There are nothing but high hills on every acre of land on the Miura Peninsula rising up and away from every path, alley, road and highway. On much of the drive the sky above and the great mounds of earth flanking us are all one can see. No distant landmarks can be observed to beckon us homeward. The next breath escaping your lips carries an earnest prayer with it: "God, please help us. I sure hope You know how to drive on the left and steer from the right." Wouldn't you know it. He does.
Our route home should have followed the yellow line, but The Man Upstairs steered us home via the red line. The detour may have cost us time but the unplanned National Geographic route we steered took us through some visually absorbing Japanese barrios where no se halba el inglés para nada.
