Hello, do you speak scribble?

"Eigo o hanashimasu ka?"
(Do you speak English?)

**blank look from innocent Japanese victim I've accosted**

Damn it, that sounded so much more fluent in my head. Well, if I start gabbling in English, they're likely to get the idea.

"I have no idea where I am. Seriously, completely lost. Am I even on this map I'm holding? Am I still in Japan? Yes, I must be because you look Japanese, but it's been hours since I've seen something familiar. Is there anything that resembles a Astronomical observatory around here?"

**Look of dawning comprehension appears on face of poor bystander. He looks at my map and points to a place about 5 inches off the side of it.**

"Arigatou!" I stammer and brace myself for a long walk.

Fortunately, where the USA has fire hydrants and the UK postboxes, Japan has drink vending machines. Hot or cold beverages in twenty different permutations, these machines are on every corner, complete with a recycling bin beside them for when you're done with the can. I revived on a mutant-sized can of Mountain Dew and trekked back home.

Upon arriving back at my desk, I discovered I'd been given a fan. It says "Truth" on it in Chinese characters.

Ramen

"Have you tried ramen?"

Images of PhDcomic strips with grad students hording packets of cheap instant noodles in their cupboards flash before my eyes.

"... no."

Somehow I didn't think that was the authentic deal.

"Well, I don't think you'll like it but ... it's something you should try."

Not the strongest of recommendations, I admit, but hey I'm game. Also, it turned out to be great. We went into a small cafe-sized place and were immediately confronted with a machine covered with buttons.

"The good thing about this," I was assured by my hosts. "Is that you don't need to speak Japanese to order."

True, but it does require you to have a certain nonchalance about what you'll be eating since I had no idea what any of the buttons said. I pushed a handful of coins into the machine, pressed a button and handed the resulting ticket to the waiter. The result was a steaming bowlful of noodles bathed in a broth with beef. It was very good and slurping is considered completely acceptable in Japan so eating it wasn't the usual headache such soups can be in the West. 

On the way back home I was almost mowed down by a pick-up truck which was reversing into the guest house drive. My frozen shock came not from the maneuver but from the vehicle informing me of its intent in a highly feminine voice somewhat at odds with the beefy worker behind the wheel.