The way over was pretty rough. Long and boring and by myself. Lots of time to think of how potentially disastrous this could all be. And then the Japanese immigration was less than keen on letting me into the country seeing as how I didn't know an address or phone number for where I was staying. And then the guy tried to tell me that Dylan wasn't in Japan. (All of this is happening in Japan, not somewhere useful like Vancouver, by the way.) But then I went and talked with the senior immigration inspector, she went away for a couple of minutes and handed my my visitor's visa. I liked her.
Now Dylan has gone off to work and I'm sitting here with his host mom downstairs. Her english: very poor. My Japanese: very poor. Good times.
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