Sex is the Best Way to Learn About Other Cultures. - Chapter 1

As I left the US and headed for the airport in London, England, I found many things strange.

From America to Britain.

Despite being a flight between two Western countries, there were surprisingly many South Americans on board.

Of course, the United States is a multicultural nation. During my journey through the States, I encountered people of various ethnicities, and not everyone spoke English.

Yet on a plane from a country where English is the official language, the majority of conversations I heard were in Spanish.

I knew that the United States has a Hispanic population that speaks Spanish. But even so, their numbers seemed unusually high. Moreover, most passengers appeared to be mixed-race rather than pure white.

To be specific, it wasn’t just my imagination that there were more tanned, wheat-colored skin tones and dark-haired individuals among the white passengers than usual.

I became certain of it when I went through immigration at the airport.

It was when I heard the male immigration officer say, “Welcome to Costa Rica” in broken English.

“Costa Rica?”

I was sure it was the name of a country in Central America, not Europe.

For a moment, I thought I might have misheard, but the blazing sun that hit my face when I left the airport and the heat that was unimaginable in America proved me wrong.

I had gotten on a plane to Costa Rica instead of London.

“Where and how?”

I just got on the plane as Sarah told me to. Since I couldn’t speak English properly, she handled all the procedures for me. There was no way an American like Sarah could mistake the destination of a plane.

So did I get on the wrong plane?

No, I had properly checked the gate number, and besides, the staff should have checked my ticket before boarding. There’s no way I could have gotten on the wrong plane.

“What should I do now?”

To be honest, I was completely at a loss.

This had completely thrown off my travel plans.

By now, I should have been at London’s airport, heading east by train toward Japan.

But instead, I’d ended up in the exact opposite direction—Central America.

I’d traveled south across the globe.

“Should I turn back?”

A direct flight from Costa Rica to Britain would be ideal, but I don’t understand Spanish at all. English would have been manageable, but in terms of Spanish vocabulary, “gracias” (thank you) is about all I know.

Besides, I’d come all this way to Central America…

Even if I made a mistake somewhere, I’d still made it to the southern hemisphere. Surely taking a little sightseeing trip wouldn’t be too much of a sin.

At least I could stay in a hotel for a night—never did I imagine that sentiment would lead to such a situation.

“I should probably exchange currency first.”

I only have American dollars right now. I know dollars are widely accepted around the world, but it’s probably safer to use Costa Rica’s local currency here.

But I was so shocked that I left the airport without realizing where the exchange offices were.

I decided to ask the police.

As I thought this, I saw two burly men wearing uniforms with “Policia” written on them, and I was stunned.

“Shotgun…?”

The police officers in the streets were armed with shotguns instead of rifles.

And they all wore bulletproof vests. They looked ready to handle a major terrorist attack at any moment.

“Is this place really that dangerous?”

It was only natural to feel that kind of anxiety. Police officers carry such intimidating weapons precisely because the criminals they face are equally armed.

“Hey!”

As I stood there nervously scanning my surroundings, one of the officers called out to me.

To be honest, I’d been stopped by police in Japan plenty of times. Even when I hadn’t done anything wrong, I’d always feel compelled to flee.

“This is bad.”

With that ingrained habit, I found myself turning on my heel without thinking.

Instantly, I realized the officers were giving chase. They must have judged me suspicious.

“Don’t chase me!”

I fled, running for my life.

I ignored the police shouting in Spanish. Being cornered by shotgun-toting men asking questions in a foreign language? No thanks.

Still, I wasn’t exactly fast. I needed to find a way to shake them off.

“It’s all or nothing!”

With my poor sense of direction, I had no choice but to gamble by darting into a narrow alleyway.

It might be a dead end.

It might be a trap.

But that was my only option.

I hastily plunged into the alley.

At the corner, I saw a police officer pointing his finger. They’d noticed I’d turned.

So I ventured deeper into an even narrower alleyway.

The path was barely wide enough for a person to pass through. Even for a man of my considerable size, it would be a tight squeeze. For two burly police officers carrying shotguns, it would be downright challenging.

“Did I lose them?”

I squatted between two walls, desperately trying to suppress my breathing.

The officers’ voices echoed. But they still hadn’t found me.

Good. If I can just hold out—

“Hey.”

Just as I thought that, a woman’s voice came from behind me.

“Huh?”

A sharp blow struck the back of my head.