Fukuoka

Our day in Fukuoka felt more like a continuation of the previous 36 hours than the start of a new adventure.  With surprisingly minimal jet lag, we set out to explore the surrounding area.

We were able to visit two separate temples--the first, Shinto, the second, Buddhist.  Ninety percent of Japanese in Japan are followers of Shinto and Eighty percent are Buddhist.  Yes, that means there is overlap.

They were truly beautiful.  After purifying ourselves by washing our hands at the front, we were able to enter the inner areas.  The temple was built in the year 808!

Following this, we made our way to the Godzilla exhibits at the Fukuoka Art Museum.  There is so much to talk about, but I'll just leave it with: it was good, I greatly enjoyed it.

On the subject of food, (because honestly, who cares about anything else, amiright?) Fukuoka is known for its wooden food stands.  Called "yatai", these are where you want to go for some cheap, delicious meats, noodles, and rice.  And beer, apparently--a great way to loosen your tie after a long day of work--or travel.

"Yakitori" technically just refers to fried or barbecued chicken, but I feel as though the word means so much more here because this was one of the best means of my life.  One thing I noticed upon arrival is that the scents are all different.  This is important enough considering my sense of smell--which, day-to-day, ranges from "eh" to "dreadful".  Walking up and down the strip, alongside the water, our group hunted for a stand with enough seeing for five.  The air was heavy with the sourness of beer and the acrid smoke of charred meats.

For the past two weeks, I have been practicing my eating.  I've been working on eating much more slowly and deliberately--trying as hard as I could to taste the food better whilst I chew.  I am so glad for this because what awaited me on this particular evening was wonderful.

In halting english and with much hand-waving (both figuratively and literally), I was able to help communicate to our chef that we each wanted to try the barbecue and that we each wanted a beer.

Dehydrated and on little sleep, the brew soon worked its magic.  

The custom in Japan is to never pour your own drinks--and to keep your drinking partners well lubricated.  My drinking partner did an admirable job of introducing me to Japanese custom.  Soon, admidst the swirling scent of charred porka dint e din of far-off J-pop, I lost just enough of my inhibitions to allow me to try out my Japanese.

It ended just about how you would expect it to have.