Six degrees of separation


On Sunday night, I had dinner with a really interesting friend who works in admissions at a (very cool) American college and was in Tokyo for a college fair. We ate at a Yokohama restaurant called Green where a lovely Scottish-Canadian (mostly Scottish) chef made my favourite meal – a goat cheese and arugula salad and gourmet macaroni and cheese that makes me weak in the knees. Then my admissions friend and I walked through Yokohama’s Chinatown which was lit up like a Christmas tree in spite of Japan’s current efforts to conserve energy. This woman invited us into her restaurant but, still glowing from our lovely dinner, we declined as politely as possible via tragic-comedic sign language that involved deep bows and sad faces all round. During this delicate negotiation, she agreed to have her photo taken.

There we stood, in the red neon excess of Chinatown, in Yokohama, Japan, a Canadian from Ottawa and an American from Boston who had met two years earlier at an international school in Bangkok. It seemed so perfectly normal that we would both pull out our cameras and take this woman’s photograph.

Really… if the world gets any smaller, we’re going to have to rent storage space on the moon.

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