The Rewind Continues!!!!! And don't worry, I'm writing journal entries for the recent days to. Yeesh. Give me some credit.

“Be very careful in customs, man. If you piss ‘em off, they will send you right back home.”

“Don’t wear anything metal, or they’ll send you to the strip search room.”

“Dude…considering all that just happened? Youre pretty much screwed when it comes to customs.”

Can ya see why I was terrified when I was getting of the plane? All I could think was ‘Don’t look suspicious, don’t look suspicious,” which of course…made me look suspicious. I walked slowly, to match what people might expect from a man of my stature. And I smiled at everyone. Me? Smile? Do you see the problem? Anyway, I carefully grabbed my bags and went to customs. Deep breath.

“How long are you going to be here?”
“Deh…two…no…one m—no, yeah, one month and…twenty…six—er, seven. One month, 27 days.”
The customs officer chuckles. “And to visit friends?”
“…Why am I here?”
“Yes.”
“Y…yeah, to visit a friend…for a while.”

Yep. First words in the country = total LIES. But ya know, that’s how it works with this stuff. …Yeah. I’m hocked the dude didn’t lock me up on the spot, I was so jittery. But, he gestured me on through.

And from there, I ran into Seamus…Matt Shannon, the man who for whatever reason, keeps savin’ my butt over, and over, and over again. I almost didn’t recognize him; the guy had lost a lot of weight. But really, he was the only 6’4”, bushy eyebrowed Irishman within at least…a mile or 80, and I was the only black guy in the whole airport, so…wasn’t too hard to get past changing appearances. The whole scene was like the closing to Shawshank Redemption, where Morgan Freeman, after following the cryptic directions of his closest friend during a horrible, yet necessary imprisonment, finds himself on new shores, only to be greeted by his old friend, Tim Robbins, who looks happy as all heck to be where he is. I’m Morgan Freeman, by the way. In case you were wondering.

Matt stood there with a huge grin on his face, and a big black bag by his side. I probably should have been tired, but I wasn’t. There were no real greetings, since we both expected this to happen.

“Yo.”
“Sup, man. Where do I go now?”
“Right over there.”

I walked over to the currency exchange counter, switched all my money to yen, and went back to Matt.

“Alright, man…let’s get some food and drink in ya, then we’re taking a bus to Mito.”
“We? You’re going with me?”
“…I’m not lettin’ you freak out, I told you that.”

I just nodded. Matt bought a bag of chips and two drinks. A C.C. Lemon for himself (“70 lemons’ worth of vitamin C in every bottle!” it boasts) and a Pocari Sweat for me. Yes, I know the name sounds disgusting, but it’s pretty much Gatorade. Get it now? Replenishes…whatever. We bought our tickets, and ran outside.

I’d brought enough luggage to kill a pig…whatever that means…and knew I’d regret it. The bus attendants had a fun time putting my bags on the bus.

Matt and I boarded, laughing, but suddenly Matt quieted down. Not me though. Nope. Not crazy ol’ American me.

“Matt…we’re in Japan. …Why’re we in JAPAN?!”
Matt smirks. “Dave…first thing you’ll learn. Indoor voices, man. Indoor voices.”

It’s true. The Japanese are quiet people, and don’t have the gumption to tell you to shut your big mouth. So, Americans are always deemed as loud, when…we just don’t realize that the bus isn’t the place for the social stupidity we’re used to. I quieted down immediately.

“I knew you’d ask that question,” said Matt. “But you’ll see…Japan isn’t what you think it is…”

And as the bus pulled away from the station, I soon found out what he meant.

To Be Continued…