Anna Matsushita

 One winter, my family and I embarked on a journey to the Canary Islands, situated off the coast of North Africa, to celebrate the year-end holidays. These islands, a bit farther south than the Mediterranean, are renowned for their numerous volcanoes. My destination was one of the islands in the archipelago, Lanzarote. It's a Spanish territory where the predominant language is, unsurprisingly, Spanish. Upon landing at the airport and traversing the island by bus, I beheld many curious sights. I noticed peculiar circular enclosures made of stone, with greenery growing in sunken centers. Our guide explained that these were vineyards. The island, formed from volcanic ash, experiences strong winds, making it challenging to cultivate taller crops. Thus, they construct enclosures with rocks to shield against the wind, creating depressions in the center where grapevines thrive. That day, our group of nearly thirty individuals was meticulously led around by our guide, showcasing variou

 In my early years, I resided in the Tohoku region of Japan. Near the housing complex nestled in the mountains, there was a forest where various fruits grew.   Among them, the mountain grapes held a special fascination for my young heart. Simply put, they looked delicious. Despite being warned by adults never to eat them, they seemed even more tempting.   During that time, I heard a folktale called "Saru-zake" (Monkey's Wine). It narrated a story of a monkey living in the mountains who hid the mountain grapes he had gathered in a tree hollow. Over time, it miraculously turned into wine. A woodcutter who discovered it tasted the wine, found it incredibly delicious, drank too much, and ended up drunk—such was the essence of the story, if I recall correctly.   This wine made from mountain grapes (Vitis coignetiae) is considered one of Japan's oldest alcoholic beverages archaeologically. Its origins can be traced back to the Jomon period, approximately 10,000

 It must have been about twenty-five years ago. Our colleagues and I had just graduated from university that year and landed jobs at a small travel agency. Specializing in Europe, Africa, and the Middle East, the company thoroughly immersed us in the geography, history, tourist attractions, and various local cuisines of Europe through our work.   Among our colleagues were those who, during their student days, embarked on budget travels abroad, boldly exploring various countries. We exchanged experiences, learning from each other, and absorbed knowledge like sponges from our seniors, as we navigated through our daily routines.   At that time, my role involved researching travel ideas for sales outside by obtaining information from overseas branches. Information available domestically required my personal research, compilation, and storage. Despite the bursting of the economic bubble about five to six years earlier, Japan still had a thriving population eager for information on l