We got an email this afternoon from a traveler named Christopher, who found our sticker while walking through one of the most unlikely areas of suburban Kanagawa. I placed the sticker during one of my trademark Kanagawa Constitutionals, at a particularly low point in my experience in Japan. I was horribly unhappy that day, and walked for about an hour to an unimportant overpass in an unknown and unloved part of Kawasaki City, where I placed the sticker to commemorate that particularly bad time.

Eight months later, Chris found my sticker.

More amazing still, as I sat in Jen’s office in Sultanahmet today, his email arrived in my inbox. I was telling Jen the story when I followed a link to his website to find his most recent entry about visiting Calgary, Alberta (Jen’s hometown).

Even more amazing than that: one of the pictures in the frontpage photo array is an image of Jen’s office building.

Yeah. Seriously.

So to Chris– thanks for tracking us down, and whether you wanted to or not, you’ve shared a very personal moment in my story.

If you’ve ever been traveling with others, you know that there’s a strong feedback between how they’re feeling about something and how you feel about it. The idea is a lot like waves in a pool of good morale– if many waves come together at their peaks, things are amazing, and we feel absolutely vindicated in leaving our lives behind. The problem is that Brian, Matt and I meet at our troughs as well.

Episode 3 begins to explore just how we felt every day living in poverty. We could tell ourselves each day, “yeah, I’m poor, but I’m poor in Japan!” but saying it didn’t take away the mental and physical exhaustion. It didn’t inspire us to put in another all-nighter, and it didn’t give Christmas back to those that missed their families.

Maybe that sounds like a lot of privileged whining. I’m ok saying that, because the depression we felt around being poor wouldn’t have been so strong if we hadn’t had nice lives to look back on. Matts, Brians, and Robs in alternate dimensions, were laughing with their cousins, ordering a pizza, or playing with their cat. They were happy and healthy, and best of all, not hungry all the time. While so many would envy our lives abroad, keep in mind just how tremendous these comforts really are, and also just how much it sucks to live a monotonous life of white rice and eggs.

Oakhouse Miyazakidai is the name of our current guesthouse, the home of 5 Americans (us) and around 20 other residents.  Given that our financial limitations afford a short leash, Oakhouse is our most common restaurant, office, and bar – it’s where we eat, work, and play.  And when Jed arrived, we ate, worked, and played aplenty.

Here is a picture from Jed’s birthday, and there are so so many things to point out.  Yes, those are 4 bottles of Wild Turkey, and yes Rob seems transfixed by them.  Yes it’s cold enough inside that we wear jackets and beanies, even when drinking.  Yes the walls are mottled and dirty, and yes those computers are probably from the early 90s.  And, finally, yes Jed is not in this picture, but don’t worry, he was very much a part of these festivities.

With Jed out here, this was one of our first gatherings with everyone, and I have to say it wasn’t a mild night…

The irony here is that we didn’t buy all this alcohol – in fact, we’re trying to detox after all our bonding with our Vietnamese friends.  Mr. Isume and Mr. Mickey – in the top photograph – supplied all of this, and what were we going to do?  We can’t be rude guests in a guesthouse to our gracious friends…

So here at Oakhouse, we were well on our way to bonding as a team and bonding across cultures.  And we’re unfortunately finding that sharing drinks so easily fills the gaps left by their limited English and our virtually nonexistent Japanese.