Sensing my fatigue, Yutaka kindly offered me the bath in their home before himself—which is a bigger deal than it might initially seem. Japanese culture is built on a system of rank and status that goes back thousands of years and under normal circumstances, the head of household, who may or may not always be the oldest, would bathe first. As a guest in the Suzuki home, I was allowed to take a bath first, which mean I’d have access to the cleanest and hottest water available for the night in the deep hot-tub or ofuro. Before getting into the ofuro however, one must clean oneself by showering thoroughly in order not to dirty the water for those coming after you. Using the detached shower (the tub and shower aren’t connected like they are in the U.S) I got clean and then melted into the waters of the ofuro after my day’s long journey.

After my bath, I returned to my room and cracked one of the windows which slid open after applying a little muscle.  I could make out Yutaka taking a drag on a cigarette in the backyard to the adjoining house where he and Natsuko resided, the crumbling red ash glowing brilliantly in the wet night air. The autumn breeze blew in gently and cooled the room quickly and everything was still and quiet. In the years preceding, I’d dreamed about being in Japan often, my brain projecting the amalgam of years of images and stories into something loosely based in second and third hand accounts of what Japan seemed like. Lying down and pulling the futon over me. I don’t remember what I dreamed about just like I don’t much remember falling asleep.  The one thing I knew for certain is when I woke up, I would be in Japan and finally, it would be real.