Overall, my stories are really pretty tame. I found a cool scene—the awesome bars and live music in Yokohama, and this fit my style nicely at the time. But other gaijin likely had a much different experience. If they were writing this, they'd tell you all about the club scenes in Roppongi, and Shinjuku, or wherever, about all the crazy places they found and experiences they'd had. I'd love to read their Send Me Back to Japan.

We each took our own path, letting our interest guide us, all the while encouraged by the smiling faces that greeted us, and down that path we found something really fun, and super, super memorable. Where might else have these paths led? I can only speculate.

Maybe some dude relished the punk and indie scene in Shimokitazawa. Or maybe they were going to mountaintop raves in Gunma prefecture. For all I know they were dressing up like robots and marching down some street in Chiba. My point is, there's endless stuff going on that I don't even know about, or could even fathom. I spent years in Japan and I feel like I barely scratched the surface.

But, I made the most of everyday.

Before I knew it, I was going to Julian's wedding party. He married a girl from Yokohama. She is both a Phish and Dead fan. Their wedding night had a ceremony, a formal party, an informal party, and an after party—now that is a celebration. I gave a speech at the formal party, which was translated into Japanese as I spoke. In typical fashion for me, all the parts of the speech I intended to be funny were met with maybe an isolated chuckle, whereas parts of the speech I didn't necessarily intend as jokes were met with roaring laughter. Like I said, I can never quite get it right in Japan.

But, it just doesn't matter—because I try, in a fashion that is decidedly good-natured, and that is what makes all the difference.

Among the formal, informal, and after parties, several bands played, including one that contained both the bride and the groom—how cool is that? One musician played classic rock songs, but with translations that were perfectly literal, and without artistic license. An example is "Foxy Lady," by Jimi Hendrix, which translates into a ballad about a woman who for some reason looks like a small woodland creature—and this makes her attractive for some bizarre reason. And nearly every rock 'n roll song ever written uses "baby" as a term of affection, but translated, the singer is referring to a significant other inexplicably as a tiny infant.

The result? Utter hilarity.

The after party was at The Road and the Sky, of course, and I recall both the bride and groom crowdsurfing in this tiny little bar while the band jammed. That was my lasting image of their wedding night. Fantastic.

Things only got better for me, though:

Shortly after Julian's wedding party, he and I met for a drink in Yokohama, and after a brief contemplation about where to go, we decided on the hip-hop bar, Common. And so, we walked inside, and I met my wife.

Why such a hip girl who worked in the fashion industry in Shibuya, the fashion capital of Tokyo, wanted to hang out with a dude who was generally uncomfortable in anything other than a T-shirt and jeans is a mystery that may never be solved, but thank goodness, right? She's a partier and a wicked awesome snowboarder, too. She later taught me—a lifelong skier—how to snowboard, and I've never gone back.

One of my favorite things ever are when stereotypes are soundly defeated. This Japanese girl, who would later become my wife, was outgoing, athletic, and if I ever had any problem with her going to the mountain damn near every weekend during the wintertime, she would have said sayonara to me long ago. Her friends too, they were all funky and crazy and hilarious, many of them snowboarders, a wild bunch that I instantly became friends with. Not a one of this group could ever be considered quiet, shy, or reserved. They all spoke varying levels of English, and I had my very-poor-but-surprisingly-useful Japanese language ability—between these, we got along just fabulously. Throw in a little alcohol and there was no trouble communicating whatsoever.

One night they all met with a bunch of my Navy friends, and to follow was really a sight that was something special, how folks were communicating in any way possible. One thing we all had in common was we were of a certain age, we were of a generation that had grown up playing the same video games—games which had easily transcended borders and had become a vital part of both of our cultures. I saw, in the middle of the street, a massive play-fight, between American and Japanese, with each person assuming various characters from Street Fighter II, throwing ha-do-ken fireballs and dishing out sho-ryu-ken uppercuts. There were yoga flames and sonic booms.

To this day, I don't think I've ever laughed so hard in my life.

Those last several months were the best yet, not just of my time in Japan, but of my life. These were extraordinary times, but for reasons that transcend beyond any of the travel or cultural experiences I've described thus far—my girlfriend was becoming my fiancé, and during such times life is better than it's ever been, as you and her move about with your feet scarcely touching the ground. When we took a trip to the west side, to Osaka and Kyoto, it really felt more like a honeymoon than anything else.

The shinkansen, or more commonly known in the U.S. as the bullet train, is a fantastic way to travel, very quiet and comfortable, and you can enjoy a tasty bento box and a cold beer as the countryside flashes by.

I walked the colorful streets of Osaka and ate savory okonomiyaki hot off the grill. We met with her college friends and went to shows and raves and stayed at these hip and trendy izakayas that were loud and live and still quite crowded when we left in the late night or early morning hours.

At Kyoto, I gazed at the shimmering Golden Pavilion, Kinkaku-ju, in awe as the sun set, and I learned about "jumping off the stage of the Kyomizu-dera Temple", an expression akin to "taking the plunge." This is appropriate, as she and I were both launching ourselves off the veranda, more or less.

It was a wonderful trip, but much more about her and I than any of the sights we saw. The two of us floated about the entire time, only we just happened to be doing it in one of the more famous and wondrous places in the world.

Around this time, I was transitioning out of the Navy. Ultimately, she and I planned to move back to the U.S. together—I think it was because I needed to get a job, or some stupid reason like that. But, I wasn't in a big hurry. So, we hung around in Japan for a while longer, as she was still working, and I was teaching a little bit of English, but mostly I was just fully enjoying the marinating process.

Because I no longer had the support of Uncle Sam, we had to make some adjustments in our living situation. I shipped most of my stuff back to the U.S., and kept only the bare essentials on me. Then she and I moved into a new apartment, one that was much more affordable.

This was much closer to the stereotype of living in Japan, which is to say that my new home was a tiny apartment in the big city. I shared the cramped confines with my Japanese girlfriend—this was real Japan indeed.

It was one room, with a bed, a closet, a small table, and a mini-stovetop. A little bathroom was near the front door, and it had a valve that would switch the water flow back and forth between the sink and the bath, such that these two could not be used simultaneously. Directly outside the apartment, literally just a couple steps away, was the loud city street which led to the train station, constantly filled with all manner of foot, bike, and car traffic. There were no sidewalks, so all these forms of traffic shared the same narrow strip of concrete. It was wintertime and it always seemed to be raining outside, and quite cold, too. It was really quite dreary. Inside the apartment was dark, with just one window of thick, translucent glass that barely let any daylight through. A tiny TV was there, which only received Japanese channels, of course. All day and all night I could hear rain and traffic outside, loud and intrusive. My only possessions were a suitcase of clothes, some important papers, and my laptop.

Everything about the apartment, the city around it, and my current situation was absolutely perfect. If at any time in my life between the ages of 8 and 25 you would have told me that my future held this, I would have been absolutely thrilled.

One day, as she and I were in the process of moving, I was sorting through the things in my desk. I happened to come across an old, forgotten card that had been long since cast aside. It read, in perfect Japanese: Help, I am lost. Please help me return to Yokosuka Navy base.

I showed it to her, and she loved it. It tickled her to no end.