Takamatsu. Kelly. Green traffic light

Among the everyday sounds in Yoshi's house, there's one that never stops, day or night. It's the traffic light speaker across from the front door, every time the light turns green. It mixes with the sounds of morning bustle when four-year-old Ai is being prepared for kindergarten, when her father, returning from his shift at the fire station, hangs laundry, and it dilutes the sounds of family conversation at dinner when the whole family is gathered — parents and two children. Today they're hosting two guests: me and a girl from Australia.

"Can I help with anything?" I ask Akina, the wife, who's preparing dinner. Akina looks around at the large pot, at the uncut raw yellowtail, what else was there... "Please play with the child." He's right there sitting on the floor, messing around with some toy. I found it funny — since when do they trust me with kids... The girl from Australia hasn't arrived yet. Yoshi just went to pick her up. I feel like I haven't been around people forever. When was it? Last time in Osaka, five days ago. I don't understand what's so complicated about small children — they're just like adults, show them something new they haven't seen, and they're completely focused. I take a plastic toy, something indefinite, for two-year-olds, spin it on the floor — he smiles, spun it for the fifth time — stopped smiling.

The traffic light sound this time brought back Yoshi, and with him the Australian girl. I'm sitting on the steps, the ones leading to the second floor. "Hi, I'm Kelly... Do you speak English?" "Hi, I'm Ilya, let me help you with your bags." "Oh, no thanks, they're not heavy." All these English-speaking girls are so independent. Dinner is ready. If she cooks like this every day, then she has no life. Kelly eats with a fork — "No matter how much I studied, I just can't." And she studied a lot. She's traveled to 60 countries around the world, wherever I ask — she's been everywhere. "What about Russia?" "No, not Russia. The visa costs $300 (oh my god)." "What do you do for work?" "Midwife." "What, what?" "Yes, it's a strange word. It means 'midwife'." Probably just old English.

The food is cooked in an electric pan, right on the table — another idea I'll take home with me. Yoshi described tomorrow in a few words. Temple, castle, castle, temple. Kelly suggested something in return — I don't care, I'm pretty tired of Japan already, don't feel like writing. If anyone thinks I'm in a bad mood — that's not it, tourism has just become routine. Children are easier to surprise than adults, by the way, about "showing something new." I agree with Kelly. Tomorrow we're going to the most popular temple on Shikoku, Kompirasan in the city of Kotohira. It has 1368 steps leading to it — so be it. We talked too long, didn't even thank them for dinner right away — and it was delicious, very. "How was dinner?" asks Akina (damn how awkward). "Great, very delicious!" And tonight we're staying at a hotel, as couchsurfers. I didn't fully understand the system, but first Yoshi said his wife manages it. "What kind of hotel?" "Push back the curtain — the white hotel across the street." "Great job: pushed back the curtain, checked how things are going." Jokes, jokes.

At the hotel, Yoshi pointed to an elderly man behind the front desk. "This is my father." We got our rooms. Me — 512, Kelly — 612. And another blunder... Yoshi whispered, interrupting our conversation. "Thank you, please say 'thank you' to him." "Thank you!" "Thank you!" How awkward.

... "Maybe we'll have some coffee?" We've been sitting in my room for about two hours already. There's no coffee, there's a tea bag. The conversation more or less starts to get organized, before it was just a random set of topics, everything somehow about travel, a bit about Israel, a bit about Australia, midwives, cycling adventures, relationships. Maybe you've had this happen, when there's little time but you want to talk about a lot. At two in the morning we went our separate ways. 8:45 — neither earlier nor later. The little one went to kindergarten, at four we need to pick her up. "First we'll go have breakfast." All Japanese cities are famous for something. Gifu, for example, for its clean water, someone for the lowest temperature, and Takamatsu for Sanuki Udon noodles. We're eating them for breakfast. What I like about couchsurfing is that they don't take us to a tourist place with a beautiful sign and expensive (but same) noodles, but to the most ordinary cafeteria, one of many, lost in the alleys of Takamatsu. 150 yen per portion. An old man sits on plywood covered with oilcloth, reading a newspaper. My investigative spirit awakens. I pick up a worn local newspaper. "Yoshi, what does it say here?" Something distracted him. So I never found out.

So this is how it works in cafeterias. In the kitchen they make noodles. You buy, they throw a bundle (or handful or bunch, maybe a ball?) into your bowl. You transfer it to a colander, soak it in hot water, shake it off, return it to the bowl. Sprinkle with chopped green onions, sesame seeds, pour broth from a big pot and sit next to the old man on the oilcloth. Kelly was given a plastic children's fork — they couldn't find another one. In a white old minibus we went to Kotohira. At some intermediate peak, there was a military dedication ceremony and traditional music was playing. It sounded like a drunk violinist got confused about which was the bow and which was the violin and alternately moved his left and right hands. As accompaniment to the ceremony, it sounds impressive, but overall I realized I need to come up with something. I don't have much travel time left — about three weeks. While Kelly and Yoshi made the climb to the very top, I read about Hiroshima and checked the weather in Okinawa. If a couple of weeks ago it didn't matter to me whether I'd make it to Kagoshima (the end of my route) or not, now I suddenly really wanted to go there. I've been thinking about this for a while and am even organizing something for when I arrive. I already have accommodation, even two places. So there'll be a party.

"How was it?" "Mmm, it was beautiful." I recommend you go there, it really is beautiful, I understand this reasoning objectively, but subjectively I've stopped perceiving all these temples. "Yoshi, is there a good sushi bar in Takamatsu?" "Sushi bar? Mmm, sushi bar?" "Yes, sushi bar..." "Mmm, sushi bar?" At the beginning of the day he still didn't know how to answer "No" and "I don't know."

And then it was cool. There's a nearby center for training children for various disasters and accidents. They teach children what to do in case of fire. In the first room, an instructor explains something in Japanese, gives us a fire extinguisher. On a big screen, right in front of us, a housewife appears, she's frying potato chips in oil. The phone rings, we see the girl enthusiastically chatting with a friend, in the background (out of focus) the pan starts smoking. Then, already in close-up, it catches fire, and we have to spray the screen with water from the fire extinguisher, aiming at the pan. Done.

The next room simulates a typhoon, up to 30 meters per second. We put on glasses, holding onto the railings. They seal us in from outside and off we go. A huge fan blows wind, I remember Kyoto, the dial shows 5 meters per second — 10, 15, 20, 30. That's it? Beep, wasted money on the guesthouse. But the instructor explains that now the wind was blowing in one direction, but in a real typhoon — in gusts in different directions. In the furnished kitchen we sit at the table. They close the gate behind us and move to a respectful distance. Now there'll be an earthquake — seven points. One simulated what happens underwater, the second — when the epicenter is right under you. Both earthquakes exactly repeated those that took place in Kobe in 1995 and somewhere else.

In the last room we crawled in the dark looking for an exit from a smoke-filled corridor. And then there was a beautiful temple, one of those to which pilgrims still make pilgrimages. "Real ones?!" you'll ask. "No, they arrive by taxi, dressed up like great wanderers, climb to the temple, then take a taxi to the next temple" — pure truth. At four o'clock, I'd even say zero-zero, we picked up Ai from kindergarten. You can see in the photo what a fashionista she was. It's a standard uniform. "Yoshi, do schools update their style from time to time?" Kelly and I were impressed, the uniform really is interesting. "Sometimes, but it's better if they don't. No extra money to buy new ones." Kelly is a bit older than me. How strange, I didn't take a single normal photo. "Dream? No, I don't have a dream... I travel around the world, what should I dream about?" You know, when all topics have been exhausted, those from the "101 conversation topics" list begin. We ride bicycles along the waterfront at sunset. "No, I won't go with you to look at stores, I'll go look for some club, see how they have fun here." "Well yes, it won't be interesting for you."

We agreed to meet in two hours. During this time I walked through so many back alleys (without a camera). In cities I always drink beer (a writer should drink). I found some club on one of the main streets. Not that I love clubs, but I wanted to see how people relax here (need to go in Tokyo). There's a huge sign with an image of a girl with a flashing neon bust. I'm dressed decently, shaved. At the entrance there's a man with a bandaged throat. "Sorry, Japanese only." "This is a club?" "Strip club." "What about there?" I point to another one across the street. "There too, Japanese only." "Kelly, they didn't let me into the club, said Japanese only." "That's discrimination!" "And if I lived in Japan, would I have nowhere to go?"

In the evening they cook dinner for us again. This time we didn't come empty-handed, found Australian beer at an imported goods store. Drank one. "And this one I'll give to father." Yoshi set aside the Australian and opened a Japanese one — also good. Time to wrap up. To be continued...