There are things you remember about travelling. A lot of times it’s the things you didn’t do that come back and make you think about what might have happened.

On a long bus or train ride, I often think back to these ‘what if’ times.
I’m on the bus leaving Tokyo, head against the cool glass, headphones in ears – Revolver or Rubber Soul playing out over and over. And a ‘what if?’ pops into my mind.
I’m in Sakata, renting a bike to ride on my day off. Sakata is a city in northern Japan; it has a harbour and is in the middle of an expanse of plains edged by mountains.
So my destination is that mountain range. I bike for a few hours through rice fields and on roads that cut right perfect right angles around the fields.
Eventually, I get to the mountains. The lush green vegetation and cozy farm houses on the hills, the old bus chugging away up the mountain road are all straight out what I assumed to be fictional story books about how life was a long time ago.
I zoom down the mountains steppes. I want to stay longer, but it’s getting dark. I head through the long expanse of rice fields and orchards.
I discover my bike has a light and that the city I am looking for miles away can be seen from its own lights.
Then I see some closer lights from a gathering, miles from the city and in the middle of the farm fields.
As I get to the source of the lights I see farmers playing something like bingo on large plastic tarps laid over the ground. They also have barbecues with meat and grills with noodles frying.
They soon notice me and one young farmer, Takuro, comes over.
“Sit!” he says. All around everyone seems to nod with agreement.
“OK, but what’s going on?” I ask in English since he seems to understand.
“We are having party.”
I sit down among the farmers, and soon dishes and cups of beer are coming my way. Yakisoba (noodles), Edamame (Soy beans) and Yebisu (Beer) begin appearing.
I’m hungry so I eat it all.
“Wait,” says the young farmer. “You must meet Todoe-san.”
“Who’s that?”
Todoe-san is the girl whom all the young farmer boys want to marry.
“Todoe-san is very nice girl,” he says, but as he introduces Todoe-san he goes on to the next person to meet.
“You must meet Jiro-san, he really wants to meet you.”
Jiro-san really does want to meet me since he stares at me for a long time.
“I have daughter,” Jiro-san tells me through a translation by the young farmer. “You can teach English.”
“Where is she?” I asked.
“She is at Jiro-san house,” says Takuro. “Jiro-san wants you to stay at his house.”
“I have to get back to town,” I say, repeating it six or seven times.
Jiro-san seems suddenly more drunk and stumbles off for a little while.
Meanwhile, the farmers give me some prizes for the bingo-type game I’d missed – prizes I would forget to take.
But as I’m getting set to return to the city, Jiro-san is getting ready to get a truck-ride home.
“See you later,” I say.
Jiro-san, crying, grabs my hand. He says something in Japanese about how sad he is I’m not coming.
Takuro says Jiro-san will forget all about it by morning.
I soon get on my bike and say goodbye to the farm people.
As I take shortcuts on gravel roads through fields, I think what would have happened if I’d gone with that farmer. I see myself as an older farmer in a rice field 20 years later with another farmer.
“Ah, this rice is finer than Todoe-san’s hair,” he says.
“No, it’s paler than Todoe-san’s marvelously white complexion,” I say.
We both nod for a few moments.
“The rice calls for a celebration.” The farmer pulls out a bottle of sake and we start drinking in the field.
Later, at the farmer party, we tell stories from the past.
“When I was in Hokkaido growing potatoes, the potatoes grew so big we mistook them for pumpkins” says one farmer.
“Well,” says another farmer, “when I grew apples in Aomori, they grew so large that walking under the trees could lead to death.”
“When I grew green tea in Fukuoka, it was so potent that when it rained the whole city turned green,” I say.
This goes on for a long time.
Back on my bike I arrive in the city, the produce-boasting still strong in my mind.