It's April 2000 and I have spent the last five months in Tokyo, Japan. At this point I am quite homesick and the loneliness is starting to overpower my giddiness. I'm on the phone with my friend Anne and I tell her how awesome it would be if she'd visit me. Ultracool as Anne is, within days, she's booked a trip and is coming to see me from London.

On the way over she must have read the travel guides, cause Anne decides we need to take a trip to what ends up being my favorite neighborhood in Tokyo, Asakusa. The entrance to the main temple starts out with a bazaar-like street where millions of Japanese knick-knacks are sold at low prices. Right outside the temple is a burning incense-like substance where you're supposed to pickup the ashes and rub them in an area where you have pain. Ta, da! You're healed.

We walk into the temple where we say a little prayer and throw a bunch of change into the designated area. Next to the praying section is a glass-covered structure for candle lighting. We both light one. As we turn around to leave, we notice the people shaking a metal box out of which they pull a chopstick-like stick and then open tiny drawers. As we watch closely, we realize that the sticks indicate which numbered drawer to open. With my already acquired Japanese skills, we both manage to pick a stick and open the appropriate drawer which is holding a small paper with fortune-telling ability. All I can tell you about mine is that I tried it twice and both times, the news wasn't good.

As we turn around to walk out of the main area, we are blocked by a man pulling two people in a small carriage. He stops in the intersection of a four-way street and starts loudly spewing out some Japanese. I would like to say my language skills were so strong that I knew what he yelled, but I stood just as clueless as Anne who was spending her very first day in Japan.