Where's the Beef

It's difficult to feel at home in a place where they don't sell shoes in your size.

For the third time in as many years, I find myself smack dab on the other side of the planet, wandering around Japan in blistering heat and wondering whether I am violating any serious social conventions and where I can find a more comfortable pair of shoes. Odds are, yes, and nowhere.

Even early on a Sunday morning the streets and the subway are teeming with people. It's easy to pick my son out of the crowd, with his curly hair and green eyes and considerable height advantage. He resents it, sometimes, when people here treat him like a foreigner, even though he speaks the language and embraces the culture and seems at ease with all the unwritten rules. I, on the other hand, am grateful when people here treat me like a foreigner. It gives me a free pass on the nuances; I can get away with saying "thank you" when, for some reason, "excuse me" is more appropriate.

My comfort level has increased after three visits. I know not to cross when the light is red. I know that I might have to carry my empty water bottle for blocks before I find a recycling bin. I know that as long as I keep moving forward in a straight line the bicyclist speeding up behind me will eventually go around. I know that if I bow back deeply at someone it could lead to a spine numbing, never-ending cycle of forward bends, so I have cultivated a brief nod. I can get away with it -- the Japanese expect our disrespect and excuse our ignorance. There is an upside, here, to having frizzy hair and big feet.

Each time I have visited Japan, I have done so in the company of one of my daughters, both of whom happen to be vegetarians. We discovered early on that vegetarianism is uncommon here, often incomprehensible. My son has learned to explain the situation more fully, ever since he witnessed the look of horror on his sister's face when a mystery sea creature bobbed to the surface of her meatless soup. We scour the pictures on restaurant menus, searching for evidence of creature body parts. We breathe a collective sigh of relief when a bowl of noodles is, in fact, just a bowl of noodles.

I have had enough. I am in Kobe, home of the famed Kobe beef, and I want some. I have yet to see it on a menu, but yesterday I noticed a burger joint not far from our hotel. I am as sure as I have ever been of anything that a big Kobe burger will finally make me feel at home here. It will remind me of my favorite watering hole back in my little Midwestern suburb, where everyone knows everyone's name and I don't worry about saying the wrong thing because everyone says whatever they feel like saying and no matter how many times I promise myself I will branch out and try something new I always end up with a burger, and a good burger always makes me happy.

A long day of wandering in the blistering heat left me with a few blisters, and I am stuck with them because they don't sell shoes here big enough to fit my feet. But they sell bandaids (though they are a bit odd looking), and as soon as I bite into that burger, I'll be feeling no pain, and maybe I'll even feel like I'm home.