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.

Finding Japanese classes in Kitakami is proving to be somewhat challenging. Given that it's not a city drawing huge numbers of gaikokujin, perhaps it's not so surprising. It's problematic, though, because I very much need to be studying formally. So, at least for now, I've decided to take matters into my own hands.

Accompanied by my copy of "Japanese for Busy People," a notebook, and a columned kana practice book, I set out for a study venue. I was a college student in the early '90s. I know how this goes. Studying occurs in coffeehouses, and my destination was clear: Cafe Goo-Goo.

Cafe Goo-Goo is a mod little cafe on the main street that runs by our house, a short ride past the motorcycle shop and the love hotel (it's pink!). At the top of some very clean white stairs, one encounters a door inlaid with blue glass ovals, which opens onto a white room containing a bar and four tables. I was greeted by a cheery Japanese hipster boy (CJHB) and invited to sit wherever I liked. I wanted the chance to streetwatch, so I took a glass-topped table overlooking the street, rather than a 60's soda fountain seat at one of the round tables in the back.

I ordered a choco-banana parfait and an iced coffee from CJHB and settled in to study. Being mostly obscured by large, Pucci-ish, pink-and-orange decals, the window was not so conducive to people watching. Fine -- I was there to study and eat a cute, tasty dessert, which CJHB produced in short order, complete with chocolate wafer cookie and adorable pink and white star candies. The unexpected genmai flakes at the bottom provided a delightful crunch at the end. Ahh -- good parfait, good study session (bonus points for communicating with CJHB about my peanut allergy!), good new place to grab snacks. Really, anyplace that drops "Let's Groove" into its already awesome J-Pop soundtrack is okay by me.

The way home takes me past two bridges over the Waga River, which I previously hadn't crossed. Maybe it was the view of the mountains ahead, maybe just a continued desire to explore, but something inspired me to cross the one nearest our house, Kunenbashi ("nine-year bridge").

Backstory: Mukashi-mukashi in America, we went to dinner with our friend Yoshino. A minor difference of opinion arose, which caused her and Matthew to debate in Japanese and resulted in this classic phrase: "It is not daijoubu." Translation: "It is not okay."

Well, having done it twice now, I can state with relative authority that riding your sketchy bike across Kunenbashi is not daijoubu. I'm sure the attached side path is completely secure and no one's ever accidentally plummeted from it to a watery demise, but the combination of moderate wind, rushing water below (visible through the not-quite seam between the path and the bridge frame), hollow-sounding clank-clanky metal, and my fear of heights made me glad to be back in rush hour traffic on the other side. Until I remembered that I'd have to cross it again in order to go home. Damn you, Kunenbashi!

My ride took me down to a beautiful, serene park alongside the Waga River. I heard the five o'clock music for the first time since I arrived, passed some older gentlemen practicing chipping at the golf course, and met an Iwate dog (like an Akita dog, but smaller). The day was cool, windy, and overcast, but the lack of sunshine was easily overlooked by the sheer pleasure of being alive and out in the mountains -- in Japan! Woo-hoo, I live in Japan!

Being a New Mexican, I love mountains of all kinds. I admit a special fondness, though, for Japanese mountains. They frequently erupt with clouds of steam from geothermal activity. They're also big enough that their tops mingle with clouds on a regular basis. I'm not sure which is going on in this photo, but I'm inclined to think it's a combination of both. Whatever -- it's cool.

Lately (meaning within the last three days), whenever I've mounted my sketchy bike, one scene flashed through my head. It's the scene near the end of "Beetlejuice," when Winona Ryder leaves school on her bike, rolling cheerfully down the hill, waving to her friends. Now, I'm not Winona Ryder in a schoolgirl outfit, and while Kitakami is a mountain town, it's not quainte olde New England.

Is it because I'm rocking a messenger bag wherever I go? Is it because I'm married to a guy who builds models? Is it because I'm surrounded by young women who almost without exception wear white blouses, pleated skirts, and knee socks, regardless of whether they're schoolgirls? Did I spend altogether too much time watching this movie in my adolescence?

Incidentally, aspects of the 80s are alive and well here. Legwarmers, Paula Abdul's "Rush Rush" over the sound system at the Sakurano shopping center, and those red boxes of crinkle-cut fries from the early days of microwaves have all entered my sphere of experience. It is worth noting that the microwave fries share space with similar green boxes of microwaveable edamame.

Day-o!

Greetings from Kitakami, and welcome to Let's Sharing! If the last week is any indication of how our lives will progress here, blog entries will center on the following topics:

1) Whatever I'm cooking or we're eating;
2) The cult of Matthew's moustache;
3) Travel on our sketchy bikes.

We launched the blog this evening fueled by delivery udon. The udon delivery joint functions a lot like room service in that the udon shop brings your food in actual stoneware dishes that they collect the next morning (don't forget to put them outside!). I am a big fan.

For those of you who have never met Matthew, or have not seen him in a long time, he is a six-foot-tall French-looking guy sporting a pointy handlebar moustache. The Moustache is developing a reputation around Kitakami. In fact, while we were out this morning, we encountered a denizen who referred to Matthew as "hige-san," or "Mr. Moustache."

Unlike many places in the US, Japan is very bike-friendly. This is fortunate for those of us who have not ridden a bicycle in sixteen years and now have to do so while a) carrying groceries, including pastries and large bottles of Sapporo beer; b) wearing a suit; or c) wearing Steve Madden heels and carrying a fetching handbag. However, neither of us has attempted doing a), b), and c) simultaneously.

We are both enjoying our nascent adventure quite a lot. Matthew's teaching gig is challenging, but keeping him happy. I'm settling in and trying to make the most of my negligible Japanese. Speaking of, I have a placement test for Japanese classes tomorrow, so -- oyasuminasai! Good night!