I love my potty faucet.

My Japanese toilet cannot check the internet. It doesn't spray my nether regions with a variegated jet and finish with an air dry, it won't play music when I raise the lid, and it won't warm my winters with the latest seat-heating technology. Unlike many Japanese toilets, there's no need to plug my toilet into the wall. What it does have, however, is a faucet.

Of the three Japanese toilets I've used beyond the airport, all of them have shared this common feature. Instead of filling from the bottom of the tank, the water is channeled through a spigot at the top and enters through a hole in a depression in the tank cover, giving the potty-goer a decent flush's window to wash his hands or have a sip or what have you. It's like the circle of life. I've discovered the essence of wabisabi and Japanese harmony. I can go home now.

Day two, however, I woke up to light pouring through my rice paper doors like some goliath paper lantern and home seemed very far away. I dressed slowly, surveying my new quarters, ate some of the food Mrs. Eh and Chicken Hamburger left for me in the fridge, learned my new shower, and walked over to the school in a tie and clean shirt. It was too hot for anything but shorts and I didn't like it, but as I'd soon learn, I wasn't about to get away with much else in the clothing department.

The school is a straight shot about seven blocks from my apartment. Direct is good, because few streets in my city have names (I've seen only two so far). I have no idea how the postal service works, but I seem to be getting mail. In Costa Rica, I was told that addresses are often based on landmarks, so a destination could be anything from "city hall" to "150 meters southwest of the large tree that fell last year." In Japan there seems to be some sort of system -- I just haven't figured it out yet.

I arrived at the school and immediately started meeting the rest of the cast and crew: Two-Face, the head teacher whose English is nearly flawless, as she studied some in the states; McCool, who does administrative work and offers up any help I need; and Big O, a laid-back, benevolent globetrekker who is the outbound English teacher. He's helped made my transition smooth as butter and is thus far the only one in my city I'd dare call friend.

I met a few of the students when Mrs. Eh introduced me as "atarashii sensei, new teach-ah" and I greeted them in English or Japanese. Those that experienced the latter seemed shocked, as all Japanese will, whenever a foreigner attempts their tongue. "His pronounciation, so good... sugoi ne!" Well of course it is, I'm imitating your accent. Hey, want to hear my Hindi?

After a walk around Himeji Castle with Big O, I was content to stick around the school and tap their internet connection, but Two-Face and Mrs. Eh suggested that I go home and take a nap. The Japanese are rarely, if ever, direct, so it's often impossible to determine whether a suggestion is a suggestion or an outright mandate. In this case, I figured they wanted me out of their hair for a few hours so they could get on with their classes, so I took that nap and then returned at around 9 when I went with McCool, Two-Face, and two of the very few male students to a bar for a beer and some pretty good food.

All in all, a pretty relaxed day. Next stop, karaoke-machine choir-boy Deniro.