I manage a small shy wave in return. Others stare and whisper as I mind my own business and get my rusty, trusty bike unlocked. The sidewalk looks clear now. I wheel out from my parking space, ready to pedal, and almost run down a tiny man blocking my path. I recognize his traditional outfit from the shrine down the street from my building. He must be a caretaker there. “Good morning.” His words are slow, with sharp, pronounced consonants.

This is new. I’m wary, but more relieved that he isn’t pissed off I almost mowed him down. “Good morning.”

“How … are … you?”

“Um. I’m fine, thank you. Uh, how are you?”

“I … am fine. Thank you.” His face crinkles with laugh lines as he spreads his arms. “Welcome … to Japan!”

“Oh. Thank you.” I smile as I swing one leg over the bike. “Ittekimasu?” I offer, unsure.

“Itterasshai,” he says, bowing, and continues down the street. I watch him go, clapping two blocks of wood behind his back. Okay, so most trains run on time in this country. Ninety-nine percent. No country is perfect, but Japan, sometimes you come close.

I speed past palm trees with makeshift scarecrows wrapped around their trunks. Looks like the shops have deemed it safe to break out the fake plastic leaves they all use over their marquees for fall, too. A 7-Eleven employee on a stepladder hangs up a sign for special autumn food out front. The City of Nishibe Post Office has also put up its Halloween stuff. Yagi-sama, the cartoon goat mascot, poses in the window with a witch’s hat on its head and a pumpkin in its hands. Along the stadium and station approach, food vendors are setting up. The smells hit me as I read the signs over each stand: chicken yakitori, Kobe beef, yakisoba noodles, takoyaki … my mouth waters as each word twinkles like lights. Farther down the main street, the lineups at Tully’s Coffee are so far out the door it’s impossible to tell who’s there for free pumpkin spice latte samples and who’s trying to catch the next train. So much for not getting stared at.