient to the shinkansen tracks, so if I could just guide from them, I could get home. I would solve this problem.

Assistance came in the form of the first sign I saw. The sign, in Japanese, pointed the way to the Sakurano shopping center in Central Kitakami. Ahh...direction. Home was not far. I could live with the cars flying by on my right as I rode with traffic, watching the tall pink top of the Sakurano draw nearer. The shoulder narrowed further, the road wound through a more populated area, and a bridge loomed ahead (?), marked by a slightly rusty, faded sign announcing its name.

Kunenbashi.

As I stood with my bike in the five-foot-tall weeds growing along the side of the road waiting for the rush hour traffic to clear enough for me to cross to the side of the bridge with the clank-clanky deathtrap bike path, I realized that I had never crossed back over the river. I incorrectly remembered the location of the landmark. And now, my contentedness at successfully bringing my inadvertent adventure to a close was tarnished by two things: the realization that although I'd achieved my goal of finding a "parallel way home", I'd had no effing clue where I was; and the specter of Kunenbashi ahead.

Damn you, Kunenbashi.

Two-and-a-half weeks in to the Japan adventure, I'm beginning to realize that everyday life isn't so different from life in America, but it's different enough that it will take some getting used to. I go grocery shopping almost every day because Japanese cooking places so much emphasis on fresh ingredients, including fish. Earthquakes rumble you awake and rattle your windows, but don't register otherwise. The routine footwear changes: shoes to house slippers; house slippers to toilet slippers; toilet slippers back to house slippers; house slippers to bare feet in tatami rooms. Fragrance-free soap and detergent -- not so popular. The less said about available cocktail garnishes, the better. And inexplicably, yesterday I had a wicked urge to go for a run. I don't run. I can only assume the warm sunny day and the fresh mountain air inspired that particular madness, which was great at the time, but certainly took its toll.

Additionally, there's the matter of the house. Take the kitchen. The kitchen in our house in Maryland isn't spacious by any stretch of the imagination, but it does take up more than the width of one short wall in a room. And speaking of short, I'd like to pitch an idea to all the inventors out there: Hydraulic Kitchen. Matthew and I are of different enough heights that a standard 3-foot-high American kitchen counter is dandy for me, but too low for him. The 2-1/2-foot-high sink and cooktop in our Kunenbashi kitchen are backbreaking for him (he's allegedly knelt to work at the sink) and uncomfortable for me. Hydraulic Kitchen could easily solve these problems by allowing the user to adjust the height of the kitchen workspaces to his or her needs, then return them to the standard height after use. Added benefit: you can raise the appliances for easy floor cleaning.

Please contact me for instructions on where to send the royalties.

The side benefit of Hydraulic Kitchen becomes apparent when you consider the nature of dust here in the 'Bash. We leave the windows open most of the time because we don't have central A/C, which is not uncommon in Japan. You might imagine that a certain amount of dirt blowing in through the screens would be normal, and in fact, it is. We're stumped by the Swiffer(tm)-loads of lint that we pick up every day. Like, a washcloth worth of lint. As best we can figure, our socks are the major contributors. Or maybe something about the Jetsons washer/dryer renders our clothing exceptionally linty. In any event, lint as dust = confusing to desert rats.

Ooh, Matthew just came home with his dry cleaning and a bag of maple buns. *angels sing* Maple buns are some of the best things about Japan.

For anyone keeping track of gifts, yesterday's trip to the post office garnered a postcard masquerading as a fan. Good luck sending that through the US Postal Service.

When we made our plans to come to Japan, friends and family often commented on the "big adventure" we were going on, or "all the adventures" we would have in Japan. Heck, we even used that word ourselves when talking about the move. But since we've been here, have we really had any adventures? It seems like all we've really had time to do is get settled in, work, and simply live life.

This was something I pondered as I was making breakfast, toasting bread in a frying pan because we don't have a toaster. When it was ready I sat on the floor in our tatami room and ate it at our Japanese-style low table, next to the window that was admitting a gentle breeze and the sounds of the river. Then the phone rang, which I answered, moshimoshi? Without caller ID, we have to assume any caller is Japanese.

And now, I'm about to go start a load of laundry. Our washing machine has a confusing array of buttons, lights, and LED displays, all neatly labeled in Japanese. The washer has about three hundred functions, and I've managed to figure out two of them.

So far, our lives here have been mostly mundane things. But it turns out that even the mundane things are adventures.