Outside of the train station, forehead dripping sweat, I felt a severe appreciation for the inventor of deodorant. I had spent my entire life in the
It was the summer of 2006, and I was visiting my childhood friend, Risa. Many years earlier, Risa and her family has been sent to the
In
Early in the morning, Risa and I walked to the local train station and took a train to Grandberry Mall. Once at the “mall,” I was shocked. The stores were arranged like a stacked strip mall, side by side, one on top of the other. Many of the businesses’ names were recognizable; Gap and Cold Stone triumphantly greeted me in all their American glamour. A large English sign guided shoppers toward The Outback Steakhouse. People bustled around, chatting and carrying shopping bags, and I felt as if I was still in
Later that day, in the blessed confines of Risa’s air conditioned guest room, I reflected on Grandberry Mall’s strong American flavor. I had expected something exotic and distinctly Japanese and was grimly disappointed. During my trip, I would visit more foreign locations such as beautiful history-laden Buddhist shrines and quaint traditional restaurants serving bamboo. Still, I would witness many more examples of American infiltration of Japanese culture: McDonald’s on every corner, Aeropostle in
My trip to
Dear Reader: This page may contain affiliate links which may earn a commission if you click through and make a purchase. Our independent journalism is not influenced by any advertiser or commercial initiative unless it is clearly marked as sponsored content. As travel products change, please be sure to reconfirm all details and stay up to date with current events to ensure a safe and successful trip.