When I first came to Japan I didn't know shit.

I didn't know how to speak the language past "hello" and "good morning." I didn't know the culture or how I was expected or not expected to behave. I didn't really know anything, except that I loved it here.

This love was made all the more complete when, after being here for a few months, I made my way out to a bar that another ex-pat (and now fellow Steemian (here's looking at you, @boxcarblue)) told me about.

Club Hallelujah.

Across the Shinano River, and down some darkened streets in Furumachi, or "old town," I made my way. Seeing the red Budweiser sign glowing in the second floor window I crossed the street, opened the door, and walked up the narrow flight of concrete stairs as the chimes sang behind me from the doorway. This was Club Hallelujah.

I don't remember exactly, but I think I nodded at the owner and took a seat, feeling the usual awkward feeling of being out and alone in a new place. I looked at the walls. Records. Thousands of them? Soft light. Crosses. Sonic Youth posters. A Lost in Translation poster with Scarlett Johansson in her underwear. Jesus Christ. This was it. I noticed the menu board against the wall over the stairway. Graham Sandwich. This really was it.

Junji, the owner, struck up a small conversation with me and handed me a book. It was a state by state guide to indie bands in the US. You're from Indiana. And you play indie music. Indie from Indiana. He laughed. From this night on it was my favorite place. My hideaway when I could find the time to make it.

I also met a lifelong friend that first night. That was cool, too. I've bawled my eyes out there. Been wasted drunk there. Hit on girls there. Been hit on there. But, what I really liked, was the way Junji would always present you with two or three vinyl records, so you could read the lyrics, or check out his latest find. He was always listening, and knew the tastes of his customers. Do you know this? You might like this.

It wasn't a loud bar. On party nights, Smells Like Teen Spirit and Radiohead's Creep would be played, with the necessary appearance of Phoenix's Too Young in there as well. Most nights, however, it was just the lights. the sounds of ice in glasses, nice music, and just being there drinking fresh Premium Malts beers which smelled like flowers.

(The lifelong friend I spoke of)

Some people studied here. Photographers loved to take pictures of the people and the records. I liked to talk Murakami and Salinger with Junji. When my friend from America came to visit he said "This is cooler than any bar in the US," and to me, that was entirely true.

Losing my religion.

As I am sitting here reliving the awesomeness of Hallelujah tonight (Junji has since left for Hawaii and Hallelujah is no more) I'll relate one more--and maybe my favorite--memory.

I was there for my birthday and Junji put on a record when my homemade cheesecake with a candle came. Jesus Came to My Birthday Party by The Middle East. Junji knew I was a Christian at the time, and even though he really didn't like Christians in general, he seemed to make an exception for me. I felt so damn cool when this cool guy played this fucking awesome song for me.

Here's the song:

On the last night I spent at Hallelujah before it closed, the topic of the bar's name came up. "Why Hallelujah?" Someone asked. Junji replied:

I don't know if god is real, or if all that is real. But if there is a heaven, maybe all these crosses will give me some credit in that world.

It was something along those lines.

Me and Junji.